His pulse quickened, though outwardly, he remained composed. Years of practice had made him a master of controlling his emotions. He sat up slowly, his fingers brushing against smooth silk sheets. The moment he saw his hands, his breath hitched. They were not his own. Slender yet powerful, adorned with rings he had never worn before.
A sudden wave of memories crashed into him. Foreign yet intimate, as if they had always been there, merely buried beneath the layers of his own identity.
Ariel Moonstone. A noble. A mage. A villain.
His throat tightened as realization struck him like a bolt of lightning. This name—it was his own, yet not his. It belonged to a character. A character from his own novel.
The world around him blurred as he pieced it together. He had been writing the final arc of his novel, The Crimson Throne, before he—before he what? His memory failed him. He recalled exhaustion, his fingers hovering over the keyboard, the faint glow of his laptop screen late at night. Then, nothing. Only darkness. And now, this.
He had become Ariel Moonstone, the scheming noble who played a minor yet pivotal role in the story. A man doomed to die before the main plot even truly began.
His lips curled into a wry smirk, though his eyes remained cold. "Fate truly has a twisted sense of humor."
The sound of footsteps echoed outside the chamber, followed by a polite knock. "My Lord, are you awake? Shall I have the servants bring breakfast to your chambers?" A voice, soft yet firm, carried through the door.
Ariel took a moment to gather himself. He had to be careful. This was not merely a story anymore—it was reality, and he was no longer the omnipotent creator. If he played his cards wrong, he would meet the same fate he had written for this character.
"Enter," he commanded, his voice smooth and authoritative.
The door creaked open, revealing a man dressed in formal attire—a butler, his features sharp and composed. Ariel recognized him instantly. Cedric, the ever-loyal steward of House Moonstone. He had written this man to be fiercely devoted, yet ultimately powerless to change his master's tragic fate.
"My Lord, you seem… troubled," Cedric observed, his gaze sharp.
Ariel chuckled under his breath. Of course, Cedric would notice even the smallest shift in his demeanor. "I had a peculiar dream," he lied effortlessly. "One that felt far too real."
Cedric inclined his head, unfazed. "Perhaps some fresh air will help clear your mind, my Lord. The council meeting is scheduled for this afternoon. There have been… developments."
Ariel steepled his fingers. Developments. He would need to tread carefully. The Moonstone family was not a major power, but it held influence in the capital. Influence that, in the novel, led to his eventual demise at the hands of the protagonist's faction.
He could not allow that to happen.
"Prepare my attire. I will be down shortly," he instructed.
Cedric bowed and exited without another word. Alone once more, Ariel exhaled slowly. The weight of this new reality settled onto his shoulders like a heavy cloak.
He had two choices—follow the story he had written and meet his end, or carve out a new path for himself.
The answer was obvious.
Ariel Moonstone may have been a side villain in the original tale, but this was now his story. And he would not let it end in tragedy.