The old chapel stood like a tombstone against the night sky.
Perched on the cliffs overlooking the churning, black sea, the structure was a skeletal ruin. Moonlight streamed through the collapsed roof and empty window frames, painting the crumbling stone in shades of silver and shadow. It had been abandoned for decades, a place of forgotten gods and whispered ghost stories. A perfect place for a secret meeting. Or an ambush.
Duke Theron dismounted, leaving his horse tethered in a small, wooded copse. A hundred yards back, hidden in the darkness, Sir Gareth was doing the same. His loyal knight was his only insurance policy.
He approached the chapel alone, his hand resting on the concealed dagger strapped to his forearm. The air was cold, heavy with the salt of the sea and the scent of decay. He stepped through the great, rotted-out doorway into the main sanctuary.
The interior was a scene of desolate beauty. Broken pews lay scattered like fallen soldiers. Ivy crawled up the stone walls, and the grand altar was covered in a thick blanket of dust. It was utterly silent, save for the whistling of the wind through the broken arches. No one was visible.
"I'm here," Duke called out, his voice steady, betraying none of the tension coiling in his gut. "Show yourself."
For a long moment, the only answer was the sighing of the wind. Then, a figure stepped out from behind the ruined altar, moving with a quiet grace that was completely at odds with the derelict surroundings. The moonlight caught her face, and Duke's breath caught in his throat.
It was Princess Elara.
***
The King's youngest daughter, all of nineteen years old, regarded him with an expression of solemn maturity that went far beyond her age. She was wrapped in a simple, dark cloak, but there was no mistaking her regal bearing.
"Princess?" Duke asked, his mind reeling. Of all the people he might have expected, she was not on the list.
"Thank you for coming, Duke Theron," she said, her voice calm and clear.
"You sent the letter?" he asked, still trying to process her presence.
"I did," she confirmed. "I needed to speak with you away from the palace. Away from the endless web of listening ears and watchful eyes."
Duke remained cautious, his hand still near his dagger. "With all due respect, Your Highness, why the extreme secrecy? Why me?"
"Because the conspiracy against you—and more importantly, against my father—goes much deeper than Lord Chancellor Verin," she said, her words sharp and direct. "And I chose you because you are the only one who has faced them and survived."
"How much do you know?" Duke asked, his voice low.
"Enough to know you're not the villain they painted you as," Elara replied, her gaze unwavering. "And enough to know my father is in grave danger from those closest to him."
***
"For the past year," Elara began, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "I have been using my position to observe. People dismiss me as a child. They speak freely around me, assuming I am interested only in dresses and courtly gossip. They are fools."
She paced in front of the altar, a princess holding court in a ruin. "Lord Verin was ambitious, but he was not a mastermind. He was following orders from someone with far more power and influence. There is a faction of nobles, a shadow council, that has been plotting to overthrow my father for months."
"Overthrow him?" Duke asked, the scope of the plot far exceeding his own assumptions.
"Not to kill him," she clarified. "That would be too crude and would risk a civil war. Their plan is more insidious. They needed a crisis, a scapegoat to create chaos and justify extreme measures. You, with your family's… complicated reputation, were the perfect choice."
The poison plot. It was all coming together. "It was meant to fail," Duke realized aloud. "To be discovered. To sow fear."
"Exactly," Elara confirmed. "Fear that would allow them to declare martial law. They would 'persuade' my father to install a new Regent Council to handle the crisis—a council they would control. My father would remain on the throne, a king in name only, while they ruled the kingdom from the shadows."
"Who leads them?" Duke demanded.
"I don't know all of their names," she admitted. "They are careful. But I know one: Duke Marlowe of the Eastern Province. He has been quietly gathering supporters, promising power and wealth to those who feel they have been overlooked by the crown."
Duke Marlowe. In the game, he was a minor character, a background noble with no significant quests. But here, in this reality, he was the architect of Duke's near-demise.
"I'm telling you this, Duke," Elara said, stopping her pacing to look at him directly, "because you are one of the few people with the power and position to challenge them. And because…" She hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her features for the first time. "Because I've been having strange dreams. About you. About time moving differently. I don't understand it, but I feel… I feel like I can trust you."
***
The final piece of the puzzle clicked into place. The fourth individual.
"Princess," Duke said carefully, "tell me about these dreams."
