Warmth.
Warmth.
What is this..?
I always imagined that if I ever woke up in a fantasy world, I'd be standing on the edge of a battlefield with a flaming sword, or in a tavern full of mysterious, brooding strangers.
But no. I woke up in silk.
Warm. Golden. Draped in it like I was born royal.
At first, I thought I was dreaming. Not the regular kind of dream, this was the kind you don't even think you deserve.
The bed beneath me was too soft to be real, the kind that swallows you in all the right ways and makes your body forget it was ever cold or tired. The sheets were silver-threaded and smelled like lavender and something warm, like honey and fresh sunlight.
I blinked up at a shimmering canopy above me, soft and sheer like clouds woven into lace. For a full minute, I didn't move. I didn't breathe. I just existed, stunned into stillness.
And then I sat up and felt the difference immediately.
My back didn't hurt. My neck wasn't stiff from sleeping weirdly on a secondhand pillow.
And my hair…
I touched it carefully. It didn't feel like mine. No knots. No frizz. It slid between my fingers like water. I scrambled off the bed and stumbled toward the huge gilded mirror across the room, heart hammering.
And that's when I saw her.
Me.
But not me.
In the mirror stood a girl with the same bone structure I'd known all my life—soft around the jaw, sharp at the nose, faintly tired under the eyes—but this version had skin like polished gold and hair that spilled like ink across her shoulders. The acne scars that used to cluster around my chin? Gone. The faded darkness under my eyes from years of poor sleep? Replaced by a warm, subtle glow like I'd just walked out of a fairy tale spa.
Even my eyes had changed.
They used to be a murky, indecisive brown. Now they gleamed a deep bronze, rimmed with gold. Like melted coins, or lion's eyes.
I touched my cheek. "What the hell…"
My voice sounded the same, at least. Raspy and a bit dry.
Before I could panic, a knock came at the door—soft, rushed, hesitant. It cracked open a moment later, and a girl entered. She couldn't have been more than sixteen, with a cherub's face, strawberry-blonde curls pinned under a maid's cap, and big round eyes that screamed overworked and underpaid.
She curtsied so fast it nearly looked like a stumble.
"Miss Vale! Oh, thank the stars, you're finally awake. We were beginning to worry."
My mouth opened, but no sound came out.
Miss Vale?
"Pardon?" I croaked.
The girl looked confused. "You've been unconscious for two days. Lord Chancellor said the portal sickness might last a while, but…" She trailed off, biting her lip. "Do you remember who you are?"
A dozen answers crashed into my brain. Student. Waitress. Dropout.
But my voice said: "Eliora Vale."
The girl visibly relaxed. "Oh, good. I was told to prepare your bath and breakfast. Do you prefer violet tea or dragon flower?"
I blinked at her.
Bath? Tea?
Dragon… what now?
I stared at my reflection again. The gorgeous stranger stared back.
This wasn't a dream. This was something else entirely.
And then she said it.
"The Lord Chancellor also mentioned your first session with the Young Master begins at noon."
I turned slowly.
"Sorry, young who?"
She tilted her head. "Young Master Cassian. Your pupil."
My soul left the building.
Cassian.
Cassian Nightbane.
Somehow, in some horrifying twist of logic and divine mischief, I had been reborn into the story.
As the villain's tutor.
I let the maid, whose name was Rina, I think, usher me into a steaming bath behind a velvet curtain. I didn't argue. I didn't speak. My brain was still rebooting like an old laptop, stuck somewhere between What the hell is happening and Don't throw up in the royal bathtub.
The water smelled like crushed violets and citrus peel. A towel warmed by magic or whatever this world used waited on a gold rack nearby. I scrubbed my skin more than necessary, half expecting the mirror girl to fade off me like makeup.
She didn't.
When I emerged, Rina had laid out an outfit for me, long navy robes with ivory embroidery, thin but warm, with a high collar and fitted sleeves. It reminded me of old scholars' robes from fantasy games I used to play. The fabric hugged my body gently, flattering but modest. A thin silver sash was tied around my waist.
"You're meant to look respectable," Rina chirped. "You're a tutor to nobility now."
