The kitchen smelled of bread and herbs. Anneliese knew the smell very well.

  It was a warm, thick scent that spoke of a peace Anneliese had never truly known for a while—the aroma of butter warming in a shallow iron pan, the nutty fragrance of toasted flour, and steam rising softly from a pot set just off the flame. The faint sweetness of roasted root vegetables mingled with the crisp, sharp scent of mountain air drifting through the open window. It was the smell of a life that hadn't been lived, but should have been. It was the smell of her home.

  However, she sees herself cooking a meal. How is this possible? She is standing right here, while watching another version of herself.

  The other Anneliese moved easily within the small Selby kitchen. The wooden floorboards creaked familiarly beneath her steps, a rhythmic, comforting sound. Her hands, usually calloused from the hilt of a blade or raw from the bite of the Frost, felt soft. She wiped them on an apron that smelled of lavender and sun-dried linen. Outside, the village of Selby was a portrait of idyllic labor. Through the glass, children ran in the dirt, and a blacksmith’s hammer rose and fell in a steady arc.

  The hammer struck the anvil. The children’s mouths opened in mid-laughter. Anneliese’s head tilted as if listening to the village gossip, but for those watching from the outside, the world was a vacuum. There was no ring of steel, no high-pitched giggles, only the silent movement of a ghost-town. Anneliese could see everything happening, but there was no sound at all.

  The other Anneliese placed two bowls on the table. Two. Not three.

  Her fingers lingered against the rim of one of the bowls, the ceramic cool and slightly uneven under her touch. For a heartbeat, a cold shiver of wrongness brushed the back of her neck—a phantom memory of a third person, a shadow with golden-silver hair and a protective stance—but the thought slipped away. The other Anneliese turned and stepped into the adjoining room. Anneliese followed her.

  The infant was awake.

  He lay in a wooden cradle carved with mountain pines. Black hair stood out against the white wool blanket. The other Anneliese reached down, her fingers brushing his chin. His dark eyes—eyes that looked like storm-clouds—blinked up at her. Anneliese placed her hand over her mouth. Her eyes became glassy. "Is that my...child?" she thought to herself.

  The other Anneliese smiled. It was a small, private smile. Her lips moved, and her throat vibrated as she spoke to the child. She looked as though she were whispering the most beautiful secrets in the world, but the air remained dead. Not a breath of her voice escaped into the reader’s space.

  She lifted him carefully, pressing his small, solid weight against her chest.

  She called out to Azuma.

  Her mouth formed the name. Her chest rose with the force of the call. But for the observer, there was only the visual of her lips parting.

  Footsteps appeared in the doorway. He stood there, framed by the hall's light, wearing a simple Selby tunic. The dark fabric fit him imperfectly, with handmade seams visible at the shoulders. He looked different—less severe, his predatory edge softened into a quiet stillness. Anneliese began to tear up. "Azuma..."

  He smiled at the other Anneliese.

  He began to speak. His jaw shifted, his throat moved, and his eyes lit up with the cadence of his words. He looked like a man who had finally put down a heavy burden and was sharing a joke with his wife. The other Anneliese threw her head back and laughed. Her chest heaved, her eyes crinkled, and her joy was radiant. Anneliese sobbed. "Did we... are we... is this real?"

  But there was no sound. No baritone rumble from Azuma, no musical lilt from Anneliese. Only the frantic, silent pantomime of a happy family.

  They sat together at the small table. She held the child while Azuma reached for the bread, tearing it gently. She watched him speak, nodding and responding with a flush of happiness warming her cheeks. Their lips moved in a delicate dance of conversation. Their shoulders shook faintly with quiet, intimate laughter. To them, the room was filled with the crackle of the hearth and the sound of each other's voices. To the world outside, it was a silent film playing in an empty theater.

  The golden light of the sunset began to shift. It brightened, turning from amber to a harsh, sterile white. It flooded in from the window, pure and overwhelming, erasing the village, the trees, and the sky. Anneliese stared at the light and covered her eyes with her open hand.

