“This—”

  Marcus set down the parchment and let out a long, exhausted groan. “This is why you woke me up in the middle of the night?”

  “You told me to transte it for you as quickly as possible, and I did,” Alice replied, deadpan. “I can assure you that the transtion is accurate. Though, because of the burn marks, it was impossible for me to make out some of the words in the text.”

  “Right, but what’s transted here is basically a recount of the Crown Prince’s annulment of his engagement with Estel,” he said curtly. “If this is your idea of a prank, I don’t see the humor at all.”

  “I’m being completely honest here.” She gave a helpless shrug. “It’s up to you whether you want to accept it or not.”

  With a troubled sigh, the tired Captain squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before opening them and looking at Estel. “You’re going to tell me that the w…Alice is right, aren’t you?”

  “I know it sounds ridiculous,” she said in a sympathetic voice. “But even if she is lying, there’s nothing for her to gain from deceiving us.”

  “Then, are you suggesting that Seraphina is some sort of prophet?” he asked incredulously, pointing at the parchment. “That she’s able to predict the future?”

  “It’s not so much predicting as writing the future,” Alice corrected. “My guess is that whatever Seraphina wrote on this parchment likely happened in reality at one point.”

  “Huh…”

  “To put it simply, when Seraphina burnt the parchment, all of us went back in time to when the Crown Prince announced the annulment of his engagement and forgot all the stuff that had happened in the previous timeline.”

  Marcus remained silent, the flickering candlelight casting a shadow over his stern expression.

  “…fine, let’s assume you are speaking the truth for now,” he relented. “Do you know how Seraphina gained this power to reset time? Or perhaps her reason for using this power?”

  Alice shook her head. “What I can tell you is that characters like Seraphina are known as ‘regressors’ in my world. These regressors are usually motivated by a strong personal vendetta—be it against a person, against an injustice they suffered in their original timeline, or even the entire world. Also, readers are drawn to regression stories because they want to see the main character achieve a better outcome with the benefit of their past experience and knowledge.”

  “So, what you’re saying is that if we wish to confront Seraphina,” Marcus asked tentatively, “we must find out what her personal vendetta is?”

  Alice cpped her hands together in agreement. “Not bad, you catch on quick!”

  “Hearing it from your mouth feels like an insult rather than a compliment,” he rejoined, rubbing his temples. “I’ll head back to the capital after the festival and observe Seraphina for a while. There aren’t any royal functions scheduled for the remainder of the month, and if she is indeed a ‘regressor’ as you suggested, she is bound to reveal her true nature when she expects the least attention.”

  “Do you actually believe me?” she asked, blinking in surprise.

  “I chose to approach you about this matter, so naturally, I must trust you this much.”

  He let out a withering sigh, as if trying to dispel an unpleasant thought, and turned to Estel.

  “By the way, I received word from the Margrave during the soirée that the Second Prince is attending the festival. Do you know about it?”

  Estel nodded her head slightly. “Count Valrich shared the news with me.”

  “The Count?” Marcus started. “Why him of all people? Did he approach you?”

  “Something like that…” she murmured. “Why do you ask?”

  “N-no, I was just surprised that he would reveal it to you directly.” He paused for a beat before adding, “actually, Lord Karolus selected both me and Count Valrich to be Prince Raphael’s bodyguards, and requested that we keep it a secret from the other guests. It appears that the Margrave doesn’t want news of His Highness’ appearance to spread, so…”

  He met her eyes again. “Did the Count say anything else?”

  “He told me to be careful of Prince Raphael,” Estel said hesitantly. “And that I’m able to help bring His Highness back to his senses. But I’m not certain what the tter means.”

  “Did he say such a thing?” A frown creased his brow, one which he promptly masked with a shake of his head. “You don’t have to pay heed to the Count’s words, Estel. I’ll handle all the matters reted to His Highness.”

  “I see…that’s good to hear.” Estel picked up her ntern and turned towards the door. “It’s getting te too, so we shall take our leave now.”

  “W-wait, um…”

  She gnced back.

  Marcus opened his mouth—then shut it again, one hand fidgeting at his side, looking as if he’d rehearsed something in his mind a dozen times and still didn’t know how to say it. He rubbed the back of his neck with his other hand, his gaze dropping to the floor before flicking back up to meet hers.

  “I just…” he began, then exhaled a shaky breath through his nose. “You look…radiant tonight. In that gown. I mean—the violet, it suits you very well.”

