The rain was relentless, drumming against the bridge as Noah's hands shook. His fingers clutched the phone with trembling desperation, the screen glowing faintly in the darkness.
The Last Wish…
He remembered her then—Cecilia, bright and radiant, always teasing him when he was too serious, always telling him how ridiculous he looked concentrating on some game strategy she could barely understand.
"Come on, Noah," she had said, laughing as she leaned on his shoulder, "you take it too seriously! Just have fun."
He had smiled. She always knew how to make him forget the world, even if only for a moment.
And now she was gone. Taken by the cruel hands of disease, leaving him hollow, scholarship gone, future erased. He had nothing left.
The bridge stretched endlessly, fog curling along its iron rails. Noah took a step forward, feeling the cold bite of the night air. One final glance at the glowing phone—one last connection to her—and he let go.
A flash of white light swallowed him whole.
Pain, light, wind—then nothing.
When he opened his eyes, his head throbbed violently. The world swayed around him, colors bleeding at the edges. He pressed his hands to his temples, trying to focus. Memories clawed at him—broken fragments of a life he barely recognized.
"Finally awake, fool! Do you even know where you are?"
Noah blinked. A knight stood before him, armor glinting harshly in the pale sunlight, eyes narrowing with obvious impatience.
He groaned. Head pounding, memories slamming through him: a bridge… a city drowned in neon… Cecilia's smile… the phone… a flash…
And then it hit him.
Drafted… knight… Euphemia…
Each word was a hammer to his skull, forcing clarity through the pain. "I… I'm… drafted?" he muttered, voice barely audible.
The knight scowled. "Of course you are! And yet you can't even remember it? Do try not to disgrace yourself before you even stand on your feet, fool. You'll serve House Veyrin—move!"
Noah forced himself upright, every step a struggle against the pounding ache in his head. His family's infamy followed him like a shadow—criminal lineage, an infamous brother destined for villainy centuries later. The nobles' eyes were already sharp with suspicion, their whispers slicing deeper than any blade.
He clenched his fists. Discrimination, mistrust, and scorn were all he had been given—but he knew how to survive. He had survived worse.
And now, he would survive here.
The halls of House Veyrin were grand but suffocating, the air thick with arrogance and expectation. Servants and knights alike gave him nothing but sharp glances. He barely noticed.
Then, she appeared.
A young noblewoman, stepping lightly through the hall, her presence calm yet impossible to ignore. Her hair was white as freshly fallen snow, cascading like a silver river. Golden eyes caught the light, gleaming with intelligence and subtle warmth. She moved with a grace that seemed effortless, yet every step commanded attention.
Noah froze. The first thing that struck him was her face. There was something eerily familiar—her smile, faint but unforgettable. The tilt of her head as she regarded him, curious yet cautious—it was like looking at Cecilia, reborn into this world, yet entirely different.
"Euphemia," the knight beside him muttered, snapping him back.
Noah swallowed hard. "Euphemia," he repeated softly, his heart tightening in ways he didn't understand. She was beautiful, untouchable, and destined for a world that already seemed cruel.
And somehow… she reminded him of everything he had lost.
He exhaled slowly, muscles tense, mind racing. This was his assignment, his duty—and perhaps, unknowingly, the first step toward finding meaning in this new life.
Noah bowed deeply, keeping his back straight, every motion precise despite the ache in his head. His voice was calm, measured, carrying the weight of someone who had endured far more than his age suggested.
"I am Noah," he said, letting the words resonate in the quiet hall. "From this day forth, I serve House Veyrin and you, Lady Euphemia, to the fullest of my strength."
Her golden eyes regarded him with curiosity, a faint tilt of her head. There was no fear, no judgment—just quiet observation.
For a moment, time seemed to pause. The white-haired girl before him, fragile yet luminous, exuded a presence that both unsettled and captivated him. She reminded him of Cecilia, of everything lost, of a warmth that had been extinguished.
And yet, he would endure. He had survived the worst the world had to offer. He would survive this world, too.
Noah straightened, holding her gaze just long enough to convey his resolve, then stepped back slightly, a silent promise in every measured motion: he would protect her, no matter the cost.
The first day of his service had begun, but in that instant, the true journey—of duty, survival, and perhaps something far deeper—had already taken root