[1] Prologue
Fernciana slowly drew her sword.
Her hand throbbed with pain, but it was a familiar agony. Blood spurted from the wound, staining her clothes and cheek. In front of her lay a man dressed in luxurious garments, his eyes wide open in shock.
No—”lay” might not be the right word. He was already dead.
What am I supposed to do now?
Holding her sword low, Fernciana stared blankly ahead. No answers came. This wasn’t the kind of life where one could envision something sweet and hopeful after exacting revenge. She slowly reached up and pulled away the black cloth that had been covering her face.
She exhaled. As the cold air passed her lips, it formed a fleeting, frosty mist, like shards of ice breaking apart.
The blood seeping from the man’s body spread across the floor, reaching her feet. Fernciana slowly bent down and picked up a crescent-shaped blue shard—the Emerald Tabula, the object she had long been seeking.
Tucking it away, Fernciana began to walk slowly, her sword dragging along the floor. She opened the doors of the Emperor’s bedchamber, but the palace, engulfed in pitch-black darkness, was eerily silent. The only sound was the rasp of her blade scraping the ground.
What am I supposed to do now…
Fernciana let go of her sword. It fell with a clatter that echoed throughout the chamber.
Should I die now?
She had assassinated the Emperor—there was no chance of survival. No one would sympathize with her cause, no one would raise a glass with her in grief. Though she had retrieved the object she sought, she had no idea what to do with it now.
Without thought, she simply walked. The layout of the palace—memorized so thoroughly she could recite it in her sleep—now guided her feet of its own accord.
Her mind felt blank. She hadn’t expected to feel elated after her revenge, but this wasn’t right either. She hadn’t imagined it would feel so hollow, so unreal, as if she were being cheated.
But if this isn’t it—if this is wrong—then what was her life even for? A life lived solely for revenge… what becomes of it now?
As she wandered forward, blankly staring ahead, Fernciana suddenly looked up at the sight of a large portrait.
It was a woman wrapped in a golden silk dress. Her long blue hair flowed like water, and her dignified expression gazed down at Fernciana.
Fernciana blinked and stared at the portrait.
The woman in the painting looked exactly like her. The only difference was their eyes. The woman had the same blue hair, but her eyes were also blue.
Fernciana knew who she was.
It was her mother.
Fernciana reached up and pulled the pin from her hair. Her long locks tumbled down like a waterfall. Even in this moonlit room, the blue color of her hair was unmistakable.
Clutching her hair in her hand, she looked up at the portrait. She had no idea why such a painting existed here.
At that moment, she heard movement behind her. Fernciana spun around.
“…Huh?”
“Em…press?”
A man stared at her with narrowed eyes. His soft cream-colored hair gave him a gentle appearance, but his outfit was precise and formal. His jet-black eyes were fixed on her—and she knew exactly who he was.
He was the man who had posed the greatest threat to her infiltration. The Emperor’s closest confidant. The man rumored to know everything that happened in the Empire, even if an ant crawled across its land—Ilias Seiran, the infamous spymaster.
Footsteps echoed in the distance—soldiers running toward them. Ilias snapped out of his daze and rushed toward her.
Fernciana simply looked at the man grabbing her arm. She had accomplished her goal, and without a plan for what came next, she was like a ship adrift with a torn sail.
“No, you can’t be the Empress… Who are you?”
“….”
Who am I?
That question had lost all meaning years ago. It had been so long since anyone had spoken her name, or she had spoken it aloud, that her tongue fumbled with the thought. Even if she could speak, she had no desire to.
The sound of soldiers running grew louder. They were clearly searching for an intruder.
Ilias glanced toward the hallway, then back at her. But Fernciana continued to stare at him, blankly.
The footsteps drew nearer.
“What the hell happened here…?”
Looking around, Ilias bit his lip and dragged her through a nearby door. Moonlight poured in from a balcony beyond.
The room smelled of dust, like it hadn’t been used in ages. Coughing slightly, Ilias pulled her toward the balcony.
It seemed he wanted to interrogate her quietly, but he never got the chance. A single candle flickered beside the balcony window, casting light over a figure.
The figure stirred, sensing movement. Though the dim light made it hard to see clearly, it was clear the figure was a man, holding a slim book in one hand.
“Lord Seiran? How did you find this place? Who is the woman be—”
He was likely about to ask who the woman behind Ilias was. But just then, the clouds parted, and moonlight illuminated Fernciana’s face. The man stopped mid-sentence, stunned.
“…Mother…?”
Fernciana blinked slowly at the unfamiliar word. The moonlight now revealed the man’s face.
A man in his mid-to-late twenties wearing light robes—he looked exactly like her. The only difference was his hair color. It felt like staring into a strange mirror.
Mother?
She repeated the word in her head, but it took time to register. Understanding was even slower.
