Three days after Rowena opened her eyes in Lady Celine de Montfort's body, she had already gathered enough information to cover an entire wall of her bedroom with a family tree diagram—and thankfully, the room was enormous, because the de Montfort family apparently did not believe in any space smaller than a tennis court.
She had collected the information using the same methods she once used at university: careful observation, seemingly casual but structured questions, and making full use of every available resource. The resources currently at her disposal were:
1. Kaelan Veyne, her personal knight-guard, loyal to the point of absurdity.
2. Elara, Celine's personal maid, a young woman with brown hair and brown eyes who seemed genuinely fond of her mistress.
3. Piles of letters and documents found on Celine's writing desk.
The de Montfort family's private library, 4. 4. 4. which contained thousands of books in various languages.
From all of that, Rowena had managed to piece together a basic picture of her new world:
The Kingdom of Ashvold was a vast realm located on a continent that had no name on any map she could find (and she had looked). It was ruled by the Royal House of Ashworth—an ironic name that had not escaped her notice—and was divided into six major duchies. The Duchy of Verlaine, where her family held power, was the second-richest after the royal capital.
The de Montfort family was one of the Three Pillars of the Kingdom, alongside House Ashworth (the royal family) and House Veyne (Kaelan's family, who turned out to be high nobility even though he himself preferred to serve as an ordinary knight). These three families were said to carry the blood of the Goddess Morana, the ancient deity of death and rebirth, now only believed in by certain circles.
But far more important than all the political information was one fact that forced Rowena—the skeptical archaeologist—to sit motionless in her chair for a full hour, staring blankly at the wall:
Magic was real.
And not magic in the sense of tricks or sleight of hand. Magic in this world was a structured, well-documented system taught academically. There were academies of magic. There were treatises on magic. There were libraries filled with books about magic.
Rowena had spent the first six hours in the family library reading just one introductory book on Basic Mana Flow Theory before her head felt like it would explode. Not because the material was difficult—as an archaeologist accustomed to reading manuscripts in twelve ancient languages, she could absorb information at remarkable speed—but because she kept thinking about the implications of it all.
Magic was real. That meant every myth, every legend, every "heretical" manuscript she had studied for years might have a foundation in truth. It meant the Sigillum Dei Mortis on her wrist was not merely a symbol—it was something real and functional.
And it meant the woman in the mirror who had killed Celine… was also real.
On the morning of the third day, Rowena was having breakfast in her room—because Kaelan insisted she was not yet strong enough to go to the main dining hall, and because she herself had no desire to meet the "Duke's family" who had come to discuss her canceled funeral—when Elara entered with a pale face.
"Lady Celine," the maid whispered, her hands trembling as she held a silver tray. "They… they have arrived. The Duke and Duchess of Verlaine. They request an audience with you. Now."
Rowena carefully set down her soup spoon. She had already read the documents about her family. Duke Alistair de Montfort, Celine's father, was described in the letters as "cold" and "untouched by emotion." Duchess Elara de Montfort (the same name as the maid—an confusing coincidence) had died three years ago. So the "Duchess" Elara referred to was the Duke's new wife, Lady Mirabelle Ashworth, a woman from the royal family whom the Duke had married two years after his first wife's death.
And from the letters Rowena had read, the relationship between Celine and her stepmother… had not been warm.
"Let them in," Rowena said, smoothing the nightgown she was still wearing. She deliberately hadn't changed. It was a small move in the political game she had learned from reading European noble memoirs in her previous life: showing that you were not properly attired to receive guests was a subtle way of saying you did not respect them.
The door opened.
Duke Alistair de Montfort was a man who must have been 190 centimeters tall, with the same golden-blonde hair as Celine (and now Rowena), pale blue eyes as cold as winter ice, and a face that seemed carved from stone. He wore a formal black coat with gold accents on the collar and sleeves, and a dagger with a skull-shaped hilt hung at his waist.
