His throne,her war

the dream-pt2

The Dream of a Forgotten Life

The scene transformed into another place...

The world inside my dream was darker than the one I left behind. Not in color, but in weight.

It wasn't raining, but it felt like it had just stopped—like grief hung in the air, still fresh, still clinging. I knew I was dreaming, yet everything pulsed with memory, as if someone else's heartbeat had been sewn into my chest.

Kael's.

For a moment, I stood in a long hall of mirrors. But none of them reflected me. They reflected Kael Varentine. Over and over again. His figure stood straight, broad-shouldered yet lean, dressed in crisp military garb. But then the image shimmered—and the truth bled through. Beneath the bindings and armor, I saw her.

Not a man.

Not a villain.

Not a side character

Not a sacrifice

Just a girl with silver-white hair like snow under moonlight. Skin so pale it looked carved from marble, and eyes cold enough to stop anyone from asking questions. A jawline too fine. Lips too soft. Features too gentle, too beautiful, even if veiled under shadow and uniform.

She wasn’t supposed to be beautiful. Not in that world. Not as a man. But beauty like that couldn’t be hidden for long. Her soft curves were subtle but unmistakable—made only more striking by the rigid military attire meant to suppress them.

I blinked, and the mirrors shattered.

I was inside a grand hall now—columns rising like trees toward the golden-painted ceiling. Nobles whispered like snakes coiled in fine robes. At the center sat a man. The crown prince. Charming, golden-haired, and a little too proud. And beside him, the female lead of the novel I had once loved—Charlotte Evelyn Rosé..

She looked exactly as I remembered her on the cover of the book I read back in high school: cascading golden curls, vivid sapphire eyes, and a smile that always sparkled, even when it shouldn’t have. The heroine of the romantic epic The Crown's Eternal Promise.

She was supposed to be kind. Naive. Endearing. But in the dream, I saw the cracks.

She laughed a little too loudly when Kael was mocked for being "heartless." She flinched when Kael tried to help her up after a fall, recoiling like she had touched something vile. And she always stood just close enough to the prince for it to look accidental—though her eyes sparkled with victory every time Kael was ordered to stand down, shamed in front of the court.

Charlotte never knew Kael was a woman. But she knew how to wound him. Her ignorance wasn’t innocent. It was convenient.

As I stood invisible, watching the court from behind the veil of dream, it hit me: Kael had been their shield, their scapegoat, and their ghost. Whenever the nobles needed someone to take the blame—Kael. When the court was threatened—Kael. When the war demanded blood—Kael.

And he gave it. All of it.

Why? Because he had people. Not many. Just a few. A squire who knew but never said. A maid who pretended not to notice the blood-soaked bindings. A commander who stood in silence beside Kael when whispers became knives.

Allies. Not loud ones. But real.

In the book, Kael was a cold-hearted general. In reality, Kael was barely surviving.

Every morning began with binding cloth so tight she could hardly breathe. Every interaction filtered through a mask. Every victory credited to someone else. Every loss blamed on her.

No wonder Kael rarely smiled. No wonder Kael became the side character for the plot

I remembered back in my high school days, staying up past midnight reading this story. One time, my classmate poked my shoulder in homeroom and said, “Hey. School’s over. You didn’t notice?” Because I was too far gone in chapter twenty-three, the one where Kael was forced to bow before the very court that sent him to die.

Back then, I didn’t understand. I only cared about the romance. The will-they-won’t-they between Charlotte and the prince. I rooted for her. I thought Kael was cold, distant. Maybe even cruel.

Now?

Now I saw the truth.

Kael had always been the one bleeding just outside the spotlight.

She hadn’t just been hiding her gender—she’d been hiding her pain, her pride, her entire self.

And now, in this dream, in this strange second life, I remembered everything.

When I opened my eyes, my breath caught in my throat. The bed beneath me was rough, the room dimly lit by a flickering lantern. And beside me sat the girl with Lys eyes—the one who pulled me out of the forest.

“Kael?” she whispered.

No.

Not Kael.

But I would carry her name.

Because now, I knew what it meant.

And I wouldn’t let it end the same way.

I wasn’t Kael.

I was me.

In my past life, I had been Yume. And now, I had been reborn—not into Kael’s body, but into Kael’s world.

When I opened my eyes, my breath caught in my throat. The bed beneath me was rough, the room dimly lit by a flickering lantern. But I wasn’t in pain.

I was warm.

I wasn’t wearing armor or rags or bindings.

I was in a soft cotton nightdress, tucked into thick blankets. I moved slightly and felt bandages at my waist, under my sleeves, wrapped with care.

And then I saw her.

The girl sitting beside me couldn’t have been older than eighteen—my age. She had soft brown hair tied into a braid and a round, kind face. But there was something in her eyes that reminded me of someone.

Lys.

She looked like she could have been Lys’s sister.

When she saw me stir, she jumped slightly and then smiled—shy, relieved.

"You’re awake," she whispered. Her voice was soft but firm, like a candle's flame that refused to flicker.

I wanted to speak. To ask where I was. Who she was.

But no words came.

My throat felt dry. My limbs, heavy.

She reached forward and gently helped me sit up, placing a warm cup of water in my hands.

“You’ve been asleep for three days," she said, as if she’d been waiting the whole time. "You were found half-dead near the edge of the forest. They almost didn’t make it in time.”

I looked down at myself—small, soft, vulnerable. I wasn’t disguised. I wasn’t pretending. I was... me.

And for the first time in this world, I was being treated like a person.

Not a weapon. Not a soldier. Not a ghost.

Just a girl who had survived something.

She tucked the blanket tighter around my shoulders. “I’m Emylia,” she said. “I’ll take care of you until you're strong enough to stand again.”

I stared at her.

Not knowing yet where I was, but knowing—finally—that I had a place to start.

And maybe, just maybe, someone on my side.

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—End of Chapter 4—