Han Seo-yeon had been an orphan for as long as she could remember.
She did not recall her parents' faces, nor did she miss them. In the orphanage, people came and went like passing seasons—children adopted, caretakers replaced, promises made and broken without warning. It was a place where attachment only led to quiet disappointment, and so she learned early not to cling to anything destined to disappear.
She had never wished for a mother.
She had never wished for a father.
Those were fragile dreams, easily shattered.
What she had always wanted… was a brother.
Not someone who would stand above her as a protector, nor someone who would guide her like a parent. She didn't long for warmth born from obligation. What she wanted was simpler, and perhaps far more difficult to obtain—someone who would stand beside her.
Someone who would walk the same path.
Someone who would argue with her over trivial things, share meals in comfortable silence, and face the world not as something to endure alone—but together.
It was a small wish.
A foolish one.
And one that was never fulfilled.
Seo-yeon lived quietly, and she died just as quietly.
There were no grand final moments. No tearful goodbyes. No one calling her name.
Just a fading breath… and darkness.
And then—
She opened her eyes.
The world that greeted her was unfamiliar.
The bed beneath her was far too large, its sheets soft in a way she had never known. Above her, a high ceiling stretched endlessly, adorned with intricate golden patterns that gleamed faintly in the dim light. Everything felt distant, as though she had been placed inside a painting rather than a real place.
Her body felt wrong.
Too small.
Too light.
When she tried to move, her limbs responded sluggishly, uncoordinated and weak. Panic flickered briefly in her chest as she forced herself to sit up, only to nearly topple over from the effort.
She opened her mouth to speak.
Only a soft, broken sound escaped.
Her voice… wasn't hers.
It was thin, fragile—like that of a child.
A terrible realization settled over her.
She was three years old.
Before she could fully process it, memories surged forward—not her own, yet undeniably hers now. They came in fragments at first, then all at once, flooding her mind with unfamiliar names, places, and emotions.
This body.
This life.
This fate.
She was Elira Noctis.
The Second Princess of the Noctis Empire.
A powerless child born into a world where magic defined one's worth. Strength was everything, and those without it were cast aside without hesitation.
She was what they called "normal."
A word spoken not with kindness, but with quiet disdain.
Useless.
Invisible.
Ignored by servants, dismissed by nobles, and forgotten by the very palace she lived in.
Her existence held no value.
Then, like a shadow creeping into her thoughts, another memory surfaced—heavy, suffocating.
The Empress had died in childbirth.
The weight of it pressed down on her chest, though she knew it was not her grief to bear. Still, it lingered, shaping the atmosphere of the palace around her.
The door to the room creaked open.
For a moment, she thought someone had come.
But it closed again just as quickly.
No one entered.
No one stayed.
The palace was in mourning—
But not for her.
Slowly, her gaze shifted.
There, beside the bed, stood a cradle.
Inside it lay a newborn child, wrapped carefully in dark silk that contrasted sharply with his pale skin. His tiny chest rose and fell with quiet breaths, unaware of the world he had just entered.
Prince Kael Noctis.
The Third Prince.
The child blamed for the Empress's death.
The one the empire would come to fear, to reject… and eventually, to create into something monstrous.
A distant memory stirred within her—of a novel she had once read. A tragic story of a forsaken prince who grew into a villain, burning cities and reducing the empire that abandoned him to ashes.
That child—
Was him.
And yet, as she looked at him now, there was nothing terrifying about him.
He was small.
Fragile.
Alone.
No one came to hold him.
No one came to look at him.
Just like her.
Elira—no, Seo-yeon—slowly climbed down from the bed. Her small legs trembled beneath her weight, each step uncertain as she made her way toward the cradle. The distance was short, yet it felt impossibly long.
When she finally reached it, she hesitated.
Then the baby stirred.
Tiny fingers curled instinctively, searching—reaching—for warmth.
For someone.
Her chest tightened.
Without thinking, she extended her hand.
His fingers wrapped around hers.
So small.
So warm.
In that moment, the future she knew—the destruction, the loneliness, the hatred—felt distant and unreal.
This wasn't a villain.
This was just a child.
A child no one wanted.
Just like her.
A fragile breath left her lips as she tightened her hold ever so slightly, careful not to hurt him.
"If no one wants us," she whispered softly, her childish voice trembling with quiet resolve, "then we'll stay together."
The words were simple.
But they carried a promise she had never been able to make in her previous life.
The empire had already forgotten the Second Princess.
It would soon abandon the Third Prince.
But from this moment on—
She would not let him face that fate alone.
No matter what the future held…
She would never abandon her brother.