Beside him stood Lady Mirabelle. She was beautiful in a sharp way—jet-black hair styled in a neat updo, emerald-green eyes that calculated every detail, and red lips forming a smile that never reached her eyes. She wore a flowing dark green gown with a large emerald necklace resting against her white throat.
Behind them, standing deliberately at the threshold to show he was not fully part of the group, was Kaelan. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, his eyes never leaving the Duke.
Rowena absorbed all these details in less than three seconds. It was her academic habit: observe, categorize, analyze.
"You're alive," Duke Alistair said. Not a question. A statement. His tone revealed nothing—no relief, no anger, no curiosity. Just fact.
"So it seems, Father," Rowena replied, using the word "Father" for the first time. It felt strange on her tongue, but she pushed it out smoothly.
Lady Mirabelle stepped forward. Her smile widened. "Celine, darling, you have no idea how worried we were. The reports said you were found unconscious in the dungeon, covered in blood. We feared the worst."
"The reports were accurate," Rowena said calmly. "I was found unconscious and covered in blood. But apparently I didn't die. Sorry to disappoint."
The air in the room turned icy.
Lady Mirabelle kept smiling, but her eyes changed. Duke Alistair showed no reaction at all.
"Celine," the Duke said in the same flat tone, "explain what happened."
Rowena had prepared this story since yesterday. She couldn't tell the truth—that she was an archaeologist from another world who had awakened in the Duke's daughter's body after the daughter was murdered by an entity in a magical mirror. Not only did it sound insane, but she didn't know who she could trust.
"I don't remember," she said. "I went down to the dungeon because I heard a voice. After that, everything went dark. I woke up in my bed with Kael beside me."
Duke Alistair stared at her for a full ten seconds. Rowena stared back without blinking. She was used to looks like this—her thesis supervisor at Oxford had liked to stare at students the same way when trying to decide if they were lying.
"The physician said there is nothing physically wrong with your body," the Duke said at last. "Yet you have lost your memory."
"Partially," Rowena corrected. "I still remember many things. Only the events in the dungeon are blurred."
"Perhaps that is for the best," Lady Mirabelle cut in quickly. "Some things are better forgotten. The family dungeon holds many… dark memories."
There was something in the way she said the word "dark" that sent a chill down Rowena's spine.
Duke Alistair nodded once. "Very well. We will discuss this later. For now, you should rest. There is much to prepare for the funeral—"
"But I'm not dead," Rowena interrupted.
"The funeral for your mother," the Duke continued, ignoring her. "Three years have passed, and the family has decided it is time for a proper ceremony. Duchess Mirabelle will arrange it."
Rowena noticed how Lady Mirabelle smiled at that, and how Kaelan behind them clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white.
"Of course," Rowena said flatly. "Of course, Father."
Duke Alistair nodded once more, then turned and left without saying goodbye. Lady Mirabelle followed, but before she exited, she glanced back and looked at Rowena with an unreadable smile.
"Oh, and Celine?" she said. "You might want to change before dinner tonight. The Ashworth family will be coming. They are very eager to see you… especially after the report of your death reached the royal palace."
She left.
The door closed.
Rowena sat in silence for thirty seconds, then turned to Kaelan, who was still standing at the threshold with a difficult-to-read expression.
"What just happened?" she asked.
Kaelan stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He walked closer, then knelt beside Rowena's chair in a movement that had clearly become habit—as if that position was the most natural place for him.
"What just happened," he said in a low voice, "is that the Duke was trying to determine whether you are still useful to him or not."
Rowena raised an eyebrow. "A refreshingly honest explanation. Continue."
Kaelan looked at her with a strange expression—as if he wasn't used to Celine speaking this way—but then went on. "The Duke has never cared about you or your mother. His marriage to Duchess Elara was a political union to strengthen the alliance with House Veyne—your mother was my father's aunt."
This was new information for Rowena. She had read about Duchess Elara in the documents, but nothing had mentioned a family connection to Kaelan.
