The Missing Enchantress (English Version)

Chapter 3: The Trajectory of a Shattered Room

"Your home," Sigurd had said, his voice dropping into a register that was entirely too quiet, entirely too certain.

Keira stared at him. For a full three seconds, the only sound in the grand library was the soft ticking of a grandfather clock. Then, a sharp, hysterical laugh bubbled up from her throat.

"What? Haha... wow, Sigurd. Nice joke. Don't scare me like that."

"I am not joking, Keira."

"Look at me! Do I look like I belong in a place with floating books and royal teacups?" Her voice cracked, the thin veneer of her composure finally splintering into pure panic. "I am not from this world! This is a dream! A ridiculous, vivid, deep-sleep hallucination!"

“God, this can't be happening. Magic? Castles? A mind-reading prince? It’s completely absurd!”

"Calm down," Sigurd urged, taking a step toward her, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "I know you are from another world. But physically, our worlds are superimposed—we are merely hidden from your kind."

"For Pete’s sake, I am inside a book!" Keira shrieked, tugging at her long hair.

Sigurd blinked, his regal composure slipping into genuine confusion. "A book? What book?"

"Is this place called Ornothopia or not?!"

"Well... yes."

"Then I am inside that hellish novel! I read it in a manuscript my mother left behind before she died!"

For a moment, Sigurd simply stared at her. Then, he threw his head back and burst into a rich, booming laugh. It echoed off the vaulted ceiling, completely shattering the tense atmosphere.

Keira's face flattened into a deadpan expression. “Is he insane? Am I being mocked by a fictional royal right now?”

"Haha... I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Sigurd wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye. "You... you were sucked into a book? Keira, that is an incredibly creative joke."

"I'm not joking."

Her cold, unblinking glare finally registered. Sigurd’s laughter died down, his smile fading as he straightened his posture. He cleared his throat, realizing she was seriously dead. "You... you genuinely believe you are inside a piece of literature?"

"Note the total lack of sarcasm in my existential crisis," she spat.

Sigurd let out a heavy sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "You are not in a book, Keira. It is fundamentally impossible for a living soul to be trapped inside ink and paper."

"Oh, so that’s impossible?" Keira scoffed, throwing her hands in the air. "But magic is totally fine? Floating texts, changing clothes, and a prince who acts like a walkie-talkie for my brain—that's all completely normal, but a magical book is where you draw the line?!"

"Magic operates on the laws of mana and nature," Sigurd explained patiently, though a hint of amusement still tugged at his lips. "But entering a fictional story? I must say, your imagination is terrifyingly vast."

Keira crossed her arms, her lower lip tightening into a scowl. “Great. He thinks I'm a lunatic. I look like an absolute i***t right now.”

"Fine," Sigurd said, leaning against his desk, challenging her with a tilt of his head. "If you truly believe you are inside a novel written by your mother's friend, you must have read it. Correct?"

Keira nodded stiffly.

"Then you should know what happens next. You should know the plot, the conflicts, and how this world ends."

Keira opened her mouth to speak, ready to recite the dark, tragic ending she remembered—the terrifying Duke, the execution of the capital—but the words died in her throat.

A sudden, paralyzing chill seized her chest. She searched her memory, trying to grasp the details of the plot. But there was nothing. A vast, terrifying void occupied her mind.

"Keira?" Sigurd called out, his brow furrowing.

“Why can't I remember?” A cold sweat broke out along her neck. She remembered the crimson leather cover. She remembered the elegant script on the first page that warned her of a one-way journey. But the actual story? The characters? The lore? It was gone. Completely wiped clean.

"Keira!"

If she was in the story, she should have recognized Sigurd instantly. He was a prince, a major political figure. But he was a complete stranger to her.

“I'm doomed. I'm completely, utterly doomed.”

"HEY! KEIRA!"

SLAP!

A sharp, stinging pain erupted across Keira's left cheek. The sheer force of the blow snapped her head to the side, sending her stumbling backward until she hit the carpeted floor.

The physical shock broke her out of her trance. Her cheek burned with a fierce, throbbing heat. Slowly, her fingers went to her face, her eyes widening in disbelief.

“He... he just slapped me.”

A white-hot wave of pure, unfiltered adrenaline surged through her veins. The terror vanished, replaced by an explosive, primal rage. Keira scrambled to her feet, her vision tunneling on the prince. Before Sigurd could even lower his hand, she lunged forward.

Her fingers wrapped tightly around his pristine velvet collar.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" she roared.

