Eon Ravencroft opened her eyes to a blinding sea of neon pink.
She blinked, half-expecting the underworld to be shrouded in shadows, not this garish, bubblegum hue. Maybe she had opened her eyes wrong. She closed them again, took a deep breath, and reopened them.
Nothing had changed. She was still drowning in a pink abyss.
"Knock, knock, knock—! Knock, knock, knock—!!" The pounding on the door was deafening, accompanied by the sharp, impatient voice of a maid. "Miss Eon, are you awake? Breakfast is ready, and Miss Sera is waiting for you downstairs. Miss Eon?"
The aggressive knocking and raised voice sounded less like a polite wake-up call and more like a debt collector's intimidation tactics.
Eon ignored the maid for the moment. In a matter of seconds, she went from lying in bed to standing by the window. She surveyed the familiar yet foreign landscape outside and confirmed two things:
1. She had returned. After failing her *Voidspark Tribulation* in the *Eon Sanctum*, she had been sent back to her original life in the modern world.
2. Her bedroom was on the third floor. From this height, jumping out the window wouldn't kill her.
Yes, she wanted to die.
Eon Ravencroft, the top alchemist of the *Eon Sanctum, the overachiever who had spent over a thousand years following her master's teachings, diligently refining elixirs and honing her skills. She had been on the verge of ascension, only to be struck down by a storm of **Voidspark lightning* during her tribulation. And now, she was back in the modern world, just after being recognized by her wealthy biological parents, about to face a den of vipers.
What was this? A thousand years of hard work, only to be sent back to square one?
Fine. If this was how the heavens wanted to play, she wasn't sticking around. Death it was!
Since jumping from the third floor wouldn't do the job, Eon, now seething with resentment but still somewhat rational, decided to find a knife and end it all quickly.
"Miss Eon, are you still not up? Miss Sera has been waiting for you for a long time..."
The door opened, and the maid's words caught in her throat as she met Eon's calm gaze. For a moment, the maid felt a chill run down her spine.
But it was just a moment. After all, Eon was just a girl who had lived a humble life before being brought back to the Ravencroft family. Without proper upbringing or education, how could she possibly carry herself like a true heiress?
Feeling emboldened by Miss Sera's backing, the maid straightened her posture. "Miss Eon, Miss Sera is waiting for you downstairs for breakfast."
Eon was in no mood for this. She wanted to die, to rage, to tear apart anything that crossed her path. But after a thousand years of cultivation, she maintained her composure. "You're fired."
"W-what?" The maid stammered, as if she hadn't heard correctly or couldn't believe her ears.
Eon smiled faintly, not blaming the maid for her poor comprehension. She repeated herself, simplifying her words for clarity. "I, the young mistress, am firing you, the maid. You no longer have a job."
The thought of the rude maid losing her job brought Eon a strange sense of satisfaction. But then, realizing her joy was derived from someone else's misfortune, Eon, as a righteous cultivator, quickly suppressed her hidden smirk and adopted a more compassionate expression.
To atone for her momentary cruelty, Eon decided not to torment the maid further. After scanning the spacious and well-lit third floor to familiarize herself with the surroundings, she headed toward the elevator.
The Ravencroft family was one of the most prominent in the capital, yet they maintained a low profile. The understated elegance of the *Neo-Gothic Château* reflected this. The estate was neither too large nor too small, with a garden, swimming pool, lawn, wine cellar, and indoor and outdoor parking spaces—all the essentials were there. Servants bustled about, maintaining the estate's refined yet unpretentious atmosphere.
As Eon stepped out of the elevator on the first floor, she ran into Caelan Ravencroft, the eldest son of the family, who had just returned from abroad.
It was late autumn, and the air was chilly, though the mansion was warm. Caelan hadn't even had time to remove his overcoat, his dark suit impeccably tailored. His presence exuded the authority of someone accustomed to power. Beside him stood the family butler, carrying a briefcase.
Caelan looked weary from his travels, but his noble bearing was unmistakable.
The moment their eyes met, Caelan Ravencroft froze. His tall frame stiffened slightly as he took in the girl's features—strikingly similar to his own.
The butler, sensing the gravity of the moment, bowed respectfully toward Eon and stepped back, giving the siblings space.
"Eon?" His voice was deep, steady, but with a hint of something softer beneath the surface.
At 29, Caelan had been steering the Ravencroft empire for years, a master of composure in the cutthroat world of business. Yet here, in the quiet of the family estate, his usual mask slipped. A rare flicker of joy broke through his stoic demeanor.
The Ravencrofts were a family blessed with exceptional genes. Every member was strikingly attractive, with sharp features and commanding presence. Eon, however, was something else entirely. She was tall and graceful, her beauty cold and otherworldly—a living statue carved from ice.
But there was something unsettling about her. Whether it was the weight of her thousand years in the *Eon Sanctum* or the crushing despair that now clung to her like a shadow, Eon radiated an air of detachment, as if she were already halfway to another realm.
For Caelan, blood ties were powerful, almost sacred. But for Eon, they meant nothing. Meeting her biological brother for the first time, she felt no pull, no longing to connect. Her past life in the *Eon Sanctum* had buried her memories deep, and this man—this stranger—was no more significant than a passing breeze.
Still, out of habit, she forced a polite smile—the kind she used to navigate the intricate social webs of the cultivation world—and nodded.
"A pleasure," she said, her voice cool and distant.
Then, realizing how archaic that sounded, she hesitated. Her long lashes flickered as she searched for a more modern greeting. "Hello?"
"Big brother!" The voice was bright, almost too cheerful.
It was Sera, the girl who had unwittingly taken Eon's place in this life, now the second daughter of the Ravencroft family.
Sera was beautiful, but in a softer, more approachable way—the kind of beauty that made people feel at ease. She was the same age as Eon, 23, born on the same day in the same hospital. A twist of fate had swapped their lives, and now they were here, two strangers bound by blood and circumstance.
With Eon's sudden return, their mother had declared her the eldest daughter, relegating Sera to the role of the second. It was a decision meant to clarify, but it only deepened the tension.
"Why are you back so early? Mom said you wouldn't be home until noon," Sera said, looping her arm through Caelan's with practiced ease. Her tone was light, almost playful. "Did everything go smoothly? Did you bring me any gifts…"
Then, as if suddenly remembering Eon's presence, Sera's words trailed off. A flicker of embarrassment crossed her face, and she quickly glanced at Eon before awkwardly releasing Caelan's arm.
"I mean, did you bring gifts for… for our sister, and me, and Mom, Dad, and Rowan?"
Eon didn't respond. Her mind was elsewhere, fixated on a single goal. She had no interest in this charade, no desire to play the part of the long-lost heiress. Her gaze swept past the opulent living room, past the family she barely knew, and landed on the tea table in the reception area.
The table was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, its surface adorned with an exquisite tea set and a platter of perfectly arranged fruits. The fruits glistened, their colors vibrant and inviting, but Eon felt nothing. Eight hundred years ago, she had abandoned such earthly pleasures, training herself to ignore even the most tantalizing temptations.
Her eyes locked onto the fruit knife.
It was small, sharp, and utterly unremarkable—except to her. In that moment, it was the only thing that mattered.
Without a word, she strode toward the table, her movements deliberate and unhurried. The room seemed to hold its breath as she reached for the knife, her fingers closing around the handle with a quiet certainty.
This was it. The end. No more games, no more pretending. Just one swift, decisive motion, and it would all be over.