Cold.
The throne room reeked of cold marble and older secrets. A chill snaked through the massive space, wrapping around my shoulders and crawling down my spine. I blinked—once, twice—as the reality of my situation settled like lead in my chest.
This isn't real.
The throne, the mirrored walls, the faint hum of power vibrating through the floor—none of it should exist outside the pages of my manuscript. And yet, here I was, breathing it all in. My hands gripped the armrests of the throne—smooth, ornately carved, like something pulled from a tyrant's palace.
I looked down.
The hands weren't mine.
Gone were the knobby fingers, the scars from years of restless writing and paper cuts. Instead, these hands were long and elegant, adorned with silver rings. The skin was pale, like marble dipped in moonlight, and the nails were sharp and black—almost claw-like. My pulse quickened as I ran my fingers across my face, feeling sharper cheekbones, a narrow jaw, and hair that fell long over my shoulders.
No. Not my body.
But I knew whose it was.
Lucien Avaris.
The villain of The Chronicles of Avaris.
…..
Lucien Avaris was the monster I'd sculpted with my own hands. A man feared by kingdoms and hated by the very world he lived in. In the story, Lucien was the shadow against the hero's brilliance, a master manipulator with a razor-sharp intellect and an overwhelming sense of superiority. His presence alone could silence a room.
Physically, he was haunting. Black hair that fell in messy waves to his shoulders, crimson-red eyes that seemed to pierce straight into someone's soul, and a smile that could shatter a man's resolve. I'd designed him to be perfectly imperfect—a devil in a gentleman's skin.
And now I was him.
As if to confirm the realization, a mirror shifted on the far side of the room, reflecting a figure that made my stomach twist.
Crimson eyes. Pale skin. Long black coat that flowed like ink pooling on the floor.
That was me now.
Lucien Avaris, the villain of my own story.
"Finally awake, are we?"
The voice—soft and honeyed—came from the edge of the room. I turned sharply, instincts kicking in, though my body moved too gracefully to be mine. I squinted into the shadows. A figure leaned against one of the marble pillars—a man in a simple gray suit with disheveled auburn hair and a tired expression.
He held a pocket watch in one hand, flicking it open and closed. Click. Click.
Asher.
In my story, Asher was Lucien's "secretary," though the term was laughable given his dry wit and complete lack of respect for authority. Asher was one of the few characters who could endure Lucien's presence, largely because he'd given up on caring about anything a long time ago.
Asher tilted his head, crimson-red eyes meeting mine.
"Staring at me like that won't change anything," he said, straightening his posture. "Though I'll admit, you're acting a bit… off this morning, my lord."
My lord.
The words hit me like a slap. In the novel, Lucien was the head of the Avaris Family—a lineage of nobles steeped in power, fear, and secrecy. I'd written them as one of the most influential families in the empire, their wealth and strength unrivaled.
And now I'm the head of that family?
I forced my expression to remain neutral, though my mind was spiraling. I couldn't let him know I wasn't Lucien. Not yet.
"You're unusually quiet," Asher continued, arching a brow. "Are you hungover? Did you kill someone important again? Or perhaps…" His lips curled into a grin. "You finally realized how insufferable you are?"
I stared at him, my brain scrambling for the right response. Lucien Avaris would have said something sharp, something to cut Asher down to size.
Instead, all I managed was:
"…What time is it?"
Asher blinked. "Time? That's your first question?" He flicked the pocket watch open. Click. "It's past noon. You missed breakfast. Again."
Noon? That was hardly the worst thing I'd heard today, but Asher's brow furrowed in genuine concern. "You sure you're alright?"
"Never better," I replied, my voice smoother than I expected—low, silky, carrying a weight I'd never possessed in my old life. It was Lucien's voice.
Asher gave me a long look, then shrugged, clearly deciding it wasn't worth the effort to pry further. "Fine. But don't forget—the council expects you in an hour."
"The council?"
"The Noble Council?" Asher replied, deadpan. "The one you called last night to discuss the rising mana anomalies?"
I froze. Rising mana anomalies? I had no memory of that. And then I remembered—of course I didn't. I'd written mana anomalies into the story as a subtle foreshadowing device. A mysterious disturbance in the natural flow of power, invisible to most but deadly for those caught in its grasp.
What the hell have I stepped into?
Asher sighed dramatically, rubbing the back of his neck. "Whatever you're plotting, try not to terrify the council too much today, alright? I'd rather not spend the evening cleaning up another diplomatic mess."
With that, he turned and walked toward the grand doors at the end of the throne room.
"Oh, and one more thing, my lord," he added without looking back. "The family heirloom's been acting strange again. You might want to take a look at it."
Heirloom?
I watched him disappear, my mind racing. Asher was gone, leaving me alone in the cavernous room. Silence settled again, pressing against my ears. I leaned back in the throne, letting out a shaky breath.
The family heirloom.
If I remembered correctly, the Avaris Heirloom was a crystal that glowed faintly with a strange light. In the story, I'd hinted it was connected to the Avaris family's power—power Lucien had mastered, but never fully understood.
Could that crystal hold answers? Could it explain why I was here?
I clenched my fists. There were too many questions and not enough answers.
I needed to move. To observe. To figure out what this world wanted from me and how I could survive in it.
Because I wasn't Lucien Avaris. Not really.
But if this world thought I was its villain…
Then I'd have to play the role, at least for now.
As I stood, the throne room felt impossibly vast, like it was waiting for something—for me to act, to choose, to write.
Fine.
Let's see what this world has in store for me.