  Her eyes widened a fraction, and for a moment, neither of them moved.

  He averted his eyes first. “I should’ve told you earlier, I know. But I…”

  Her fingers tightened slightly around the ntern’s handle. She could feel the words she wanted to say catching in her throat, forcing her to swallow them down.

  “Anyway, I just thought you should know—”

  “Thank you,” Estel said quickly, turning back to the door. “Have a good night, Captain.”

  “O-oh, good night…”

  The chandeliers along the corridor outside had been extinguished for the night, leaving only the flickering glow of the ntern to guide their way through the wing. As they reached the second floor of the main foyer, Alice finally exhaled and spoke.

  “Is it really okay to leave it at that?” she asked quietly. “It seemed like Marcus had more to say there.”

  “Well…” Estel paused at the top of the stairs, resting her hand on the cold stone banister. “I feel like going for a little walk before retiring. Would you care to join me?”

  “Mm? Sure, I don’t mind.”

  Their heels clicked softly against the marble floor as they passed through the empty foyer. Estel pushed open the heavy double doors at the entrance, the chill of the night air biting at her cheeks.

  The gardens stretched ahead, tranquil and serene beneath the wide expanse of stars. Pale silver traced the edges of every leaf and blossom, casting long, delicate shadows across the trimmed hedges and cobblestone paths. She stepped onto a stone path, the hem of her gown gliding over dew-ced grass.

  They walked in silence until they reached the heart of the garden—a quiet alcove fnked by rose trellises and marble benches. At the centre stood a fountain, the water in its basin catching the moonlight in zy ripples.

  Alice hugged her arms against the chill. “Este, where are you going…?”

  Estel stopped beside the fountain and pced her ntern on its edge, gazing down at her own reflection rippling faintly on the surface.

  “I knew what he wanted to say next,” she said, “but I didn’t want to hear it.”

  Alice slowly approached her side. “Why not?”

  “Because if I did,” she murmured, “then I’d have to give him an answer. One which I myself don’t believe in…”

  Estel turned around, meeting her gaze. A breeze picked up then, lifting the ends of Alice’s hair like silken threads caught in a slow dance.

  “Alice, may I ask something strange?”

  “What is it?”

  “Am I…real?” She gnced down at her own hand. “Or am I—are we—all just figments of someone else’s imagination?”

  “Then, that someone else must have one hell of a sick imagination,” Alice said without hesitation, “to come up with such a twisted romance story.”

  Estel let out a soft, almost surprised chuckle. “Does that statement include yourself?”

  “Why, of course.” She offered a nonchant shrug. “If Seraphina’s the author, I’m the reference in the book dedication. Something like ‘To Alice, who gave me the inspiration for writing this story’, you know.”

  Estel leaned in, closing the distance between them. “Then, can I ask one more strange question?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “If this story gets discarded too, does that mean I’ll forget everything that happened?”

  “I-I’d think so, yes.”

  “Does that mean—” Estel grabbed her hand and squeezed tight “—I will also forget this feeling in my heart whenever I see you?”

  “If this story resets…”

  Her eyes lowered, trying and failing to hide the strain in her voice.

  “…it’ll be like our first meeting again. We won?t remember each other, Este.”

  “Please, tell me,” she choked out, her hand trembling in hers. “What should I do, Alice? What must I do to not forget you?”

  Alice stood there, unmoving, her fingers still curled around her hand. The silence of the night pressed in—soft, cold, breathless—until it felt like even the stars were holding still to eavesdrop.

  Then, wordlessly, she stepped forward and pulled Estel into a tight embrace.

  “I…I’m sorry,” she said at st, voice cracking with raw emotion. “I wish I knew.”

  “Alice—”

  “Honestly, I’m scared, Este,” she cried. “I’m scared that this world will all just vanish one day, and I wouldn’t even know what I lost.”

  Estel closed her eyes. The ache in her chest twisted sharp.

  “Este…I don’t want to forget.”

  “Me neither.”

  They pulled back just enough to see each other’s faces. Alice’s ruby-red eyes were gssy in the moonlight, revealing a subtle, yet unmistakable vulnerability in her expression—the kind that made her chest tighten with things she couldn’t name.

  And in that moment—driven by something neither logic nor fear could suppress—Estel leaned forward.

  Their lips met.

  Softly. Quietly. Like the fleeting memory of a dream.