Elara wrapped her arms around herself, a sudden chill in her posture that had nothing to do with the night air. "They started three nights ago. I see you, standing trial, just as you did. But it's different each time. In one dream, you were found guilty and executed on the spot. In another, you tried to escape and were cut down in the streets. In the most recent one… everything burns. The courtroom, the palace… all of it."
Her words were a direct confirmation of his first two failed loops. The Memory Cascade was not just giving vague feelings; it was showing entire scenes from erased timelines.
"How long have you had them?" he asked, his voice low.
"Three nights," she repeated. "And they are getting stronger, more vivid. I feel the grief as if it were my own. What is happening?"
Duke knew he was taking a risk, but she had trusted him with the conspiracy. He had to offer a piece of the truth in return. "Princess, I need you to listen very carefully," he began. "Those aren't just dreams—"
He was cut off by a sudden sound from outside the chapel—the crunch of boots on gravel. Multiple sets of footsteps, moving with military precision.
Elara's eyes widened in alarm. "Someone followed us."
"Did you tell anyone you were coming here?" Duke asked, his hand closing around the hilt of his dagger.
"No one," she insisted. "Did you?"
He thought of Gareth, but his knight was a master of stealth. This was something else. A gruff voice barked orders from outside.
"Search the chapel! The Princess is here somewhere. Find her!"
Elara paled. "Those are Duke Marlowe's men. I recognize the captain's voice. He must have had me followed."
***
"The back," Duke hissed, grabbing her arm and pulling her toward a collapsed section of the wall that offered a potential escape route. "Quickly!"
They had taken only a few steps when six soldiers, clad in the dark livery of Duke Marlowe, burst through the main entrance, their swords drawn.
"Princess Elara!" the lead soldier shouted, his eyes locking onto Duke. "Step away from the traitor!"
"She came here willingly," Duke said, positioning himself between Elara and the soldiers.
"The Princess has clearly been deceived by this villain," the soldier retorted, advancing slowly. "We are here to protect her from him."
"I don't need your protection!" Elara cried out, her voice ringing with royal authority. But these men didn't serve her father anymore. They served Marlowe.
They advanced, fanning out to surround them. Duke drew his dagger, its blade gleaming in the moonlight. The fight was immediate and brutal. Duke, using the skills of the body he inhabited, parried a sword strike and drove his dagger into the arm of one soldier.
A blur of motion erupted from a side entrance as Gareth, seeing the trap spring, abandoned his post. His longsword was a whirlwind of steel, and he engaged two soldiers at once, his superior skill immediately apparent. It was three against two—Duke and Gareth versus Marlowe's men.
But as they fought, Duke saw one of the other soldiers circle around the fray. He lunged not for the fighters, but for the Princess. He grabbed Elara from behind, clamping a hand over her mouth and pressing the point of a blade to her throat.
"Let her go!" Duke roared, his heart seizing with cold dread.
The soldier holding Elara grinned maliciously. "Drop your weapons," he ordered. "Or the Princess dies with you."
***
The fight came to an abrupt halt. Duke and Gareth were skilled, but they were outmaneuvered. With Elara as a hostage, their position was hopeless.
Slowly, agonizingly, Duke let his dagger fall to the stone floor with a clatter. After a tense moment, Gareth lowered his sword. Immediately, the remaining soldiers were on them, binding their hands tightly behind their backs.
"Duke Theron," the lead soldier said with smug satisfaction, "you are under arrest for the kidnapping and endangerment of Princess Elara."
"That's absurd!" Duke snarled. "She came here to warn me—"
"The King will hear of this treachery," the soldier cut him off, ignoring his protests.
Elara struggled against her captor. "No! He didn't kidnap me! I came here of my own free will! I—"
The soldier holding her struck her hard across the face with the back of his hand. She cried out and slumped, silenced.
A primal rage surged through Duke, and he lunged forward, only to be restrained by two guards who slammed him to his knees. It was all going wrong. This was another trap, more insidious than the last. He wasn't being framed for treason, but for kidnapping royalty—a crime that would see him executed without question.
His mind raced. *I have to Load. Go back to before the meeting. Start over.*
But he hesitated. If he loaded the save, he would be back in his room, safe. But Elara wouldn't remember warning him. He would lose all the information she had just given him about Marlowe and the coup. He would be blind again.
The lead soldier leaned down, his face inches from Duke's. "You're going back to that cell, traitor. And this time, there won't be a trial."
Duke's hand, bound behind his back, clenched into a fist. Load the save and lose the truth? Or stay in this timeline and face certain death?