“She has no Luminous.” 
 The words slammed into Alessia the moment she stepped back into her chamber—spoken not quietly, not gently, but with sharp certainty.
 She was stunned mid-step. Two palace servants—both in their early twenties—were inside polishing her shelves. They stiffened, realizing she had heard them. One dropped a cloth; the other turned pale.
 Seraphine moved quickly, her voice cold. “Explain yourselves.”
 The servants knelt instantly, trembling. “L-Lady Seraphine, forgive us! We—we didn’t know the Princess was returning so soon!”
 Seraphine’s golden eyes narrowed. “And that excuses speaking lies about her?”
 “It’s not a lie!” the younger servant blurted, then covered her mouth as if she hadn’t meant to. “Th-the court healers said it. That the Princess lost her Luminous core during the fall.”
 “They said she was hollow!” the other added it before she could stop herself. “Empty like a husk.”
 Alessia’s heart clenched. A hollow body. A husk. It was almost funny, she thought bitterly. Back on Earth, her classmates had called her useless. Worthless and invisible. 
 Here? They called her empty.
 She stepped forward before Seraphine could speak.
 “What else did they say?” Alessia asked quietly.
 The servants shook harder. “Y-Your Highness... we didn’t mean any—”
 “I’m asking,” Alessia insisted. “Tell me.”
 The older servant paled. “T-They said you were born with a weak core. That it never grew. The fall shattered what little strength remained in your core.”
 “So the palace believes I have no magic at all,” Alessia whispered.
 The younger nodded fearfully. “Everyone thinks so, Princess.”
 Alessia bit the inside of her cheek. “Everyone thinks I’m powerless. Everyone thinks I’m empty.”
 Seraphine’s voice came sharp and quick behind her. “Enough. Leave the room. Now.”
 The servants scrambled out, nearly tripping over each other in their rush to flee. The door shut. Silence filled the chamber. Alessia stood staring at the floor, her breath shaking.
 Seraphine approached gently. “Princess—”
 “They think I’m worthless here too,” Alessia murmured.
 Seraphine sighed softly. “Princess, Lovette’s test clearly disproved that—”
 “It won’t matter!” Alessia snapped—then immediately regretted it. 
 She closed her eyes, steadying her breathing. “They won’t believe me. They don’t want to.”
 Seraphine hesitated before speaking again. “There is a reason, Princess.”
 Alessia looked up. Seraphine’s voice lowered, careful. “Sixteen years ago, at your birth, the palace waited for you to show some sign of Luminous potential. Most children glow, or pulse with faint energy, within the first week.”
 “And I didn’t,” Alessia whispered.
 “No.” Seraphine frowned. “You showed nothing. For years.”
 Alessia’s stomach sank. “So I was born weak,” she murmured.
 “Not weak,” Seraphine corrected. “Silent. But in the palace, silence is interpreted as weakness. You grew older, displayed no Luminous control, and everyone assumed your core was defective.”
 Alessia pressed a trembling hand to her chest. “But they were mistaken,” she whispered. “I have… something.”
 Seraphine nodded. “Something extraordinary. Something unheard of.”
 Light and Dark. A Hybrid. But if she revealed that now? The empire would panic. The nobles would hunt her. The Emperor might lock her away—or worse.
 Seraphine gently guided Alessia toward the cushioned bench beside the window.
 “You need to understand the court rumors,” she said softly. “If you know how they see you, you can change that image. But only if you are careful.”
 Alessia sank onto the bench, staring out over the palace gardens. “What exactly are they saying?” she asked quietly. 
 “Not just the servants. The nobles.” Seraphine sighed. “The nobles say that the Princess of Endymion—sixteen years of age—should have displayed full Luminous capability long ago. They say your core was either stunted by birth or damaged beyond repair. And your fall…” She looked at her. “Your fall only confirmed their assumptions.” 
 Alessia curled her hands into fists. “So I died as a powerless girl,” she murmured. “And I woke up in a world that thinks I still am one.”
 Seraphine sat beside her, folding her hands neatly in her lap.“Yes,” she said softly. “But now you have power. You now possess real, extraordinary power. You must trust it.”
 Alessia wished she felt that power instead of fear. She looked down at her hands—pale, elegant, nothing like the trembling, bruised hands she remembered on that bathroom floor.
 “Seraphine,” she whispered, “I’m terrified.”
 “I know.”
 “I don’t understand how to use anything inside me. Nor do I know how to conceal it. Or how to act like Alessia.”
 Seraphine’s voice softened. “Then let me teach you.”
 Alessia blinked. “Teach me?”
 “Yes.” Seraphine turned fully toward her, expression calm but resolute. 
 “You must learn everything Alessia once knew—and everything she should have known. Court etiquette, noble lineage, your role as a princess… and your Luminous.”
