Transmigrated as the Villainess Princess - Chapter 239

Chapter 239: A New Direction (3)

The night of the gala unfolded in full splendor, the air humming with quiet anticipation and the gentle notes of a string quartet. A thousand lights shimmered across the grand ballroom, casting glittering reflections on the crystal walls of Sirius Central Military Academy.

The event was a commemoration of the unsung heroes who had risen from the ashes to build the institution, a celebration of unity, resilience, and rebirth. Dignitaries, commanders, and alumni dressed in their finest roamed the marble halls, toasting the future while honoring the past.

Performances came and went on the stage set in the center of the ballroom, including holographic war reenactments, martial arts demonstrations, and moving speeches from respected war veterans. Applause roared with every name called, every hero remembered.

But amidst the cheer and celebration, Ahcehera found herself quietly retreating. The lights were too bright, the voices too loud, and the air too thick with perfume and expectations. She had smiled for the guests, raised her glass for the cameras, and exchanged polite nods with people whose names she barely recalled.

But now, she needed space. With a glass of wine in hand, she slipped out of the main hall and into the garden that stretched beyond the academy’s grand rotunda. The moment she stepped onto the soft grass and into the cool night air, the pressure melted away.

Stars blinked silently above, arranged in constellations she had memorized from her childhood, and in the distance, fountains whispered over polished stone. She walked slowly, breathing in the scent of night-blooming flowers, letting the quiet settle over her like a long-lost friend.

Liliana was busy somewhere inside, trailing after her grandparents, doted on by King Dan and Queen Tereza. For once, Ahcehera didn’t have to worry about her, and it gave her a rare sliver of solitude. She sat on the stone bench near the fountain, cradling her wine, and tilted her head back to gaze at the stars.

In that moment, she wasn’t Director Ahcehera or the famed war strategist. She was simply herself, tired, hollowed out in places no one could see, and worn down by the truths she carried alone. Then she felt it. Not a sound, not a movement, but a presence.

Her eyes drifted to the opposite end of the garden, where a tall figure stood beneath the pale illumination of the lamplight. For a moment, she stared in silence, heart unmoved and pulse steady. The man looked back at her, unmoving, and though the distance between them was great, it felt as if the entire world had contracted into that narrow stretch of space.

Ahcehera’s fingers tightened around her glass. Riezekiel. Or, at least, that’s what he looked like. She studied him, his face sharper now, the once gentle curve of his mouth hardened into a line. His posture was straighter, more controlled. He wore formal attire like everyone else, but he carried the weight of something far darker, far older.

And yet, despite everything, nothing stirred in her. No spark. No tremble of recognition. Not even pain. Just cold emptiness. She didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Neither did he.

He remained still, and for a moment, she wondered if he was just a figment of her mind, an old ghost returning to haunt her during a night of remembrance. But he was real. Too real. And yet… so foreign.

She couldn’t place it at first, what unsettled her. But then she realized it wasn’t just the way he looked or moved, but the void where once there had been familiarity. It was like looking at someone who had borrowed his face, someone who mimicked his presence but didn’t truly wear it. And in the silence between them, Ahcehera did the unthinkable.

She questioned his identity. Was he truly Riezekiel Mors? Or was this another illusion, another trick of fate to test her once again? On Riezekiel’s part, the coldness radiating from Ahcehera struck him like a blade. Not anger. Not sadness. Just a wall of frost, commanding one message. “Stay away.”

He felt it in her eyes, in her posture, in the way she didn’t approach or acknowledge him with anything resembling warmth or curiosity. The bond that had once tethered their souls had dissolved completely. She had moved on. Forgotten. Severed. And though he had imagined a thousand different ways this meeting might happen, he had never prepared himself for this, her indifference.

It cut deeper than any sword. But he couldn’t show it. So he stood there, motionless, as though they were strangers sharing a moment of silence beneath the stars. And perhaps, now, that’s all they truly were, strangers.

Just as the silence stretched thinner, another figure entered the garden.

Eros.

He had followed Ahcehera when he noticed her absence from the hall, concerned that she might have overexerted herself again. His eyes landed on her seated form first, and then they flicked to the figure across the garden. For a heartbeat, something flickered in his gaze. There was recognition and confusion, but they vanished as quickly as they came.

With casual grace, Eros approached Ahcehera, his coat slung over his arm. Without a word, he draped it over her shoulders and settled beside her, as though guarding her from a chill the night hadn’t yet delivered. “You always forget to bring something warm,” he said softly, his voice carrying more warmth than the coat itself.

She glanced at him, her expression unreadable, but her hand reached up to touch the lapel of the cloak as if grounding herself. Eros looked toward the opposite end of the garden and saw the figure watching them. There was no challenge in his gaze, no fear, only quiet curiosity.

But when he turned back to Ahcehera, he said nothing. He simply leaned back and tilted his head to the sky, matching her silence with his own.

Riezekiel watched them a moment longer. Then, as quietly as he had come, he turned and walked away into the shadows of the garden, leaving no trace of his presence. The stars did not blink. The fountains did not waver. And Ahcehera, wrapped in Eros’s cloak, simply stared into the night, as if Riezekiel had never been there at all.