"After your mother died," Kaelan continued, "the Duke married Lady Mirabelle in less than a year. Lady Mirabelle is the niece of the Royal Advisor, and she has ambitions. Big ambitions. And you, Lady Celine, are an obstacle to those ambitions."
"Because I am the heir to the duchy."
"Because you are the legitimate heir. Lady Mirabelle has two children from her previous marriage—no blood relation to the Duke—but she wants one of them to inherit Verlaine. And as long as you live, that will not happen."
Rowena leaned back in her chair, her mind working quickly. "So she wants me dead."
"She wants you dead," Kaelan confirmed. "But she won't do it directly. She will try to make you appear unfit to be the heir. Mad. Unstable. Or… she will try to kill you in a way that looks like an accident or suicide."
Rowena remembered the report that Celine had committed suicide. A report that had reached the royal family.
"Like what happened three days ago," she said slowly.
Kaelan nodded, his jaw tightening. "I don't know what happened in that dungeon, Lady Celine. But I know it wasn't a suicide attempt. You are not the type of person who would kill herself. You're too stubborn for that."
Rowena almost smiled at that. Celine might have been stubborn. But Rowena? Rowena was the woman who had once stayed in a field tent for two weeks with a broken leg simply because she refused to leave the excavation site before finishing her documentation. Stubborn was too mild a word.
"Kael," she said, using the name she knew he preferred, even though it felt strange on her tongue. "I need you to be honest with me. What exactly did you find when you discovered me in the dungeon?"
Kaelan tensed. For the first time since they had met, he looked hesitant.
"I… I'm not sure you want to know."
"Kael."
He sighed. "Fine. I found you kneeling in front of the family altar. Around you was a circle of blood forming symbols I didn't recognize. Your eyes… your eyes were open, but their color was different."
Rowena held her breath. "Different how?"
"They were black. Completely black. No white, no iris. Just pure black. And you… you were smiling. A smile I had never seen on your face before. A smile that terrified me."
He paused, swallowing whatever was in his throat.
"I called your name three times. You didn't respond. I touched your shoulder, and you… you collapsed forward like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Black blood poured from your mouth, your nose, your eyes. For a moment, I was absolutely certain you were dead."
Rowena felt ice crawl down her spine. This matched what she had "seen" in Celine's memory. Black blood. The mirror. The woman in the mirror.
"But then," Kaelan continued, "the bleeding stopped. Your eyes returned to normal. And you started breathing again. I carried you here, called the physician, and waited two full days for you to wake up."
"Two days?" Rowena was shocked. She had thought she had only been unconscious since yesterday.
"You were unconscious for two full days, Lady Celine. The physician couldn't find anything wrong with your body. He said you were physically healthy, but your soul… your soul seemed to be somewhere else."
My soul was somewhere else, Rowena thought. My soul was in another world, reading ancient manuscripts in the Oxford University library.
But she couldn't say that.
"And the mirror?" she asked. "The mirror on the altar?"
Kaelan frowned. "Mirror? There is no mirror on the altar, Lady Celine. Only the ancestor statues and the marble altar. I checked the room twice. There was no mirror."
Rowena stared at him. Kaelan stared back with honest silver-gray eyes, no deception in them.
But she knew the mirror existed. She had seen it in Celine's memory. She had felt it. She could even feel its presence now, like something heavy pressing inside her chest.
"I need to go back to that dungeon," she said.
Kaelan immediately grew uneasy. "Lady Celine, that is not safe. I don't know what happened down there, but I know it's dangerous. If something tries to harm you—"
"It won't harm me," Rowena cut in. And somehow, when she spoke the words, she knew they were true. The woman in the mirror did not want to hurt her. She wanted something else. Something more complicated.
Kaelan stared at her for a long time. Then, with an expression that said he had given up trying to understand what was happening to his lady, he nodded.