With a sudden, violent surge of strength she didn't know she possessed, Keira threw him.

Sigurd’s eyes widened in absolute horror as his feet left the ground. He flew across the room like a ragdoll, crashing hard into the far wall before sliding down onto the floor, a cloud of dust and stray papers scattering around him.

The room fell into a dead, suffocating silence.

Keira stood frozen in the center of the study, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She looked at her trembling hands, then looked across the room at the crown prince of Ornothopia, who was currently sitting on the floor, propped against the baseboard, looking utterly stunned.

“How... how did I do that?”

Before she could process her sudden superhuman strength, the glass terrace doors burst open. A figure blurred into the room—Theron. He took one look at the disheveled prince on the floor, then whipped his sharp, emerald-green eyes toward Keira.

The sheer shock on Theron's face would have been comical under different circumstances.

“Yeah, join the club, buddy,” Keira thought wildly. “I'm just as confused as you are.”

"This is not okay," Theron said, his voice dropping into a dangerously low, gravelly register.

Keira stiffened. “Wait. Did he just answer my thought again? Are all the royals in this country defective?!”

Theron’s gaze sharpened into a lethal, icy glare that made Keira’s stomach drop.

“Oh no. Mom, Dad... I think I'm about to meet you guys in the afterlife. Why didn't you leave a warning label on that stupid book?!”

"We are not defective," Theron hissed, stepping forward. "And what book are you talking about, spy?"

“Yep, definitely a mind-reader. Is there a mute button for my brain?! Seriously, where is the settings menu for this dimension?!”

A sharp hiss of energy sliced through the air. Keira swallowed hard as a brilliant, intricate blue magic circle materialized over Theron’s right palm. The mana crackled with terrifying power. Even if she didn't believe in magic twenty minutes ago, she knew one hit from that thing would obliterate her.

"You are an assassin," Theron accused, his voice dripping with venomous certainty. "We fed you, we housed you, and this is how you repay the empire's hospitality? By striking the prince?"

He advanced on her like a predator. Keira took a frantic step back, her boots clicking against the floor until her shoulder blades hit a towering bookshelf. She was trapped.

“Dear Mom,” she thought, closing her eyes tightly. “Looks like I'm joining you early. Please have a welcome party ready. With pancit. And cake.”

Theron raised his glowing hand, aiming the spell straight at her chest. Keira braced herself, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Goodbye, world. It was a stressful eighteen years.”

"Sto... Stop."

The strained, breathless command broke the tension. Keira opened her eyes to see Sigurd standing up, his hand firmly gripping Theron’s wrist, forcing the magic circle away from her.

"S-Sigurd," Theron muttered, his fierce aura instantly faltering as he lowered his hand.

Theron immediately transitioned into a protective stance, guiding a slightly bruised Sigurd over to a velvet couch near the coffee table. Keira remained glued to the bookshelf, hyperventilating.

"Ke... Keira," Sigurd panted, a breathless, slightly manic chuckle escaping his lips as he leaned back against the cushions. "I did not expect you to possess the strength of an entire knightly order."

"Ha... ha..." Keira offered a weak, trembling laugh. "Honestly? Neither did I."

"Tsk," Theron scoffed, crossing his arms and glaring at her from beside the couch.

“Oh, shut up, Theron,” Keira thought, a sudden surge of petty defiance sparking within her. “You're just jealous because I achieved a perfect ten-out-of-ten trajectory with your precious prince. Bleeeh.”

Theron’s eyes narrowed so sharply they looked like slits. Keira quickly averted her gaze, clearing her throat.

“Damn it, Keira! Stop provoking the guy who can literally stream your thoughts in high definition!”

Sigurd suddenly burst into a loud, genuine laugh, shaking his head. Once his amusement subsided, he looked up at Keira with a sympathetic expression.

"Ahem... Keira. If you wish to prevent people from reading your thoughts, you must stop shouting so loudly within your inner self."

Keira frowned. "Inner self? What is this, a meditation class? What does that even mean?"

"The voice you use when you converse with yourself inside your mind," Sigurd explained patiently. "That is your inner self."

“Ah. In short: me, myself, and I.”

"Exactly," Sigurd nodded with a smile.

"Tsk."

"Let me teach you," the prince offered kindly. "Take a deep breath. Close your eyes. Imagine a solid, impenetrable wall rising around your mind. A barrier made of pure steel."

Keira hesitated, then nodded. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and visualized a massive, heavy iron gate slamming shut over her conscious thoughts. Lock, stock, and barrel. When she opened her eyes, both men were staring at her.

