The Weight of Reality
Leon sat on the edge of the grand bed, his heart racing. Just moments ago, he had been a gamer celebrating another triumphant run of Eternal Reign. Now, he found himself in the game—not as its hero, but as the despised character, Leon Alaric.
He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, staring blankly at the ornate surroundings. The polished wooden floors, the intricate carvings on the walls, the crimson curtains framing the massive window—it all screamed wealth and power, yet it felt alien.
"This isn't real," Leon whispered, his voice trembling. But the weight of his body, the texture of the fine clothes he wore, and the faint ache in his chest told him otherwise. It was real.
His reflection in the mirror across the room confirmed it: piercing green eyes, messy black hair, and a face that, despite its aristocratic features, carried a permanent air of disdain. This was not his body. This was Leon Alaric—the most hated character in the game, the man whose actions had caused so much pain.
Leon buried his face in his hands, trying to suppress the rising tide of panic. "How did this happen?" he muttered. Moments ago, he'd been laughing at the absurdity of Leon's storyline, and now he was living it.
The thought sent a shiver down his spine. This wasn't just a game anymore. It was his reality.
As he grappled with his thoughts, a sharp knock at the door pulled him from his spiraling panic.
"Who is it?" Leon called, his voice harsher than he intended.
The door creaked open, and a figure stepped inside. The sight froze him in place.
It was her.
Aria.
She was even more breathtaking in person than he remembered. Her silver hair shimmered like moonlight, cascading down her back in soft waves. Her sapphire-blue eyes, framed by delicate lashes, were wide with apprehension. Dressed in a simple yet elegant maid's uniform, she carried an air of grace that seemed at odds with the fear etched on her face.
Leon's breath caught in his throat. In the game, he had only ever seen her as a character on a screen. But here she was, real and standing before him. The emotions that surged through him were a mix of awe and guilt.
"Milord," she said softly, her voice trembling. Her hands clutched the hem of her apron, and her body seemed to shrink under his gaze.
The realization hit Leon like a punch to the gut. She was afraid of him.
Of course she was. In this world, he wasn't Basil. He was Leon Alaric—the cruel, spoiled heir who treated everyone around him with disdain. For Aria, seeing him awake was likely more terrifying than comforting.
Leon rose slowly from the bed, his movements cautious. "Aria," he said, his voice softer than usual. "You don't have to be afraid."
But his words seemed to have the opposite effect. Aria took a step back, her trembling increasing. "P-Please, Milord… I didn't mean to disturb you."
"Disturb me?" Leon echoed, his heart sinking. "No, you didn't—" He stopped himself. No matter what he said, she wouldn't believe him. Not yet.
He stepped closer, and Aria flinched. The sight twisted something deep within him. How could someone so beautiful, so pure, be so terrified? How had Leon Alaric let things get to this point?
Before he could think it through, Leon acted on instinct. He closed the distance between them and gently wrapped his arms around her.
Aria stiffened in his embrace, her breath hitching. "M-Milord?" she stammered, her voice barely audible.
Leon held her, his touch firm yet careful, as though she might shatter if he wasn't gentle enough. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I'm so sorry."
For a moment, neither of them moved. Leon could feel her trembling against him, her body rigid with fear. But then, slowly, her tension began to ease.
"I don't know what you've been through," Leon continued, his voice low and sincere. "But I promise I'll never hurt you. Not ever."
Aria's breathing steadied, though she still seemed hesitant. "Milord… why are you…?"
"Because you don't deserve this," Leon said, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze. Her sapphire eyes searched his face, filled with confusion and something else—hope.
For a fleeting moment, the fear in her expression softened. "Milord…"
"Call me Leon," he said gently. "Just Leon."
She blinked, her lips parting as if to protest, but no words came out.
Leon took a step back, giving her space. "You don't have to be afraid anymore," he said. "I'll make things right. I swear it."
Aria hesitated, her hands clutching her apron tightly. She nodded, though her expression remained uncertain. "As you wish… Leon."
Hearing his name spoken without venom or fear felt like a small victory. Leon knew it wasn't enough—earning her trust would take time, and the shadow of his predecessor's actions loomed large. But this was a start.
As Aria turned to leave, Leon watched her go, determination hardening in his chest. He might have been dealt the worst hand imaginable, but he wasn't about to let that define him.
"I'm not the old Leon," he whispered to himself.