"Tonight. After all the guests have left. I will guard you."
Rowena smiled. Her first real smile since arriving in this world.
"Thank you, Kael."
The man smiled back—a smile that transformed his cold face into something warm, gentle, and slightly awkward.
"Always, Lady Celine. Always."
That afternoon, Rowena sat on the balcony of her room, overlooking the vast de Montfort family garden. From the third-floor height, she could see the perfectly maintained expanse of red roses, a marble fountain with a statue of Goddess Morana in the center, and in the distance, the great iron gates separating the family estate from the city of Verlaine.
In her hands was a book she had taken from the library. Not a book about magic. Not a book about family history. But a journal.
Celine's journal.
She had found it hidden beneath the drawer of the writing desk, tucked behind official documents. The journal was small, with a dark brown leather cover and a small silver lock that had already been opened. As if Celine had deliberately left it that way.
The last entry was dated three days before Rowena had awakened in this body.
"I saw her again last night. In the mirror in my bathroom. She smiled at me, and for the first time, I wasn't afraid. I was curious. She told me her name—or at least, the name she wants me to call her. She said that she and I are two parts of one whole, and that it is time for us to reunite.
I know this is madness. I know this might be a trap. But some part of me feels the truth in her words. There is an emptiness inside me, Kael. An emptiness nothing can fill—not books, not prayers, not my hatred for that stepmother. And she… she fills that emptiness. At least, she makes me forget it exists.
I'm scared. But perhaps this fear is the last thing I will feel as myself. If I don't write again tomorrow, it might mean I have chosen. Or perhaps I have been chosen.
Kael, forgive me. I know you love me. But your love is not enough to fill the emptiness that has existed since I was born. The emptiness left by the half of me that was lost.
Rowena."
The Rowena reading the journal felt her heart stop beating for one full beat.
Rowena.
Celine had written that name. The same name as her own. The name given to her by her parents in another world, with no connection to this one at all.
Coincidence? Or something else?
She reread the last paragraph. "The emptiness left by the half of me that was lost."
Rowena placed the journal on her lap and stared at the evening sky where two moons were beginning to appear in the distance.
"The missing half," she murmured. "She called herself Rowena. And I am Rowena."
She closed her eyes and remembered the words of the woman in the mirror from Celine's memory:
"I am what you were meant to become. I am you before the de Montfort family cut me in two and imprisoned half of me here."
So this was a story about a split soul. About two parts of one entity separated at birth—one becoming the fragile and lonely Celine, the heir of House de Montfort, the other becoming something else, something imprisoned inside the mirror in the dungeon.
And now Celine was dead. But her body still lived, occupied by another soul who happened to share the same name as the missing half.
Was this coincidence? Or was it part of a much larger plan?
Rowena—the real Rowena, the archaeologist, the skeptical and rational woman—didn't know. And for the first time in her life, she could not answer a question with research and data. She would have to find the answer in a place she had never imagined she would visit:
Inside herself.
Night fell quickly. The sky over Verlaine darkened early as winter approached, and the temperature dropped sharply after sunset. Rowena wore a simple black gown chosen by Elara—"For mourning, Lady Celine, even though no one has died, it's better to be safe"—and a thin fur mantle over her shoulders.
Kaelan met her in the corridor outside her room, dressed lighter than usual: only a white long-sleeved shirt, black trousers, and soft-soled boots that made no sound as he walked. His sword still hung at his waist.
"You're not wearing armor?" Rowena asked.
"Armor is noisy," Kaelan replied. "And tonight, we don't want anyone knowing we're going to the dungeon."
They walked down the long palace corridors, passing portraits of de Montfort ancestors who stared at them with empty eyes from behind golden frames. The gas lamps on the walls burned dimly, casting strange moving shadows in every corner.
The dungeon was located in the east wing of the palace, an area rarely visited because, according to legend, the east wing was where the first de Montfort ancestor had died under "unnatural" circumstances. The door to the dungeon was made of black oak with a rusted iron handle and locked with a large padlock that—to Rowena's surprise—was already open.