The soldiers’ footsteps were now echoing into the room. The man suddenly snapped to attention and approached her.
Fernciana stared as he grabbed her arm. Up close, his resemblance to her was undeniable. Like a perfect painting—her own face, exactly.
“Who are you?”
“…Who are you?”
The Emperor had looked at her the same way—as if witnessing a miracle. He had accepted his death, offering his heart to her blade.
Why had he done that? Why had he looked like that?
Who was this man?
“I am the Empire’s Second Prince—Terrenciana. Who are you!? Damn it, Lord Seiran! Who is this woman?!”
“Prince…?”
Only then did Terrenciana seem to notice the blood staining her clothes. He gripped her shoulders tightly.
“Who are you?! Why do you have the same face as my mother and me?!”
“…Mother…?”
Fernciana looked at him in confusion. Second Prince—Terrenciana. And his mother… Ilias had called her “Empress?”
The man shook her, desperate.
“I asked who you are! What were you doing?! Lord Seiran, who is she?!”
But Ilias Seiran had no answers either. He narrowed his eyes at her in silence. Fernciana stammered.
“I… I’m Fernciana. I came for revenge… for Ser and Mother…”
“Ser? Mother? Who—who did you want revenge on…?”
Why had she felt something was off?
What was wrong?
Why had the Emperor killed Mother and Serlim?
Why had she never once called Serlim “father”? Why was her mother “Mother,” but Serlim was just “Serlim”?
And who was this Prince?
Fernciana clutched her head. Everything was unraveling. She felt something was terribly wrong, but couldn’t tell what it was.
She had already stabbed the Emperor’s heart. There was no going back. But now it seemed something was off—something fundamental.
“You don’t mean… you killed His Majesty…?!”
Fernciana stumbled backward. Her vision blurred.
The Emperor could have called for help when he saw her, but he didn’t. He dismissed everyone instead. Even as he turned pale at her words, he pulled something from his robes and gave it to her.
“B-but no matter what you do, you can’t assassinate His Majesty. The Emerald Tabula… I don’t know what’s going on, but we need to talk this out…”
Fernciana pulled it from her clothes—the crescent-shaped green gem, the Emerald Tabula. Ilias’s eyes changed as he reached for it, but Fernciana staggered away.
“How do you have that…?!”
She clutched it tightly and leaned against the balcony railing. Terrenciana reached out.
“I can’t let you go until I know who you are and what this is about!”
“But… he’s already dead.”
Fernciana stared at the prince, dazed.
The Emperor was said to be unkillable—not just in legend or metaphor, but because of this very jewel. The Emerald Tabula, said to have been given to the founding king by the Fairy King, made the bearer invulnerable to poison or assassination.
Many dismissed it as superstition. But Fernciana knew the truth—she had come for this very gem.
And the Emperor had handed it to her himself.
That’s why he could be killed.
Suddenly, the balcony window she leaned against gave way.
A gust of wind blew in through the open window, snuffing out the candle. Fernciana stumbled, her back hitting the railing.
It was Ilias Seiran who reacted first.
“You… you’re the Empress’s—?! No, Her Majesty’s death wasn’t the Emperor’s decision, it was—”
“What… are you even saying…?”
Ilias reached out desperately. But Fernciana didn’t take his hand.
Here stood a man who looked just like her. A man who claimed the Emperor hadn’t ordered her mother’s death.
Then who did?
Who was this man—this “prince”? If the Emperor didn’t kill Serlim and Mother, then who did?
Her mind spun. She couldn’t think clearly.
“Hey!”
“No… it’s already… too late…”
It couldn’t be wrong. It mustn’t be. The Emperor was already dead. He killed Serlim and Mother, so she killed him—
Then the door burst open.
“Your Highness?! Lord Seiran! Are you safe?!”
“Seize her! She assassinated His Majesty!”
“Wait, no! Just a moment—!”
Terrenciana shouted, but the soldiers rushed in before he could stop them.
“Your Majesty…?!”
Even the soldiers froze at the sight of her, their faces pale with shock. Fernciana looked at the room full of soldiers, and at Terrenciana and Ilias in front of them. As the prince argued with the guards, Ilias reached out to her again.
Something is wrong.
Even as she stumbled, Fernciana knew it.
And then—lightning struck. Rain began to pour from the clouds.
“Don’t do anything reckless! Come back!”
Ilias called out desperately. Fernciana, still gripping the jewel tightly, instinctively grabbed the railing.
A second bolt of lightning flashed. In that blinding light—Fernciana fell over the edge.
“No!”
She saw Ilias and Terrenciana rushing toward her, their movements slow and distant. Even as she fell, she didn’t reach for them.
The last thing she saw before losing consciousness was the world-shattering thunder and a bolt of lightning sharp enough to burn through her nerves.
