"Oh, our radiant princess! You are so beautiful, your golden hair is the pride of our empire" Susie gushed, her enthusiasm a flood without restraint.

  "The very embodiment of grace! But, wait—this hat! No, no, the pink gown! Or perhaps the red? Yes, bring them all!"

  The room shimmered with the soft decadence of wealth, a world spun from silk and gilded glass. Mirrored walls captured the golden glow of chandeliers, their flickering light dancing over cascades of fabric draped in excess.

  Perfumed air coiled in delicate wisps, heavy with the scent of jasmine and opulence, while laughter hushed, conspiratorial fluttered from the lips of handmaidens flitting through the space like birds in a jeweled cage.

  Princess Irene exhaled, measured, composed, though her fingers twitched with the urge to press against her temple. "Susie, restraint," she murmured.

  "Restraint? My dear princess, how could I? This is a momentous occasion! His Majesty would be utterly heartbroken if we did anything less than perfection."

  "Fine," Irene relented, though her tone bore the weight of indulgent resignation. "But at least some moderation."

  "Moderation?" Susie scoffed, scandalized, clapping her hands. "Bring the finest shoes! Gloves, fans, casual dresses, gowns for court—where is the girl for measurements? Do you not see who stands before you?"

  The way they treat the princess is no different from how children handle their favorite dolls, dress her up, parade her around, smile for the guests. She's meant to be seen, not heard.

  A princess. A doll. A precious ornament to be adorned and displayed.

  Irene smiled, serene as porcelain, but within, irritation simmered. She had lived this scene a thousand times, had drowned in its artifice for as long as she could remember. Yet today, something felt different. Something pressed against the walls of her mind, something she could neither ignore nor forget.

  Her gaze landed on a dress, deep violet dress. Her breath hitched.

  She had awoken three nights ago, trembling beneath the weight of a dream too cruel, too vivid to be mere illusion.

  Flames licking at marble halls, screams twisting through the corridors, blood staining pristine gowns as steel carved through flesh. She had stood there, helpless, as he tore through everything, his presence a nightmare clad in violet armor.

  Lucien Sinclair. The name had been nothing but a whisper in her past life, a ghost unmentioned in courts, absent from gatherings, unseen in all the years of her first life. And yet, one day, he had emerged from the abyss, his name spoken only in horror, his deeds immortalized in ruin.

  The city had burned. The castle had crumbled. And she was forced to see death of her loved ones

  Irene clenched the fabric in her fists, knuckles whitening.

  A delusion would not be so precise, so excruciatingly real. She could not dismiss it. She would not dismiss it. If there was even the faintest sliver of truth, she would seize it with both hands.

  Never again.

  A knock at the door broke the suffocating silence of her thoughts. A servant bowed low. "My lady, Count Delorah’s daughter, Lady Jessica, has arrived to meet you."

  Irene smoothed her expression, exhaling slow. "Guide her to the greenhouse. Prepare tea and cakes."

  She turned to Susie, offering a practiced smile. "I’ll return shortly. There’s something urgent I must discuss."

  "Oh, but do return swiftly, my lady! We have much to prepare."

  Irene left the room, her heart a drumbeat of purpose.

  Jessica’s voice cut through her thoughts as she entered the greenhouse. "Finally! You do love making me wait, don’t you?"

  Irene offered a soft laugh, the kind meant to soothe and distract. "Apologies, Lady Jessica. And thank you—I know this was a sudden request."

  Jessica waved it off with a smirk. "Oh, please. What are friends for? Not to mention, we’re practically family. Of course, I’d do this much for you. But tell me, how goes the shopping?"

  Irene sighed, feigning weariness. "Hectic. I bought three hundred pairs of shoes in one day."

  Jessica gasped, placing a hand over her chest in mock horror. "Only three hundred? Darling, every girl needs at least six hundred!"

  They laughed, the sound light as air, masking the gravity of their conversation.

  Jessica slid a folder across the table, eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Here. Everything I could find about the man you asked me to look into. But I have to say, Irene, how did you even come across a name so... mysterious?"

  Irene’s fingers hovered over the documents. "Mysterious?"

  Jessica leaned forward, lowering her voice. "The Sinclair name is a footnote in history, buried beneath the vast branches of the Duke of Aquitaine’s extended family. They were never powerful, and now? They’re barely clinging to relevance, losing land and influence by the year. And yet... the name you mentioned, Lucien Sinclair was nowhere to be found among their remaining family members."

  Irene’s breath stilled. Wanting to ask something but refrained herself from it.

  Jessica continued, voice tinged with intrigue. "I had my men dig deeper. Around ninety years ago, the Sinclair's had two brothers. The elder, Diego Sinclair, was meant to inherit the family, but he was cast aside—branded mad, accused of witchcraft. They say he created a miniature sun that illuminated the night. That he was a heretic. His punishment was minor... until word spread that he had married a witch."