"The lock is broken," Kaelan whispered, examining it. "It looks forced."
"Or opened from the inside," Rowena whispered back.
They exchanged glances. Kaelan drew his sword slowly and silently, then pushed the door open with the toe of his boot.
The door creaked loudly, raising the hairs on Rowena's arms. Beyond it was a spiral stone staircase descending into darkness. Cold, damp air rose from below, carrying the smell of wet soil and something else… something that reminded Rowena of the scent in museums when she entered ancient artifact storage rooms. The smell of age. The smell of long-passed death.
Kaelan took a small lantern from his coat pocket and lit it with a match. The yellow-orange light illuminated the damp stone walls covered in moss and tiny cracks.
"I'll go first," Kaelan said. "If anything happens, run upstairs and don't look back."
Rowena wanted to say she wouldn't leave him behind, but she knew it would waste time. So she simply nodded.
They descended the stairs. One turn. Two turns. Rowena counted the steps—forty-seven until they reached the bottom. It was deeper than she had thought.
The dungeon was vast. Far larger than it appeared from above. The ceiling was high, about six meters, with stone arches supported by massive pillars. The walls were decorated with faded murals depicting scenes Rowena couldn't clearly make out in the limited lantern light.
In the center of the room, the black marble altar still stood.
But there was no mirror.
Rowena walked closer, Kaelan behind her with his sword raised. The altar was empty. Only polished black marble with spiral engravings around it that resembled the patterns on the mirror frame from Celine's memory.
"No mirror," Kaelan said quietly. "I told you."
Rowena didn't answer. She placed her hand on the altar. The marble was cold—bitterly cold, like ice. But beneath her palm, she felt something pulsing. A faint throb, like a distant heartbeat.
She closed her eyes.
And when she opened them again, she was no longer in the dungeon.
She stood in an endless field of white lilies.
The sky above was dark, with two moons shining—one pale blue, the other red like an open wound. The lilies around her swayed even though there was no wind, and their clean white petals emitted a soft glow that made the entire meadow look like a sea of pearls.
She was not alone.
About ten meters ahead stood a woman in a gown of flowing black that moved like smoke. Her hair was long, silver-white, and stirred on its own. Her face… was identical to the face Rowena now wore. Celine's face. Her own face.
But there was a difference. The woman's eyes were not blue like Celine's. They were pitch black, with no boundary between iris and pupil, like two voids opening into endless emptiness.
"You came," the woman said. Her voice echoed inside Rowena's head, just as it had with Celine.
Rowena straightened her spine. She would not show fear. She was tired of being a victim in this story.
"I am Rowena," she said. "Not Celine. I don't know who you are, but you will not take this body as easily as you took it from Celine."
The woman laughed. Her laughter was both beautiful and terrible at once, like church bells falling from a tower.
"You think I want that body?" The woman stepped forward. The lilies around her withered and turned black with every step. "You think I killed Celine because I wanted to become human again? Oh, darling. You understand nothing."
Rowena did not retreat, even though every instinct screamed at her to run. "Then explain."
The woman stopped three meters away. Her black eyes stared at Rowena with an intensity that made her head spin.
"I am not your enemy, Rowena Ashworth. Not Celine. Not anyone you think I am. I am what remains of the goddess this family worshipped thousands of years ago. I am Morana before they forgot me. I am the power that maintains the balance between life and death, between this world and the one beneath it."
She extended her hand. Her fingers were long and pale, with sharp black nails.
"And I am the only one who can tell you why you are here. Why you, of all people in all worlds, were chosen to replace Celine. Why you bear the same name as the missing half."
Rowena did not take her hand. "Just tell me."
The woman smiled. The same smile from Celine's memory. A smile that was too wide, with too many teeth, too many promises and threats at once.
