I woke up, the memory of the dream still clinging to me like a damp shroud. My heart pounded in my chest, and a cold sweat broke out on my skin. I felt a wave of dizziness wash over me, and I swayed on my feet. The room swam before my eyes, and a ringing sound filled my ears. I stumbled back onto the bed, the sheets tangled around my legs.
It had all been so real. The King, Indraneel, the announcement, the pain... It had all been a nightmare.
I looked around the room. The sun streamed through the window, casting long shadows across the plush, emerald velvet curtains. The air was still and quiet, and the only sound was the gentle ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner, its ornate carvings gilded in a soft, mossy green. The walls were adorned with tapestries woven with intricate emerald vines and emerald-hued birds, and a delicate green porcelain lamp cast a soft, calming glow on the room. It was a room meant for relaxation and comfort, a haven of serenity amidst the chaos of the world.
But the feeling of dread that had been clinging to me in the dream was still there, a cold knot in the pit of my stomach. I had a sense that this nightmare was far from over.
I sat up, my head pounding. I tried to remember what had happened before the dream. I had been… sick? I couldn't remember. My mind felt fuzzy as if I was trying to recall a distant memory through a thick fog.
My eyes fell on the mirror beside my bed, and I gasped. It wasn't just a dream. The reflection staring back at me was gaunt and pale, my eyes sunken and shadowed, my hair a mess of tangled strands. I felt a jolt of icy fear, and a sharp pain shot through my rear, reminding me of the reality of the humiliation I had endured.
It wasn't a dream. It had all really happened. The meeting with the King, the announcement, the pain, the rejection - it was all real. Indraneel's contempt, the King's dismissive tone, the suffocating dread that had gripped me… It was all real.
The world seemed to tilt and spin. I felt a wave of nausea wash over me, and I had to grab onto the nearby dresser to steady myself. The dresser was ornately carved, its surface polished to a gleaming sheen. The drawer pulls were shaped like lions' heads, their eyes crafted from glittering amethysts. The room, despite its calming green hues, was a testament to wealth and power. The emerald silk sheets of my bed, the intricate tapestries woven with gold threads and scenes of ancient battles, the finely crafted furniture, all whispered of a life of luxury and privilege.
But even amidst the richness and beauty, the reality of my situation hit me with a force that nearly knocked me off my feet. This was no dream. It was a reality far more frightening than any nightmare I had ever imagined.
I was about to call out for help, to grab someone, anyone, but the world spun too fast, the colors blurring into a chaotic mess. The edges of my vision darkened, and my body drained of all strength, crumpled back onto the bed. I felt the weight of the silk sheets, the warmth of the sun on my skin, and then... nothing.
When I woke up again, it was already evening. The room was bathed in the soft, warm glow of the setting sun, casting long, dancing shadows across the walls.
Alistair Craus, a male Omega, stood beside my bed, his face creased with worry. His hand rested gently on my shoulder, and I felt a surge of relief. I was safe. I was home.
"Oh, Quincey," he said, his voice tinged with concern. "You gave us quite a fright. You fainted. The physician said it was exhaustion, but we'll have another check-up tomorrow to be sure."
He looked at me with a tenderness that warmed my heart. "You've been pushing yourself too hard, son. You need to rest."
"The King… the announcement…," I mumbled, my voice barely above a whisper.
Alistair's eyes narrowed, his brow furrowing. "Quincey," he began, but then he stopped, his gaze softening. "You need to rest, son. We'll talk about everything later."
He gently patted my shoulder, his eyes filled with concern, and then he turned to leave. I saw my father, the Duke of the Craus household, Duke Quillian, standing in the doorway, his expression mirroring Alistair's worry. He was about to leave as well, but then I spoke.
"Father?" I asked, my voice a mere breath. He paused. His hand, hovering over the door handle, seemed to hesitate, as if unsure of what to do next. His gaze, when he turned back to me, was filled with a depth of emotion I couldn't decipher. Was it pity? Concern? Or something else entirely?
"It was," he finally said, his voice barely a whisper. "It was very real."
The world seemed to tilt again, the weight of his words settling heavily on my chest. I had been clinging to the hope that it was all just a bad dream, a cruel trick of my mind. But my father's confirmation shattered that fragile hope, leaving me with a chilling certainty.
"The King..." I started, my voice cracking. "He... He really did..."