  "The Aquitaine family, the royal court, the church, they exiled him and his wife to the Devil’s Forest, fully expecting them to perish. But they didn’t."

  Jessica’s eyes gleamed.

  "With time. The rumors faded, forgotten by time and cases against them were no longer relevant. But Diego Sinclair continued to update the family registry from devil's forest, as if to remind the world he still existed, he even poured money in a few people mouth to clear his name and was successful achieving it, his exile technically ended, but they still can't enter empire, without legal permission. He had sixteen adopted children—five died last year. And now?"

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  She tapped the final page. "He himself passed a few days ago. The new head of that forgotten lineage has been recorded. And guess what name was written?"

  Jessica’s lips curled into a knowing smirk. "Lucien Sinclair."

  Irene’s hands trembled over the parchment.

  She had found him.

  "Jessica, answer me truthfully. If I wanted to eliminate Lucien Sinclair, completely erase him, how would I do it? Would brute force suffice, or must I go further? Should I hire assassin or mercenaries."

  Jessica arched a delicate brow, unfazed by the weight in Irene’s voice. She leaned back, fingers tapping thoughtfully against the velvet armrest.

  "Lucien and his kin live in the Devil’s Forest, surrounded on all sides by the Stellar Mountains. That place is a natural fortress. Even the gods hesitate to enter. The land rejects intruders. The forest is wild, untouched, and the mist that hangs there is something far worse than death."

  "No ordinary man could breach its depths. Not assassins, not spies. Even the most skilled adventurers avoid the region. The mountains alone are nearly impossible to cross. The mist doesn’t just confuse your path, it breaks the mind of anyone who tries to push through. It takes away your sense of direction, your breath, even your will to move. Reaching him isn’t just dangerous. It’s nearly impossible."

  Irene said nothing. Her expression remained calm, but her mind was already racing.

  Jessica studied her in silence, eyes sharp. She noticed the tension, the stillness in Irene’s shoulders. Then she spoke again, her tone cool and certain.

  "If we cannot attack him directly, then how about we force him to step in our world. Not through force, but through design. Watch him. Learn his strengths and weaknesses. Break his foundation. Separate him from his allies. If we do it right, he won’t realize he’s being trapped until it’s too late. And when he’s alone, exposed—you finish it."

  Irene exhaled slowly. "It’s possible. But how do we bring him out?

  She leaned in, voice low and measured.

  "There’s an event coming soon. A public one. Make him to take his first real step into noble society. If we prepare the stage properly, we control how he appears. We gather information, damage his reputation, isolate him socially. And if the right moment presents itself, we take him down. I don’t know your full reason for wanting him gone. But knowing you, it isn’t without cause. I’ll help you."

  A flicker of something cold and cruel lit up Irene’s eyes.

  A soft knock interrupted the silence.

  The door creaked open, and a young servant stepped inside, eyes lowered in respect.

  "Princess Irene," he said, bowing slightly, "His Majesty has arrived. He wishes to personally select your ceremonial attire."

  Irene’s composure remained steady, but a flicker of tension passed through her eyes. She stood, smoothing the folds of her dress with quiet precision.

  Irene: "Thank you, Jessica, for your help… and your time."

  Jessica gave a measured nod. "Anytime, Irene. Be careful."

  Irene turned without another word, disappearing with the servant in tow. The sound of her footsteps faded quickly, leaving a strange stillness behind.

  Jessica didn’t move.

  For a moment, she simply stared at the door.

  "So sudden," she whispered to herself. "Lucien Sinclair. A man she barely knew, now she wants him dead. Why? For what reason is she showing such aggression? I have never seen her like that before. How problematic. Just to impress her I have to take part in all this bullshit that doesn’t even concern me."

  She rose slowly, walking to the tall window overlooking the palace gardens. Mist clung faintly to the glass, veiling the view like a warning.

  Her brow furrowed, and she folded her arms tightly across her chest.

  "Irene is powerful. Sharp. She wouldn’t move like this without a reason. But who else is making moves in the same direction? And why?"

  She exhaled, the breath fogging the glass.

  "Lucien Sinclair… just what are you to make such powerful people suddenly start to see you as their enemy?"

  She stepped back from the window, the weight of possibility settling in her chest.

  "Whatever's waiting at Stellar Mountain… it won’t stay hidden much longer."

  [ BASE OF THE STELLAR MOUNTAIN ]

  Far beyond, at the very threshold of the Stellar Forest, a place once dominated by the whisper of wind, the murmuring of streams, and the ceaseless chorus of unseen creatures, the air was no longer serene. Today, it was alive with movement, carriages crowding the forest’s edge, boots crunching against damp earth, and voices muttering in hushed urgency. Men cloaked in black moved like shadows, some standing watch, others mapping the terrain, each one preparing for the hunt that lay ahead.