"Because you are not Celine's replacement, Rowena. You are Celine. And Celine is you. And the three of us are the same thing, split into three parts by a curse that began before this kingdom even existed. One part became human. One part became goddess. And one part became… something else."
Her black eyes gleamed with a deep red light.
"Welcome home, Rowena Ashworth. Welcome to the world that should have been yours from the beginning. And goodbye to the belief that you are merely an archaeologist from Oxford who happened to get lost."
She reached for Rowena's hand before Rowena could pull away.
Her touch was cold. Bitterly cold. But within that coldness, there was something warm. Something familiar. Something that felt like… coming home.
And Rowena—the archaeologist, the skeptic, the rational woman who did not believe in superstition—felt tears fill her eyes for reasons she could not explain.
"Now," Morana—or whoever she was—whispered, "wake up. And begin to remember who you truly are."
Rowena opened her eyes.
She was still in the dungeon, kneeling in front of the black marble altar. Kaelan stood beside her, one hand on her shoulder, his face deathly pale.
"Lady Celine! Lady Celine, can you hear me? You fainted for ten minutes! I called your name over and over, but you didn't respond!"
Ten minutes. It had felt like hours in the field of lilies.
Rowena felt something in her hand. She looked down.
In her palm, etched in a fading red light, was a symbol she had never seen before. It was not the Sigillum Dei Mortis. It was not any symbol from any ancient manuscript she had ever read.
It was a symbol of three interlocking circles, each with a different mark in the center. One circle contained a crescent moon. One contained a sun. And one contained… a symbol she couldn't see clearly because the red light faded too quickly.
But before it completely vanished, she managed to read one word engraved beneath the symbol:
Anima Triformis.
The Three-Form Soul.
She lifted her head and stared at the black marble altar. Now, for the first time, she saw something she hadn't noticed before: on the glossy surface, engraved so finely it was almost invisible, was an image of three figures standing in a circle, their hands linked. One figure dressed like a noble. One figure wrapped in mist with wings of indistinct shape. And one figure… one figure was only a shadow, without a definite form.
"Kael," she said, her voice sounding foreign even to her own ears. "I need you to do something for me."
"Anything."
"I need you to find out everything about the de Montfort family. Not what's written in the official history books. But what is hidden. What they conceal. Legends, myths, stories passed down orally. Anything related to Goddess Morana and the ancient rituals of this family."
Kaelan frowned. "That could be dangerous, Lady Celine. This family has secrets they kill to protect."
"We're already in danger," Rowena said, standing on slightly unsteady legs. "The difference now is that I want to know why."
She looked at the altar one last time, then turned toward the stairs.
"And one more thing, Kael."
"Yes?"
"From now on, call me Rowena."
Kaelan froze. "What?"
"My name is Rowena. Not Celine. Celine is dead. I don't know how to explain it, but I am not her. I am someone else. And I need you to accept that if we are going to work together."
She didn't know why she said it. It was risky. It could make Kaelan pull away, or worse, make him think she was insane. But after her encounter with Morana—or whoever the woman in the lily field was—Rowena felt that lying to the only person who seemed to truly care about her in this world was wrong.
Kaelan stared at her for a long time. A very long time. Then, slowly, he smiled.
The same smile as before. Warm, gentle, awkward.
"All right, Rowena," he said, testing the name on his tongue as if it were something precious. "I will do whatever you ask. I promised ten years ago to protect Celine. But now… perhaps I need to promise to protect you as well."
He extended his hand. Not to take hers, but as a gesture of respect. Of acknowledgment.
Rowena took his hand. Her grip was firm.
"We start from here," she said.
They walked up the stairs, leaving the dungeon behind, leaving the empty black marble altar, and leaving the secrets that had only just begun to reveal themselves.
Behind them, on the glossy surface of the altar, the engraving of the three figures glowed red for one second before fading again.
And from somewhere far away, between worlds, came laughter.
The laughter of a goddess who had been waiting for thousands of years.