  Azuma turned toward the light. So did the other Anneliese. The baby’s small fingers tightened in her gown. The light intensified until it swallowed the edges of the room—the table first, then the walls, then the ceiling beams. It did not burn. It did not roar. It simply consumed the world until there was nothing left but the white.

  The white light fractured.

  The warmth of the kitchen was stripped away, replaced instantly by stone beneath her boots. Cold, hard marble.

  Anneliese stood in the grand square of Ostrovok. The sky arched vast and pale above the city’s towers. Banners bearing Seraphine’s crimson and charcoal rippled high above, snapping in a wind that the reader could not hear.

  People filled the plaza. Thousands of them. Their mouths were open, their faces contorted in what should have been a deafening roar of celebration or judgment. But the square was as silent as a tomb.

  Then she saw the other version of herself. She was being held back by people she knew. To her right stood Elowen, her face a mask of grief. To her left was Caelum, his knuckles white as he held her back.

  The other Anneliese tried to pull free. Her body strained against them. Her mouth opened as she screamed at them to let her go. She was begging Caelum, pleading with Elowen, her voice likely cracking with desperation. But no sound came. Only the visual of her throat straining and her eyes wide with terror.

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  Across the square, on the steps of the mansion, stood Seraphine. Beside her stood Azuma.

  He wore deep crimson trimmed in gold—noble, tailored, and cold. He looked forward, his eyes distant. Seraphine smiled and reached out, clasping Azuma’s hand. Anneliese's heart dropped. She felt it break again. "No," she said under her breath, holding herself back from crying. "This isn't real! He wouldn't do this to me."

  The other Anneliese tried again to reach him. Her boots scraped against the marble. She was shrieking his name now—a raw, guttural sound that should have echoed off the towers of Ostrovok. She was calling out for him to look at her, to remember the kitchen, to remember Selby.

  Azuma did not look back. Not once.

  He turned with Seraphine and ascended the steps. The massive doors of the mansion closed behind them. Anneliese’s knees buckled. Elowen caught her, and Anneliese buried her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook violently as she sobbed. It was a visceral, heartbreaking sight, but the observer was spared the sound of her weeping. Anneliese dropped to her knees. "It can't be..."

  The crowd began to move, their lips bobbing in a silent, judging murmur.

  Then the light changed. The sky dimmed to a bruised purple. Clouds spiraled inward—black and heavy. A tremor passed through the stone beneath her knees. Then lightning split the sky. Anneliese, as well as all the gathered people looked up at the incoming storm.

  It was brilliant white fire, tearing the fabric of the air. This was the shockwave of the EMP from Azuma's dream. Another strike hit closer, and the square fractured like glass. Light exploded outward, and the marble dissolved into ash. Seraphine’s silhouette distorted into static. Azuma’s outline blurred. The mental bridge shattered.

  And then, the world went black.

  Air returned first. It was cold, dry, and tasted of expensive incense.

  Then weight. Then pain.

  Anneliese inhaled sharply, her lungs burning. Her head pounded, and a metallic bitterness coated her tongue. She blinked, her vision swimming in the dim light.

  Heavy silk curtains draped from a canopy bed. She was lying on satin sheets that felt like ice. This was not a dream. The nightmare had simply changed its form and become tangible.

  “Azuma…”

  Her voice was hoarse—a ragged, audible scrape. The sound of her own voice, finally reaching her own ears and the reader's, was jarring. It was the first sound in the chapter, and it felt like a violation.

  She pushed herself upright, her breath shallow. She scanned the room. Empty. Regal.

  Her gaze fell to her clothing: a gown of deep azure fabric with gold embroidery shaped like thorns. Her left hand trembled. A ring sat on her finger—heavy, solid gold, engraved with Valev’s crest.

  She stared at it closely, her stomach churning. Kidnapped. They had taken her while she was under a 'spell'.

  She twisted the ring instinctively, trying to wrench it off, but it did not move. It felt as though it had been fused to her skin. Her thumb brushed against a faint, rough stain near the cuticle.

  It looked to be possibly... ink.

  She stared at the dark smudge. What did they make me do? She rose from the bed and moved to the window, drawing the heavy curtain aside. Stone terraces. Guards in grey and iron. The city of Temnov.

  She was in the heart of the enemy's territory.

