The moon hung high over the Darkstar estate, draping everything in a sheet of silver light.
Inside his dimly lit chamber, Naomi lay restless atop the grand bed. Sleep evaded him, not because of fear — but because of the sight before him.
Seraphina, the white-haired knight, sat slumped by the wall, her armored form awkwardly sprawled, sword still clutched tightly in her hands even as sleep claimed her.
Her loyalty was a silent, painful thing — and Naomi felt a knot tighten in his chest at the sight.
"She must have spent countless nights like this," Naomi thought bitterly. "Guarding a boy the world spat upon."
He called out softly, "Seraphina."
Her eyes fluttered open instantly, sharp and alert despite her exhaustion.
"Yes, my lord," she answered, bowing her head.
"You don't have to sleep on the floor," Naomi said, voice gentle. "Come. Rest here, beside me."
There was a pause — a long one — as if she weighed the propriety of such a command. Then, without complaint, she stood and said coldly, "As you wish, my lord."
Still clad in her armor, she climbed onto the wide bed but kept her back turned to him, facing the window.
Naomi chuckled quietly, a little embarrassed by her rigid formality.
"You can take off the armor, Seraphina," he said. "Relax. I won't bite."
Another brief silence. Then, dutifully, she began removing her heavy gear, setting aside her breastplate, gauntlets, and boots until only a simple, tight-fitting black tunic and leggings remained underneath. She laid stiffly at the edge of the bed, her sword still within arm's reach.
Naomi watched her in the moonlight — the curve of her back, the fall of her silver hair over the pillow — and wondered: Why?
Why would someone so strong, so dignified, chain herself to someone the world had given up on?
His thoughts drifted like smoke, and soon, fatigue overtook him.
In his dreams, the darkness closed in.
Naomi saw himself — or rather, Nel — a small, frail boy crushed under the weight of the Darkstar name.
He saw Murin laughing as he beat him.
He saw soldiers sneering, mocking him openly.
He saw the cold gaze of the Duke — a father in name only — watching in detached silence as his son was broken over and over again.
And then...
Through the blur of pain and sorrow, Naomi saw something else.
Nel — the real Nel — crouched over a bloodstained circle carved into the floor, desperately chanting under his breath.
Before him, a faint, luminous figure appeared — a woman, ethereal and weeping.
"Soul..." Nel whispered. "I don't want to disappear..."
The soul — Naomi's own mother from his previous life — knelt beside Nel, touched his broken face, and whispered words Naomi could not hear.
The world spun. Light shattered.
And Naomi awoke — gasping for air.
He clutched at his chest, eyes wild, heart racing. Sweat matted his hair to his forehead.
Breathless, he looked down at his hands. They were still his — or rather, Nel's.
"So it was you, Mom..." Naomi whispered into the silent room. "You made this happen. But why?"
No answer came from the night.
Turning his head, he realized Seraphina was no longer beside him.
The faint creak of the outer door suggested she had slipped away — perhaps to wash or refresh herself.
The night air drifted in through the window, carrying with it the scents of a strange new world — a world Naomi now inhabited.
A world he would no longer bow to.
He leaned back against the pillows, the shadows of his dreams still clinging to him, and whispered into the dark:
"I'll find the reason you sent me here, Mom. I swear it."
Outside, the stars burned cold and eternal — as if watching.
The heavy weight of realization settled into Naomi's chest.
Nel was dead.
The weak, bullied boy who had borne the Darkstar name like a curse was gone — and now, Naomi, a soul from another world, wore his skin.
If he wanted to survive in this ruthless land, he would have to rise.
He would have to be more than Nel had ever been.
More cunning. More ruthless.
More dangerous.
Naomi closed his eyes, gathering his turbulent thoughts, when a sudden knock broke the stillness.
A soldier — clad in the Duke's black-and-silver livery — stepped inside, bowing deeply.
"My lord," the man said respectfully. "Your fiancée has entered the Duchy's gates. She requests an audience."
Naomi stiffened.
"Fiancée...?" he thought, his mind racing. "Nel was engaged?"
He masked his confusion with a calm nod. "Thank you. You may leave."
The soldier saluted crisply and backed away, vanishing down the marble corridor.
Left alone once more, Naomi leaned his head back against the bedframe, frowning.
"Another problem I know nothing about..." he thought grimly.
He stared up at the ornate ceiling, feeling the web of the old Nel's life tightening around him.
He would have to learn quickly — who was friend, who was foe — and where the real dangers lurked.
"Who is she? Why appear now, when 'Nel' has only just awakened?"
The name of his mysterious fiancée came to mind, a whisper he barely remembered from Seraphina's earlier words:
Lilith Ravenshade.
Black hair like a raven's wing. Eyes as dark and sharp as obsidian.
A noble heiress whose family was once famous for their mastery of forbidden magic arts — and whose loyalty to the Darkstars was as uncertain as the shifting winds.
Naomi let out a long breath.
He had survived a world of cruelty before.
He would survive this one too — but this time, he would rule it.
As the sun rose behind the great stone walls of Darkstar Keep, the true game of survival had finally begun.
And the first move belonged to Lilith Ravenshade.
To be continue....