Right. Nobility.
I was about to go teach the villain of my favorite fantasy series… how to read. Or fence. Or murder politely. Who knew?
By the time she guided me out of the guest wing and down a long marble hall, I had stopped trying to process it.
The estate, no, the palace was ridiculous. High-arched ceilings painted with constellations. Chandeliers made of floating crystal. Velvet carpets were so thick I felt like I was wading through money.
I didn't belong here.
We reached a tall set of oak doors, carved with dragons and roses. She knocked once, waited, then opened them.
Inside was a grand study, dark wood shelves filled with leather-bound tomes, a massive desk at one end, and an enormous fireplace where flames flickered without smoke.
And sitting in a chair near the window, reading with eerie stillness, was him.
Cassian.
He looked about ten.
He wore a tailored black coat with silver trim, and his dark hair was neatly combed back from a pale, angular face. His eyes were icy gray with no warmth, lifted from the book the moment I entered. He didn't blink.
He just stared.
I felt it in my stomach like a punch. This kid… he's already dangerous.
"Master Cassian," Rina said gently, bowing her head. "Your new tutor, Miss Eliora Vale."
His gaze shifted to her for the briefest moment before returning to me.
"She's late."
His voice was soft but exact, no childish lisp, no stumbling. Just calm, clipped, and already judgmental.
I stepped forward before I could talk myself out of it and bowed stiffly. "Apologies, Young Master. I was… unwell."
He didn't reply.
I cleared my throat and forced a smile.
"Well. I suppose we should begin."
Still nothing.
He closed his book slowly, like a hunter sheathing a blade, and tilted his head.
"Are you afraid of me?" he asked.
I froze.
The air in the room shifted. Not cold. Not hot. Just… alert. Like the walls themselves were listening.
"I'm not afraid of ten-year-olds," I said carefully.
He smiled then. A small, cold curve of his lips that didn't reach his eyes.
"Good."
Because something told me if I had said yes... he would've enjoyed it.
He just watched me.
I had never seen someone so still.
Cassian didn't fidget. He didn't blink excessively. He didn't glance at the fireplace or look away like most kids would. He just... sat there, studying me. Observing me like I was a page he already knew how to tear apart, but was willing to skim first for amusement.
And I couldn't look away either.
That face.It was the same one I'd seen in a hundred brutal panels. Older, colder, deadlier, sure. But even now, even this young, the shadows were already forming around his eyes. That eerie calm. That absence of innocence.
Was he already broken?
Or was this the part of the story where he could still be saved?
I swallowed hard and tried to mask the weight pressing down on my chest.
He was just a boy.A boy with too-sharp eyes and a voice too measured for his age.A boy who, if the story played out the same way, would kill hundreds by the time he was twenty.A boy I had cried over. Raged at. Obsessively read about while eating cold noodles at 2 AM.
And now I was here.In front of him.Assigned to teach him.
What the hell was I supposed to do? Pretend this was normal? Pretend I didn't know what he would become? That the little boy in front of me wouldn't grow up to betray everyone who ever trusted him?
But then he spoke again, so softly I almost missed it.
"You're different."
I blinked. "What do you mean?"
His lips twitched. Not quite a smile. Not quite a smirk.
"The others always smiled too much. And their hands trembled when they touched the books."
I realized with a jolt, I hadn't been handed any books.
I hadn't even come prepared.
All I had were my memories. My knowledge of Crimson Scars. Of him.
And that terrifying weight of knowing how this story ended.
He stood slowly, walking toward me with measured steps. I fought the urge to step back.
When he stopped, he was barely a foot away.
We stood eye to eye, well, nearly. I still had half a head on him, but it didn't feel like it. Not with the way he looked at me.
"I'll learn from you," he said simply.
Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "But if you lie to me… I'll know."
My throat tightened. I nodded once, barely trusting myself to speak.
And in that moment, something strange happened.
His eyes flickered. Not just with calculation or pride, but with something else.
Curiosity.A single, flickering ember of possibility.
And suddenly, the weight shifted.
Maybe I wasn't just here to survive.Maybe I was here to change something.
Maybe… I was here to change him.