Anastasia, the young princess, found herself ensnared in a familiar despair. This was her hundredth life cycle, and yet again, she had failed to save her father. Her big, teary eyes searched his face, pleading for understanding.
"Father... I didn't poison you. I am your daughter. Why won't you believe me? I've been trying to save you from a world that loathes you," she implored, her voice trembling with emotion.
Lucius, the northern Duke of War, responded with a hollow, sarcastic laugh. "Save me? I don't even know who you are."
As his words struck her like a dagger, Anastasia cast her gaze downward. The scene was painfully familiar. She had been told that some duke was her father, and upon turning fifteen, she had come to seek him out—only to be condemned for a crime she hadn't committed.
Resigned, she closed her eyes, bracing herself for the inevitable once more.
Anastasia's gaze was drawn to the hourglass on the table, her breath catching as the last grains of sand slipped through its narrow neck. The dim candlelight flickered, casting shifting shadows across the room.
"How much longer?" she asked, her voice tight with urgency.
A lilting, chilling laugh echoed in the silence as a shimmering figure appeared before her, its form wavering in the flickering glow. "Two seconds," it replied, amusement threading through its tone.
Panic surged within her at those words. Two seconds. In that brief moment, everything would shift—Velt would be erased from history, as if it had never existed.
The ethereal being circled her, its voice a mix of sweet mockery and biting clarity. "How many times, Anastasia? You return, you plead, and in the end, he kills you. Then he dies, his brother claims the throne, and Velt falls. It's always the same, always inevitable."
Anastasia clenched her fists, her resolve strengthening with every syllable. "I'll keep trying until he listens," she whispered, fierce determination igniting in her eyes. "He's my father."
The figure sighed, its voice laden with ancient sorrow. "But he doesn't know that, does he? Black magic clouds his mind, hiding the truth. You cannot undo the curse with hope alone."
Her heart ached at the harsh truth, yet she stood tall, defiant. "I didn't know either, not until I turned fifteen. Not until that day when everything changed."
The god's gaze sharpened, voice low and piercing. "Do you remember why I kept you from crossing into the afterlife?"
Anastasia's reply was barely a whisper. "To save him. To save Lucius Velt from a fate worse than death."
The god tilted its head, its expression inscrutable. "And still, you persist, knowing it may be futile. You can't alter fate."
Anastasia's eyes blazed with unyielding fire. "Maybe. But I'll keep trying. Even if it takes forever."
As the final grain of sand slipped through the glass, the world began anew once more.
***
I opened my eyes to the familiar scene, small and trapped in a world that loomed over me, my hands raw from scrubbing the cold stone floor. The brush scraped against my fingers, and the vastness of the halls only magnified my insignificance.
Count Anchor's mansion. My uncle's house. I recognized the grand tapestries that adorned the walls, the chill of the stone beneath my knees, and the pervasive air of indifference. My mother had died shortly after my birth, leaving me in his care—or so Eris, the god of time, had told me. My past was a jigsaw puzzle of fragmented memories and cryptic hints.
"Hey! You! Brat!" A sharp voice cut through my thoughts. A maid towered over me, her face twisted with disdain. "The Count wants to see you."
I set the brush down and stood, my ragged clothes hanging loosely from my small frame. In the Sol Empire, children like me—illegitimate, unwanted—were worth less than nothing. I was no exception.
"Yes..." I muttered, keeping my head low.
The maid sneered. "You should be grateful the Count keeps you. If the Duke had his way, you'd be rotting in the streets."
She wasn't wrong. Duke Lucius Velt, my father, didn't know I existed. And why would he? I had been hidden away, a secret kept until my fifteenth birthday when the truth could no longer be concealed.
I followed the maid through the labyrinthine corridors to Count Anchor's office. The room was imposing, filled with the scent of old parchment and lined with books that whispered of power and secrets. The Count sat behind his desk, cold and calculating.
"There you are," he said, his voice clipped. "Come closer. The nurse will inspect you."
I approached warily as the nurse, a calm middle-aged woman, pricked my finger to draw a drop of blood. My heart raced; I had lived this moment too many times before. My bloodline—the secret hidden for so long—was about to be revealed. I was no ordinary orphan. I was the daughter of Duke Lucius Velt, a man both feared and revered across the empire.
The nurse's eyes widened as she examined the blood, her hands trembling. "It's positive," she whispered. "The girl is indeed the Duke's daughter."
The silence that followed was thick with tension. The maid, who had been so arrogant moments before, shifted nervously. "Is that... good news?" she stammered. "I've heard the Duke... well, he's not exactly known for his warmth."
I swallowed, her words hitting too close to home. Lucius Velt was a warrior, hardened by years of battle. Compassion was not in his nature. What would he do when he learned about me? I could be his salvation or his doom, and neither option filled me with hope.
Count Anchor leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "It doesn't matter," he said coldly. "We'll send her to him as a maid. He won't notice."
The maid fidgeted. "But what if he—"
I didn't need to hear the rest. The Count's plan was reckless, bordering on madness. Sending me to Lucius as a servant? My father, the man who could end a life as easily as he concluded a battle? If he discovered the truth, it could spell disaster. But that didn't concern my uncle. I was just a pawn in his game, a tool to be used or discarded.
"You'll obey me," Count Anchor commanded, his voice sharp. "Remember, you carry my blood as well. My sister's blood. So do as I say."
His words chilled me, but they didn't matter. I had been here before—this exact moment, this exact scene. Eris, the god of time, had thrown me back again. A hundred lives, each ending in failure. Each time, I returned to this age, always at fifteen, always trying to prevent Lucius's cursed fate. But no matter how hard I tried, I could never change what was destined to be.
This time, though, something was different.
Alicia, Count Anchor's daughter, burst into the room, her laughter filling the space. She ran to her father, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Father! Let Anastasia be my maid!" she chirped, her smile innocent and oblivious to the weight of the moment.
The Count shook his head. "No, Alicia. Her bloodline is too dangerous. I'll find you a better maid."
Alicia's disappointment was brief; her smile returned at her father's promise.
I stood there, a knot of jealousy twisting in my chest. Alicia had the father I had always longed for, the love I had never known. Lucius was nothing like Count Anchor—he was brutal, distant, and yet, every life I lived, I hoped he might recognize me. Love me, even. But it had never happened.
This time, however, was different.
Eris had sent me back further—not to age fifteen, but to age five. This was new. Perhaps this was the chance I needed. At five, I wasn't a threat. I was just a child, innocent and unassuming. Maybe I could reach Lucius before the curse took hold. Maybe, at this age, I could win his love before fate locked us into its cruel cycle.
I took a deep breath, letting the thought settle. This time, I wouldn't fail.