  She crossed the room and pulled at the door. Locked. She extended her hand toward the lock, reaching for the Frost.

  Nothing.

  The air remained warm. No frost gathered. She tried again, focusing until her vision blurred and her heart hammered against her ribs. A hollow, echoing sensation answered her. Her craft was there, but it was unreachable.

  She was powerless.

  Anneliese stood in the center of the room, her back straight. She began to run through her combat stances, grounding herself in the only strength they hadn't taken: her body.

  An hour passed. Then two.

  The latch turned.

  The door opened, and Duke Roderic Valev stepped inside. He wore dark formal attire, his gloves stark white. A faint scent of woodsmoke clung to him. He offered a shallow, mocking bow.

  “I knew you would be awake.”

  His voice was smooth, cultured, and terrifyingly real.

  “Jacoby has not returned to consciousness,” Valev added lightly. “He no longer seems to breathe and does not respond. I'm not sure how this happened. Your male companion perhaps?" Well, whatever happened to Jacoby, it severed your connection to the dreamscape. It also appears to have cost my Craftsman his life.”

  Anneliese said nothing, her eyes fixed on him with predatory focus.

  Valev’s eyes drifted over her. “Duke Roderic Valev. And you, my dear… are in our home.”

  “Our home?” she spat. “I don't think so. You kidnap me, you drag me to this... tomb, and you call it 'our' home?”

  His smile widened. “Why yes. When a couple is married, they typically share the same residence.”

  Anneliese froze. Her gaze snapped down to the ring, then back to his face. A cold, hollow feeling opened up in her chest. “I never married you. I would never touch your hand, let alone vow my life to you. If you think...”

  He lifted a hand gently, cutting her off. “But dear… it is legally binding. The System recognizes the union. In the eyes of Laurentia, you are my Duchess.”

  “You lie,” she hissed. "I would never..."

  He reached into his coat and unfolded a parchment with agonizing care. He laid it across the desk near the bed. The wax seal gleamed. At the bottom was her thumbprint, pressed in the same dark ink that stained her skin.

  “You were most cooperative while Jacoby was… navigating your thoughts,” Valev said. “You signed the contracts. You accepted the ring. You gave your consent before the witnesses of the court.”

  Anneliese stared at the thumbprint. Her stomach turned. They had used her own mind against her, forcing her body to perform the rituals while she was lost in the ghost of Selby.

  She tried once more to summon the Frost. Nothing.

  Valev observed the attempt. “Ah. That will not function here. One of my retainers possesses a particular talent—Craft Severance. Your connection to your powers has been interrupted. As long as he lives and remains within these walls, your abilities are a ghost.”

  He stepped closer. “Come. We are serving lunch. The neighboring lords are eager to meet my bride.”

  “I refuse.”

  Valev’s expression did not change. He turned toward the door. “Restrain the Duchess.”

  Four guards entered. Anneliese did not wait.

  She stepped into the first man’s advance. She redirected his wrist, drove her elbow into his shoulder, and twisted. Bone cracked. The sound was loud and satisfying.

  The second reached for her—she pivoted, swept his leg, and brought her knee down into his ribs. The third tried to grapple her; she used his momentum, throwing him over her hip into the stone wall. The fourth hesitated. She struck cleanly beneath his jaw, and he collapsed.

  The room fell silent. Anneliese stood in the center of the wreckage.

  Valev studied the fallen guards. “Even severed from your craft, you remain formidable.”

  He stepped forward. Anneliese moved to strike.

  He anticipated.

  His hand clamped around her jaw with crushing precision. His other hand lifted, and a tongue of flame tore free from a wall torch, spiraling into his palm. He held the heat inches from her face.

  “I do not object to bedding a woman with scars, but I will have you at that table.”

  The heat brushed her skin. Anneliese did not flinch. But she stopped resisting.

  He released her and stepped back. The flame collapsed.

  “Good,” he said. “Come.”

  Anneliese straightened slowly. She smoothed the azure gown. She adjusted the ring—the shackle she hadn't known was a contract. Her back was rigid. Her chin was lifted.

  She followed him out of the chamber. Upright. Silent. Defiant.