"Now, try speaking to your inner self," Sigurd instructed.

Keira locked eyes with Theron. “Theron is a miserable, arrogant jerk who looks like he was raised by a permanently angry viper. He acts like he owns the sky just because he has pretty hair. Hmph.”

She waited. The room remained completely quiet.

"You... you didn't hear that?" Keira asked, a spark of hope igniting in her chest.

Sigurd shook his head, looking impressed. Theron merely smirked, though his eyes remained suspicious.

Keira literally jumped in place, a massive grin breaking across her face. “Yes! Take that, you mind-reading creeps! This is a total victory!”

But her celebration was cut short by a sudden realization. She looked at Sigurd. "Wait. How do you guys do it? How do you read minds in the first place?"

"I thought you didn't believe in our world's mechanics?" Sigurd teased.

"I don't! But it’s completely unfair that you guys can browse my brain while I’m completely blind to yours."

Sigurd’s smile turned warm and instructive. "Look into a person's eyes, Keira. Clear your mind of all distractions, and simply focus entirely on their gaze."

Keira decided to test it immediately. She locked her eyes onto Sigurd's brilliant blue gaze. She emptied her mind, throwing away the fear and the confusion, focusing entirely on the depth of his eyes.

“Keira.”

A sudden, clear voice echoed directly inside her skull. Keira gasped, her eyebrows knitted together. “Was that... Sigurd's voice? Inside my head?”

"Well? Did you hear it?" Sigurd asked aloud, his lips curving upward.

“Wow. This is incredible. Maybe this world isn't entirely terrible,” Keira thought, a small smirk forming on her lips.

“Keira, respond to me internally while keeping your gaze,” Sigurd’s voice echoed in her mind again.

Keira blinked, suddenly confused. She broke eye contact, looking down at her boots, but she still felt the connection.

“Wait. How am I still hearing you? I'm not looking at you anymore.”

"Because once you establish a mental pathway with someone, you can communicate across distances using your thoughts," Sigurd explained aloud. "That is what we call..."

"Telepathy," Keira finished the word for him.

Sigurd nodded, his expression filled with genuine admiration. "For someone who claims to be from a world without magic, you adapt remarkably fast, Keira."

"Well, thank you," Keira said, her smile stretching from ear to ear. "I have a very good teacher."

As Sigurd smiled back, Keira’s gaze drifted toward Theron. The dark-haired noble stood like a statue, his expression entirely devoid of emotion.

“Seriously, is this guy made of stone? Can't he be happy for a girl's magical breakthrough?”

"I can still hear you," Theron said flatly.

“Oops”. Keira immediately threw up her mental iron gate, rolling her eyes dramatically. “Duh. You might be handsome, Sir Theron, but your personality is a flat zero. Personally, I think I'm much better company.”

She smirked to herself. Theron merely shook his head in exasperation, while Sigurd chuckled softly. “At least Sigurd smiles,” Keira noted mentally behind her barrier. “He’s a breath of fresh air. This other guy is just a walking migraine.”

[ Sigurd’s POV ]

After the chaotic events in the private study, Keira left the room under the careful guidance of Romulos, leaving Sigurd and Theron alone in the expansive space.

"Are you truly unharmed, Sigurd?" Theron asked immediately, his stoic facade dropping to reveal deep, protective concern.

"I am fine, Theron," Sigurd replied, rubbing his shoulder with a soft chuckle. "I was merely caught off guard. Who could have guessed that a girl with no detectable mana could possess such raw, physical power?"

"Do not lower your guard around her," Theron warned, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "We still do not know her true identity. We cannot verify if she is an ally or a highly trained operative sent by the opposition."

"But we were the ones who found her unconscious in the market square," Sigurd countered gently. "She didn't infiltrate us; we brought her in."

"A perfect cover," Theron argued, his green eyes dark with suspicion. "The enemy could have easily orchestrated her collapse, knowing our scouts would intercept a strange foreigner. Her confusion could easily be a carefully manufactured performance."

Sigurd let out a soft sigh, looking at his childhood friend. "Do you truly believe that? Her mind was in complete chaos, Theron. Her shock was entirely genuine."

"A skilled spy can deceive even a telepath."

"Oh, come now," Sigurd teased, a knowing smirk playing on his lips as he looked at the stoic noble. "You must learn to open your heart to trust again... Your Grace."

Theron stiffened at the deliberate use of his formal title, his jaw tightening as he looked away. "Tsk."