Everything was dark again.
That familiar weightlessness returned—a dreamlike suspension where the world felt distant and fragile, like thin ice beneath my feet. I had been here before. My eyes opened, or at least, I believed they had. Before me stretched a garden I recognized at once.
It was quiet, reverent in its silence. The overgrown hedges bent gently under time's touch. This was not a place for the living, but for remembrance.
My body refused to move, just as it had in the other dreams. I was locked in someone else's skin—a passenger in a life not mine. I couldn't speak or act. I could only witness.
This was the Hartwell estate.This was where Lily's parents rested.
"Lily," a voice called, gentle as the breeze.
My gaze shifted, though I hadn't moved. The body responded, not to my will, but hers. The girl whose memories I now share.
Julian stood a few steps away. Older—sixteen, perhaps seventeen. Taller, his voice deeper. No longer the boy from earlier fragments, but not yet the cold, driven nobleman the novel had painted. He smiled warmly, though a shadow lingered in his eyes.
"You're going to be late," he said.
"I just wanted to say goodbye to Mom and Dad," Lily's voice replied—soft, hesitant.
Julian nodded. "I'm sure they'd be proud of you, sis."
"You think so?"
"Of course."
A pause settled between them, filled only by the rustling leaves. Then, quietly, she asked, "What about you, brother? You'll be all alone here. I won't be back for a long time."
"Don't worry about me," he said with a gentle smile—but behind it flickered something unspoken. "I'll be fine."
The moment lingered, warm and bittersweet. This wasn't fiction. This was memory. And it didn't align with what the novel had told me.
According to the book, Julian had grown distant, too consumed with rebuilding the Hartwell name to care for Lily. Their bond, it claimed, had withered under the weight of duty. Lily's departure to the Kingdom of Elyndor was framed as exile—her brother's rejection.
But what I saw now was different. This wasn't a girl cast out. This was her choice. Julian wasn't indifferent—he was kind. Grieving. Trying.
So why did the novel lie?
In the story, Lily told Alistair she was forced to leave. That Julian didn't want her near the crown prince. But Alistair is an Empathomancer. He can twist feelings, reshape memories, and wrap truth in illusions. Could he have altered how Lily remembered her brother?
If so… why didn't the novel mention it?
Something was wrong. With the story. With the truth.
I need more. More memories. More clarity. Only then can I truly understand who Alistair is—and what I must do about him.
I woke with a gasp. The ceiling loomed above me, familiar and cold. Dawn crept through the heavy curtains. The silence of the Hartwell mansion wrapped around me, but I could still feel the ghost of Julian's smile and the warmth of that garden on my skin.
It's been a week since our return from Elyndor. Julian has questions—so many—but I've given him only fragments. I haven't told him about the novel. About what I know. Telling him I'm not his sister would break him. Telling him he and everyone else are characters in a book... that would destroy him.
Now that I've glimpsed the original Lily's memory, I wonder—would Julian still support me if I applied to the Velmora Institute of Magical Arts?
If she were still here, I know he would. But for me? I'm not so sure.
I sighed as Emily quietly solved an arithmetic puzzle beside me.
"Are you all right, my lady?" she asked, her voice touched with concern.
"I'm fine," I murmured, though the words lacked conviction. I wanted to learn magic. To understand how magical abilities are cultivated and controlled.
"Would you like a snack, my lady? Perhaps some Twinkle Tarts?" she offered with a hopeful smile.
I nodded, and she slipped away to fetch the treat.
Julian, I knew, was likely buried in ledgers, trying to salvage what little remained of the Hartwell legacy. I had begun to notice it: fewer maids in the halls. Fewer knights. The once-bustling mansion had grown still.
The House of Hartwell was once sustained by vast land leases. The Duke—Julian's father—owned sweeping farmlands, leased to minor lords and tenant farmers. Crop production, seasonal exports, food pricing—he controlled it all. A perfect model for a land-rich kingdom like Lysoria.
But when Lily's parents were discovered to be trafficking humans to a foreign power, the royal family acted swiftly to protect their name. The crown stripped Hartwell of 80% of its lands, reclaiming them under the guise of justice.
Julian was left with only 20%.
And then, perhaps out of desperation or diplomacy, he gave 15% of that remaining land to the Kingdom of Elyndor—land Lysoria could no longer touch.
That left us with six scattered plots. Poor soil. Harsh environments. Distant. Useless for agriculture.
Hartwell was dying.
And Julian was trying to keep it alive.
When Emily returned, placing a small, glittering tart on the table, I asked, "Emily, how long have you been working in the mansion?"
"It's been two years, my lady."
Two years. Not long.
"Do you ever visit the Hartwell lands?" I asked.
"Yes, but only when I'm assigned to accompany the duchess."
"Where?"
"In the southern reaches, my lady. A place called Briswen Hollow."
Briswen Hollow. According to the novel, that land, though inhospitable, overrun with dangerous magical monsters, was rich in hidden crystal veins. Magic crystals.
In the story, Julian sold the land for a large sum, unaware of its potential. It was a pivotal mistake. The Duskvale family, led by a powerful knight commander, later tamed the monsters and opened a mine. Their daughter, Althaea, became Lily's best friend.
If Julian sells Briswen Hollow now, the crystals will make someone else rich. The Hartwells will lose their last chance.
But in the original novel, Hartwell still had 20%. Now, we have only five percent left.
Even if Julian sells it… it won't be enough.
I don't know what to do.But I have to find a way to change this story.
For Julian.For Hartwell.For myself.