They were both working in a busy coffee shop called "Marinakas." Devin quickly realized it was known locally as a safe haven, a peaceful gathering place for all sub-humans. The very people his father had struggled to protect in secret, the people his mother championed, were openly congregating here, living mundane, quiet lives without fear of execution.
He was in the Kingdom of Reignn. There was nothing particularly majestic or special about it compared to the wealth of Colstar or any prominent nation. It was a standard Northern kingdom, but it held one incredibly significant landmark: it was the home of the United Educational Institute (UEI). It was the very place his best friends, Ferran and Fenrys, attended.
But the most jarring, sickening revelation came when Devin glanced at the daily ledger sitting quietly by the register.
The date written in fresh ink read: Day 57k 854.
Devin's heart stopped. He gripped the edge of the wooden counter until his knuckles turned white.
More than two full cycles had passed.
Over two cycles since the night the Cyprian monsters tore his father limb from limb. Over two years since Bridget was butchered in her guest room. Over two years since his mother was dragged away in iron chains.
The Trangdar Royal Family Massacre. That was the official name history had given to the darkest night of his life.
The world had kept spinning while he lingered in the void.
The day after his violent awakening was a scheduled work-free day.
Devin woke up in a small, cramped apartment that smelled faintly of damp wood and old coffee grounds. Sunlight filtered weakly through a single, grimy window, illuminating a life he knew absolutely nothing about. He sat on the edge of a lumpy, unfamiliar mattress, staring blankly at the worn leather boots by the door and the cheap, rough-spun tunics folded on a single wooden chair.
Panic began to set in, cold and absolute.
He was completely stranded. He hadn't even thought to ask the ferocious girl her name before they parted ways the previous evening. How was he supposed to find the Marinakas shop again? How was he supposed to navigate the winding, unfamiliar streets of Reignn without looking like a madman who had lost his memory? He was a prince trapped in a pauper's maze, armed only with a barista's apron.
Then, a sharp knock rattled the thin wooden door.
Devin froze, his instincts screaming danger. He looked around the room for a weapon, finding nothing but a dull butter knife on a small table. But the soft voice that followed eased the tension in his stolen muscles.
"Zain? Are you awake?"
He opened the door to find her standing there, illuminated by the bright morning sun. Her name, he would soon discover, was Emerald. And looking at her now, bathed in the gentle light, her beauty truly was striking. She possessed a disarming warmth, a radiant, simple energy that stood in stark contrast to the cold, calculating vengeance brewing deep inside him.
He didn't ask why she was at his apartment so early in the morning. He didn't want to alert her to the fact that he had absolutely no idea what the boundaries of their relationship were. Instead, he seamlessly adopted the persona of a man eager for a distraction.
He convinced her to take him on a tour of the town, feigning a sudden, deep desire to "truly appreciate" the city he supposedly lived in.
They spent the entire day on the move. Reignn was bustling, a stark contrast to the rigid, militaristic architecture of Trangdar. The streets were lined with vibrant merchant stalls selling spices and silks. Scholars from the UEI stood on street corners, loudly arguing philosophy, contributing to the ever-present hum of a society that clearly didn't care about a fallen kingdom hundreds of miles away.
As they walked, Devin made it his sole mission to study Emerald. He carefully extracted information without ever giving off the feeling that he was not the Zain she knew. It was a delicate, dangerous dance of asking vague questions and letting her naturally fill in the silences.
As it turned out, his luck—or perhaps God's twisted design—was holding up. She didn't really know Zain all that well at all. It was the greatest tactical advantage he could have asked for.
The original Zain had just moved to Reignn from some distant, unnamed village Devin didn't care to learn about. He was a drifter, a quiet man with no deep roots and no lingering family to come looking for him. He and Emerald had only been working together at Marinakas for twenty rees—a mere fraction of a cycle.
From what he could gather, Emerald was the easy, trusting type. She was quick to smile, incredibly quick to slap when offended, but fundamentally naive. She and Zain were friendly colleagues, perhaps bordering on a budding romance if her early morning visit was any indication, but they lacked the profound, intimate closeness required for her to detect the imposter hiding behind his eyes.
She knew his face. She knew his work ethic. But she didn't know his soul.
She didn't know that the man walking beside her, casually buying roasted nuts from a street vendor, wasn't a humble coffee shop worker. She didn't know that she was chatting with a dead prince, a walking anomaly possessing the Holy Gene, fueled by an apocalyptic rage.
As the sun began to set over the towering spires of the United Educational Institute in the distance, casting long, bloody shadows across the cobblestones, Devin looked at his new hands again.
This body was weak. It lacked the royal training, the ingrained muscle memory of a Trangdar swordsman. But it was entirely anonymous. It was a blank slate. God had given him the ultimate disguise.
Count Sapien and his venomous beasts thought the Trangdar bloodline was permanently extinguished. They thought the prince was rotting beneath the ashes of his own castle. They had no idea that their destruction was currently masquerading as a barista in the Northern Kingdom.
Devin smiled—a dark, fractured expression that he felt stretch unnaturally across Zain's face.
He would use this life. He would use this perfect obscurity. He would climb the ranks of this world, tear off the faces of his enemies, and build a mountain of Cyprian corpses so high it would reach the divine realm itself.
If God wanted entertainment, Devin would give Him a bloodbath He would never forget.