For Our Cherished One

The very next day, I found myself summoned to the main palace. Anxiety churned in my stomach as I walked through the grand hallways, every step echoing ominously against the stone walls. My mind raced with possibilities, each more dreadful than the last.

Why would the villainess call me here?

The weight of her title—Countess Shanis Mysetria—was enough to make my palms sweat. She was a key player in the story, and not one you wanted to cross. This was the woman I had written as both ruthless and brilliant, a person who could dismantle her enemies with a single glance or a carefully placed word. Had I messed up the story's initial phase so badly that she was about to deal with me personally?

My heart thumped louder with every step as I was led deeper into the castle by a knight. The audience room was just ahead, its towering doors carved with intricate patterns of roses and thorns—a fitting symbol for someone like Shanis.

But then, as I stepped through the threshold, my breath hitched. Seated casually to the side, like he had all the time in the world, was none other than Magoth Harlund—the man who had vanished after our match.

Magoth glanced at me, his expression unreadable as he stood and fell into step behind me. My unease deepened. What was he doing here? He hadn't even been present for the recruit ceremony. And now, here he was, as though he had never disappeared in the first place.

The knight led us into the audience room, a grand space filled with sunlight streaming through stained-glass windows. The vibrant colors painted the room in hues of red, gold, and blue, casting an almost ethereal glow over the polished stone floor.

Inside, Countess Shanis sat on a high-backed chair, her fiery red hair cascading over her shoulders like a waterfall of flames. She was the picture of composure, though the sharpness in her gaze betrayed a simmering intensity.

The knight bowed and exited, leaving just the three of us—Shanis, Magoth, and me.

And then it began.

"Are you out of your mind, Evangeline Rullett?" Shanis's voice cut through the silence like a blade, filled with barely restrained anger.

I froze, my mind blank. Evangeline? My heart dropped into my stomach. She knew. She knew my name.

"Huh?" I managed to croak, my voice weak against the weight of her accusation.

Shanis stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. She took a step forward, her movements controlled yet brimming with tension. "You dare to use a false name—'Ellen'—and parade yourself as a mere recruit? What exactly are you playing at?"

I blinked rapidly, scrambling for a response. "I—I don't know what you mean—"

"Don't lie to me," she interrupted, her tone icy. "Do you have any idea the danger you've put yourself—and the rest of us—in by being here?"

Danger? What danger? My thoughts spiraled as I tried to piece together what she was saying. She thinks I'm Evangeline… but why? The protagonist's name wasn't supposed to be known at this stage of the story—especially not by Shanis.

Before I could find my voice, Magoth stepped forward, his calm demeanor in stark contrast to Shanis's fury. He looked at me with that same quiet intensity I had seen during our match.

"Do you truly not recognize me?" he asked softly.

My confusion deepened. "Recognize you? What are you talking about?"

Magoth's brow furrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line. "You really don't know, do you?" he murmured, almost to himself.

Shanis crossed her arms, her frustration palpable. "This is absurd. You're either lying, or you've forgotten everything. Either way, this is reckless."

"I'm not lying!" I snapped, surprising even myself with the force of my words. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just—" I hesitated, the truth catching in my throat. "I'm just Ellen."

Magoth's eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze searching mine. "If that's true," he said, stepping closer, "then prove it."

Before I could ask what he meant, he lunged.

Magoth's blade was drawn in an instant, the metallic ring filling the room as he slashed toward me with startling precision. My instincts screamed, and I barely managed to draw my own weapon in time to deflect the strike. The force sent me stumbling back, my heart pounding in my ears.

"What are you doing?!" I shouted, panic lacing my voice.

But Magoth didn't answer. His attacks came relentlessly, each one faster and more calculated than the last. It was as if he was testing me, pushing me to my limits.

And then, something shifted.

That same surge of energy I had felt during our match coursed through me, sharp and undeniable. My vision sharpened, the world around me slowing to a crawl. My body moved on its own, the blade in my hand an extension of myself as I countered Magoth's strikes with a precision I didn't fully understand.

Our blades clashed again and again, the room echoing with the sound of steel on steel. I twisted, parried, and struck with a fluidity that shouldn't have been possible. It wasn't me—it was the protagonist's instincts, taking over once more.

With one final move, I slipped past Magoth's guard, my blade halting just an inch from his throat.

The room fell silent.

Magoth's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise breaking through his calm facade. Slowly, he lowered his weapon, his lips curling into a faint, almost approving smile.

Shanis, however, looked far from pleased. Her gaze bore into me, her expression a mix of frustration and something else—something unreadable.

"Well," she said after a long pause, her tone laced with sarcasm, "it seems you haven't lost everything."