"He did," Quillian finished, his voice filled with a somber finality. "He did."
The silence that followed was thick and suffocating. I stared at him, his face etched with a weariness that mirrored my own. The realization that my life had been irrevocably changed, that the dream I had woken up from was actually a stark, unforgiving reality, hit me like a wave of despair.
"Do you really not want to marry the prince, son?" Father Quillian asked, his voice a soft rumble.
"Yes, Father," I said, each word a sharp, painful stab. The pain wasn't just in the words themselves but in the betrayal of my own heart. It was a sharp, searing pain, like a hot poker plunged deep into the core of me. It was the pain of a truth I couldn't admit, a truth that felt like a betrayal of my own self. My heart, deep inside, ached for the prince, ached with a yearning I couldn't understand. It was a yearning I couldn't deny, a feeling that pulsed through my veins, a throbbing, agonizing echo of a love I couldn't explain.
This pain, this ache... it shouldn't be mine. I am Kjizei, a stranger in this borrowed body, adrift in a life that's not my own. How can I feel this way? I don't belong here, not truly. I shouldn't be experiencing this yearning, this ache, this...love. It's all so confusing.
A sigh, soft and weary, escaped Father Quillian. He looked at me, a flicker of sadness passing through his eyes. I knew what he was thinking. He knew my heart, even if I didn't understand it myself. But he was a Duke, a leader, a man bound by duty and responsibility. His face hardened a steely resolve replacing the tenderness I had seen moments before.
"Very well, son," he said, his voice firm but not unkind. "I will stand by your decision. But still, you should follow the King's condition. It is a necessary step, a bridge we must cross. " He looked at me, his eyes filled with an unyielding love, a father's love that could move mountains. "If, after those three months, your feelings remain unchanged, I will support you. We shall face the consequences, whatever they may be. Your happiness is my priority."
His words were like a bomb to my soul, a mixture of relief and heartbreak. I gripped my blanket tightly, trying to hold on to my tears, but they came anyway, spilling down my cheeks like a torrent. I didn't know what to say or what to do. I was lost, adrift in a sea of emotions I couldn't understand. But then, I felt it, the warmth of my father's arms enveloping me in a hug. It was a hug filled with understanding, acceptance, and love that was as deep as the ocean, as boundless as the sky. For the first time, I felt like I was home, truly home.
Then, a pair of arms encircled me, strong yet gentle. Alastair, his eyes filled with love and concern, held me close, a comforting weight against my back. His scent, a mix of cedarwood and rain, was grounding and familiar. He rubbed my back, his touch a silent reassurance in this storm of emotions. "My dear," he whispered, his voice filled with love and understanding. "We will face this together. You are not alone."
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The days that followed were a blur of activity. My father and mother, ever vigilant, kept my spirits up with their unwavering love and support. The academy was a place of privilege and power, a breeding ground for the elite. It was a world I never thought I would be a part of, and yet here I was, preparing to enter its gilded halls.
The thought of school again sent a shiver of anxiety through me. What if I was bullied again? What if these new classmates, these scions of wealth and power, looked down on me? What if they saw the way I felt, the way my heart ached for someone who could never be mine? I had already been through so much, I didn't want to face more pain.
The preparations were a whirlwind. Tailors arrived with bolts of shimmering silks and velvets, their hands deftly stitching together opulent outfits that felt strangely alien on my skin. My tutors, a team of erudite scholars, crammed my head with knowledge, their lessons a constant stream of historical dates, intricate political treaties, and arcane philosophies. I learned about the intricate protocols of court etiquette, the subtle nuances of royal diplomacy, and the delicate dance of power that governed the kingdom. I felt like a puppet, being expertly manipulated to fit a role I didn't want, a game I wasn't sure I could play.
Yet, as the day of my departure approached, a strange sense of anticipation mingled with my apprehension. The Royal Academy was a hub of influential figures, a place where I could encounter the prince once again. The thought sent a shiver down my spine, a mixture of fear and… something else. A yearning, a pull, a spark of something I couldn't quite name.
The day finally arrived, and I stood on the doorstep of the Craus manor, gazing at the imposing carriage that awaited me. It was a magnificent vehicle, its body gleaming like polished obsidian, its wheels adorned with intricate carvings of gold and silver. It was a carriage fit for a prince, and yet, here I was, a reluctant passenger, a pawn in a game I didn't fully understand.