  A mercenary, draped in dark leathers, peered up at the towering expanse before them. His voice, tinged with skepticism, broke the stillness.

  "So, this is the infamous Stellar Mountains… standing tall, guarding our world from that cursed Devil’s Forest. Doesn’t seem as terrifying as the legends claim. If anything, it’s... beautiful."

  Beside him, a more seasoned warrior scoffed.

  "Don’t let that beauty fool you. There’s a reason it’s classified as Class-A difficulty. Only a handful have ever ventured through it and returned, none with good things to say. And if this mountain is the guardian, imagine what horrors lie beyond, waiting in the forest it keeps at bay."

  Another mercenary, a grizzled man with a jagged scar across his cheek, smirked.

  "A mountain of monsters and death, with no gold, no silver, no dungeons, it is just chaos in its rawest form. No wonder people steer clear. Who in their right mind would challenge it without reason? And yet, here we are… about to test it."

  A chuckle rippled through the group as another spoke, voice laced with greed.

  "Well, this time, the reward is worth the risk. Imagine, someone paying a fortune to track and kill some no-name hermit. A simple woods-dweller. And not just any pay but gold, riches, gems enough to make us kings for a night. Even split among us, the reward will still be hefty!"

  Laughter erupted, harsh and guttural, but one of the more pragmatic men cut in, his voice tempered with caution.

  "Gold or not, we’ll need the local tribesmen. They’re the only ones who know the secret paths through this wilderness. Without their guidance, even our speed won’t save us from getting lost or worse."

  The scarred mercenary smirked, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

  "Already taken care of. As we speak, my men are rounding up a few of those tribal traders from the market, the kind who think they can roam the outskirts without consequence. They’ll either lead us to their people willingly… or we’ll just follow them home."

  The conversation darkened. Another scoffed, shaking his head.

  "Your men are animals. If our employer or any higher ups of guild find out about what happened at the last village, we will be in huge trouble."

  The scarred man only grinned wider.

  "Don't worry too much, no one Cares that much for some mountain vermin, besides we need them for our mission. Free supplies, goods ripe for the market, a little fun on the side. Tell me, what’s so wrong with that?"

  A silence lingered. Then, another voice, low and knowing.

  "You’re planning to do the same with the tribes, aren’t you? That’s why you ordered a sweep of multiple groups, even when we already had contacts."

  "Why not?" the man shrugged. "Free goods. And besides, I’ve never tasted tribal cuisine. Might as well take the opportunity… and offer better ‘positions’ to those who deserve it."

  A cruel chuckle followed, then another voice, smooth and dripping with malice.

  "You’re a devil." A pause. A grin. "But this time… I get first pick of the most delicious-looking one."

  "So, who exactly are we hunting? If someone's willing to throw this much gold without even thinking twice, the target must be more than just some backwater hermit."

  The scarred man, clearly the one enjoying this mission the most leaned back against a tree, arms crossed, smirking.

  "Some no-good heretics, I suppose. At least, that’s what the orders said."

  "Heretics?" Another scoffed. "Is that just a fancy way of saying they pissed off the wrong people?"

  "Most likely." The scarred man shrugged. "Don't, know his name though"

  In the tent, a conference meeting was held while others enjoyed their time.

  Voice coming out from an orb:” is everything going just as planned”

  Sheen:” yes commander kael we have already acquired someone who is related to tribes living in the mountain, he is ready to do exactly what we desire as long as we cater his wish”

  “And what is that”

  Sheen:” he wants to accompany us to the other side”

  “Why does he want to go? Is he a lunatic or just a random, take him along with you if these mean he will obey, but don't lower your guard around him. ”

  Sheen:“His reasons are still quite not clear, but clearly he is not someone completely useless. He is actually pretty strong, it seems like he is pretty proficient in magic of different kinds”

  “If he is useful, then it is not a bad thing. Still do not trust him who knows what is his actual goal, just use him as much as you can without losing anything.”

  Sheen:” got it, commander, I will keep my eyes on him ”

  “Good, just follow the strategy I gave it to you, it shouldn't be much issue soon once a proper chain is established I will send more men and if needed I will join as well”

  Silent knife:” commander, can I ask you something “

  “What is it”

  Silent Knife: "On our way here, we ran into some decent folks, they needed laborers. I was thinking, maybe we could help them out... you know how."

  "You’re talking about selling the ones you captured as slaves, aren’t you? Fine. Do it. It’s none of my concern—just don’t let it slow down your real job. I am cutting this now"

  "Thanks for the permission, Commander. With your leadership, this will be flawless. Soon enough, we’ll be drowning in riches, just like you predicted."

  “No need for any of this flattery of yours. Just do what you have been told”

  With these final words coming out from the orb, its light finally faded