 Alessia’s breath hitched. “But you’re not a Luminous instructor.”
 “No,” Seraphine agreed. “But I can teach you how to survive until one arrives.”
 “Arrives? Eryx said he would send someone,” Alessia murmured.
 Seraphine nodded. “The Crown Prince is nineteen now—strategic, trained, and politically aware. If he promised someone, then that person is either skilled, discreet or both.”
 Alessia leaned back slowly. So Eryx was older than she was by three years. Calm, composed, and stone-faced when the court watched but gentle when he looked at her. She still wasn’t sure she deserved that kindness or any kindness at all.
 Seraphine stood. “For now, Princess, let me show you how to walk through the palace without appearing vulnerable.”
 Alessia blinked. “Is that truly necessary?”
 Seraphine gave her a look. “In this palace, even the angle of your chin can determine how people treat you.”
 Alessia sighed. “Fine. Teach me.”
 Seraphine motioned for her to stand. “First,” she instructed, “your posture. Straighten your back. Shoulders relaxed.”
 Alessia attempted it, wobbling slightly. “Good. Now, focus your eyes. Don’t look down when someone speaks to you. Look through them.”
 “Through them?” Alessia echoed.
 “Yes. Like they’re not even worth being an obstacle.”
 “That sounds… mean,” Alessia mumbled.
 “It keeps you alive,” Seraphine replied. “Now—walk to the door.”
 Alessia obeyed. Her steps were small and careful. Her body felt awkward, like she was wearing clothes too fine for her. Her mind kept replaying the whispers: 
 She has no Luminous. 
 She is a husk. 
 She should’ve stayed dead.
 Seraphine followed behind her. “Lift your chin. You’re a princess, not a prisoner.”
 Alessia lifted her chin.
 “Better,” Seraphine said. “Now turn.”
 Alessia spun too fast and stumbled. Seraphine caught her. “Steady,” she murmured. “Grace comes with practice. Again.”
 They trained for nearly an hour. Posture, walking, sitting, standing, turning without wobbling, and peaking without fear. Each movement felt surreal. 
 Luna had mastered the art of shrinking herself in classrooms, hallways, and street corners—anywhere she could potentially attract the attention of predators. Now she had to unlearn it all.
 When Alessia finally slumped onto the bench, sweaty and frustrated, Seraphine laughed softly. “You improve quickly.”
 “I’m dying,” Alessia muttered.
 “Dramatic,” Seraphine teased gently. “It’s a good sign.”
 Before Alessia could respond, the chamber door opened. Alessia stiffened instinctively. But instead of a noble, guard, or tutor—A young girl peeked inside. It was Maera.
 “P-Princess?” she squeaked. “L-Lady Seraphine? H-He has arrived.”
 Seraphine’s posture straightened. “Who?”
 Maera gulped. “T-The tutor His Highness mentioned.”
 Alessia’s heart skipped. Eryx’s chosen teacher. The one meant to evaluate—and possibly train—her Luminous.
 Seraphine turned to Alessia. “Compose yourself.”
 Alessia inhaled slowly.Her heart pounded. Footsteps approached. The steps belonged to someone who was confident. Someone who didn’t need to announce their power.
 The chamber doors opened wider, and a figure stepped inside. A man dressed in a long, dark cloak with silver embroidery along the hem. A black mask, etched with faint runes, covered half of his face. His hair was long and dark, tied loosely behind him, and his posture was relaxed but undeniably strong.
 He looked no older than twenty and everything about him radiated danger and control.
 Seraphine bowed sharply. “You are?” 
 The masked man inclined his head politely.
 “You may call me Kael.”
 Alessia stared. She saw Kael mysterious and chosen by Eryx himself. He turned his gaze to Alessia—though his eyes were hidden, she felt the weight of it like a blade across her skin.
 “You’re the Princess,” he said, voice calm and steady. “Sixteen years old. You have survived a fall that should have killed you.”
 Alessia nodded. “Yes.”
 Kael studied her for a long moment and said, “You are not the girl who fell.”
 Seraphine stiffened. Maera gasped. Alessia’s breath stopped.
 Kael didn’t flinch. “Your posture, your eyes, your voice,” he said. “Everything is different.” 
 His masked gaze narrowed. “Whoever you are now is not the same as the Princess who died that day.”
 Alessia felt her entire body turn cold. “H-How—”
 Kael lifted a hand to silence her. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not here to expose you.” He stepped closer. “I’m here to train you.”
 Alessia’s heart pounded. Seraphine exhaled shakily. “Can you help her?”
 Kael answered without hesitation. “That depends.”
 He looked at Alessia. “Princess,” he said quietly. “If you truly wish to survive in this palace… you must first learn to master the power inside you.”
 Alessia’s breath trembled.
 “And your power,” Kael added, his voice is low. “Is far stronger than any rumor that denies your power.”