My father and mother stood beside me, their faces etched with a mixture of worry and pride. "You will be fine, son," Father Quillian said, his voice a comforting rumble. "Remember what we talked about. If you need anything, anything at all, do not hesitate to contact us." His eyes, filled with a love that knew no bounds, held a depth of understanding that warmed my heart.
My mother, Alastair, stepped closer, his hand resting gently on my shoulder. "I will miss you terribly," he said, his voice husky with emotion. "But you must know, you have our unwavering support. We are always with you, in your heart and in your mind." His touch was a warm, grounding presence, reminding me of the love that surrounded me, a beacon in this tumultuous storm.
I nodded, my heart heavy with gratitude. I turned to face the carriage, taking a deep breath to steady myself. It was time. I climbed into the carriage, the silken cushions enveloping me in their soft embrace. As the horses pulled away from the manor, I glanced back at my father and mother, their figures fading into the distance.
I was leaving the familiar comfort of my home, venturing into a world that was both exciting and terrifying. I was Kjizei, a stranger in a borrowed body, adrift in a life that wasn't my own. But I was not alone. I had their love, their support, and their unwavering belief in me. And I had the King's condition, a three-month trial, an opportunity to understand this strange pull, this aching longing that was blossoming within me.
As the carriage rolled on, I knew this was just the beginning of a journey I never expected, a journey filled with uncertainty, with danger, with the promise of something I couldn't yet comprehend. But amidst the confusion and fear, a single, unwavering thought resonated within me.
I would face this journey, not for myself, but for the love that surrounded me, for the family that was my anchor, for the hope that maybe, just maybe, this confusion, this ache, would somehow become a part of who I was.
A shimmering light coalesced in front of me, solidifying into a figure. A being of pure energy, its form shifting and flickering like a mirage, but somehow, undeniably real. It looked at me with an unsettlingly knowing gaze. "Congratulations, Kjizei," it said, its voice a melody of soft chimes, "you have collected 25% of your pain meter."
I had almost forgotten about the system's existence.
The system paused, its gaze sweeping over me, before continuing, "You have faced hardship, endured pain, and emerged stronger. Your resilience is impressive, Kjizei. But the journey is far from over. You have much more pain to collect."
"Pain meter? What's that?" I asked, my voice shaky with confusion and a touch of fear.
The figure, the system, seemed to chuckle, a series of tinkling chimes that echoed in my ears. "It's a measurement, Kjizei," it explained. "A measurement of the pain you collect around you. The pain you experience, the pain you witness, the pain you feel for others. It all counts. And when your pain meter reaches 100%, it will be converted into points. These points will be your currency, your credit, to enter another world."
My mind reeled. Another world? A world where I could escape the endless cycle of pain? Was this a cruel joke, a twisted game played on my already broken spirit? Or was there a sliver of truth in this impossible proposition?
"What do you mean, another world?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. "What kind of world?"
The system's form flickered, the light around it becoming brighter, intensifying as if it was gathering energy. "A different world where you could travel Kjizei," it said. "A world where your pain becomes your power. A world where you can finally be free. But be warned," it added, its voice suddenly serious, "this world is not a safe haven. There will be dangers, challenges, and temptations. Be careful around the Crown Prince, Kjizei. He is not in favor of you. The consequences of your actions could be unpleasant. And be careful around other male leads as well. They may go to great lengths to protect the male lead, even if it means putting you in danger."
The system's words sent a shiver down my spine. It was a stark reminder that this journey, this quest for a world beyond pain, was not a simple escape. It was a dangerous path, fraught with hidden agendas and concealed threats. I had already been a villain in this world before I took over this body. I had done things that would make even the most hardened criminal recoil. And the people who were supposed to be my allies, these other male leads, might see me as a threat that needed to be neutralized.
The carriage lurched, the sound jarring me back to the present. The system was gone, leaving me alone with the echoing chimes and the unsettling promise of a world beyond my comprehension.
And I had a choice to make. Would I embrace the system's offer? Would I allow myself to be consumed by pain, to become a conduit for suffering?
The road ahead was shrouded in mist, the path unclear, the destination unknown. But one thing was certain: my journey had just taken an unexpected turn. And I was about to find out what it truly meant to be a collector of pain.