"The quietest places often hide the loudest thoughts. And sometimes, the garden's peace is just the calm before the storm."
The morning sun was already bright when Lyra Valen found herself wandering deeper into the garden. The fragrance of wisteria and plum blossoms lingered in the air, and the soft rustle of leaves carried a rhythm that only the wind understood.
The Valen estate was large — far too large for one heart to feel at home in. But here, in the garden where the stone lanterns leaned under the weight of time and moss, Lyra always felt a strange kind of peace.
It was her place. Her quiet corner of the world.
The branches above her were thick with early bloom. She brushed her fingers along a vine, watching petals fall into the koi pond nearby.
Here, no one looked at her as the useless daughter. No whispers, no judgment, no pity — just stillness.
But even peace has its limits.
A soft sound broke the quiet — the gentle rustle of fabric behind her. Lyra turned slightly.
A maid stood by the stone path, bowing respectfully. "My lady," the maid said, voice trembling slightly, "the madam requests your presence."
Lyra blinked once, then smiled faintly. "Requests?" she repeated softly. Her tone was calm, almost amused. "Are you sure she requested my presence, or did she demand it?"
The maid froze. Her lips parted, but no words came. She looked away nervously.
Lyra chuckled quietly. "Don't worry," she said, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. "You don't need to answer."
The maid bowed again — lower this time — and turned to leave, the hem of her dress whispering against the stone.
As Lyra watched her go, the smile faded. She tilted her head toward the sky, the faintest glimmer of sunlight reflecting in her eyes.
"So," she murmured to herself, "the serpent calls again."
With that, she leapt down lightly from her tree. Her feet touched the earth without a sound, her black kimono flowing like shadow in the morning light.
She took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and began the quiet walk toward the Madam's courtyard — the one place in the estate where even the birds seemed too afraid to sing.
Meanwhile, across the city — at the grand Aserra Mansion, home of the Asura Clan — the atmosphere was entirely different.
The morning light streamed through the tall windows, painting the chambers in warm gold. The air was filled with laughter — light, genuine laughter that echoed through the halls.
On a massive silk bed, Crystal Aserra sat beside her younger sister Aria, their giggles mixing with the chirping of sparrows outside.
It was a strange sight, even to Crystal herself.
She had lived thirty-five long, bloody years in her past life — as a queen, a general, and a weapon. Yet now, trapped in the body of her fifteen-year-old self, she found herself playing and laughing with a ten-year-old girl who still feared her.
But Aria was different now. Slowly, hesitantly, she had begun to smile again.
And Crystal — who had once drowned in blood and betrayal — could not help but feel warmth bloom in her chest every time she saw it.
As they laughed over something trivial, Aria's eyes glimmered with the kind of innocence Crystal thought she had long forgotten existed.
She's just a child, Crystal thought, her lips curling in a soft smile. And yet… she's stronger than I was.
The realization was almost painful.
She remembered her own youth — arrogant, spoiled, and utterly blind. She had thought the world revolved around her. That love could be earned through loyalty. That pain was something others suffered.
Now, she knew better.
When Aria finally drifted to sleep beside her, Crystal lay there for a while, staring up at the ornate ceiling. The warmth of her sister's small hand in hers was grounding — a reminder that this world, cruel as it was, had given her something rare.
A second chance.
Later, as the sun reached its peak, Crystal rose from the bed. She tucked the blanket around Aria and turned to her maid, Mari, who stood quietly by the door.
"Mari," she said softly. "Stay with her. Don't let anyone disturb her rest."
Mari bowed. "Yes, my lady."
Crystal nodded and stepped into the hallway. The air outside her chambers was cool, touched by the faint scent of sandalwood and ink.
Her steps echoed softly against the stone floor as she walked — slow, measured, deliberate.
She found herself thinking again.
The system.
Those strange, floating words still haunted her mind. Die. Create a Soul Sea. Find your Soul Mate.
Two impossible tasks.
"Create a Soul Sea…" she muttered under her breath, rubbing her temples. "Even my master couldn't do that."
She sighed, her breath fogging faintly in the air.
If she wanted to stay alive — if she wanted to keep the system from erasing her — she had no choice but to try.
The Soul Sea wasn't like ordinary cultivation. It wasn't about qi or technique. It was the direct manifestation of one's soul — and only a few beings in history had ever succeeded in forming it.
But she had another problem.
Her meridians were still sealed.
She could feel chaos energy around her — the faint pulse of the world's rhythm — but her body refused to respond.
Her blood felt heavy, her soul caged.
She remembered the cause.
The poison.
Her hand tightened slightly at the thought.
It wasn't the stab that had killed her in her past life — it was the poison.
The same poison Noah had used to weaken her when they married.
He had made sure she could never surpass him, that she would always depend on him.
And she had been too blind to see it.
Even now, she could still feel its trace within her — a cold, dull ache that pulsed faintly beneath her skin.
"I could unseal it," she whispered to herself. "But at what cost?"
There was one cultivation technique — one forbidden method — that could force her meridians open again.
But she remembered what came with it.
Pain.
Agony.
Nights of unbearable torment under the full moon, her body convulsing as the energy clawed its way through her poisoned veins.
She had done it before — all for Noah.
She had endured it because she wanted to stand beside him, equal in strength, equal in love.
But love had turned to betrayal, and that same pain had become her curse.
Now, she stood there in silence, her hand pressed lightly to her chest.
"Noah," she murmured. "You took everything from me once. This time, I'll take everything from you."
The words were quiet, but the air around her shifted — faintly, almost imperceptibly. A pulse of chaos energy rippled and faded, as if her very will stirred the world.
Then she sighed softly and turned toward the window.
Outside, the wind carried the scent of spring and distant incense. The world moved as it always had — unaware that one woman was quietly rewriting her fate.
For now, she would wait.
She would plan.
And when the time came, she would endure whatever pain was needed to reclaim her power.
"To defy heaven is not courage—it's remembering the pain of every lifetime, and choosing to rise again."