Transmigrated as the Villainess Princess - Chapter 263

Chapter 263: Seal (3)

Three weeks after the Lattice fell, the skies of the realm bore no cracks. No whispers. No echoes.

Peace—true peace—unfolded in gentle hours and golden mornings. The rivers ran clear through the Myrrhwood. The stars hummed quiet lullabies. And for the first time in decades, Miraen dreamed without shadows.

She sat on the terrace of the White Ember Keep, sketching lines across a parchment—half map, half memory. It was a habit she’d started during the days of war, something to anchor her. Now, her quill drifted more slowly, less like defense, more like reflection.

But even in stillness, she knew the tides of magic were changing again.

Lira arrived shortly before dusk. Her armor was polished, her red braid longer than before, her eyes ringed with concern.

“They’re here,” she said, stepping into the light.

Miraen rose. “The Starless Envoys?”

Lira nodded. “They crossed the northern gate just after sunset. No banners. No weapons drawn. But their presence… it frays the edge of thought.”

Miraen had expected as much.

The moment they’d sealed the Lattice, the balance of power had shifted—not just in their world, but in the ones around it. It was only a matter of time before someone came to stake a claim.

“Where’s Aeliana?” Miraen asked.

“Gone to the Vaults. She said the stars have begun whispering again. Different this time.”

“And Elyon?”

“In the library. Studying the Hymns of Aor. He’s trying to translate a stasis ritual found in the ruins beneath Triniel.”

“Preparing to stop time again?”

“Or preparing for something that’s already coming through it.”

Miraen folded the map and tucked it into her belt. “Let’s meet them.”

—

The Starless Envoys waited in the Court of Ashen Leaves.

They were tall, robed in silver-gray cloth that shimmered like oil on water. Their faces were masked in porcelain, blank and smooth. They stood motionless beneath the fallen arch, as if carved from the dusk itself.

Miraen and Lira approached, flanked by two Silver Wardens.

The envoy in the center inclined its head.

“We greet the Bearer of Embers,” it said, voice like chimes struck underwater.

“I’m no bearer,” Miraen replied. “Only a remnant that chose to remain.”

The envoy tilted its head. “Titles are echoes. You remain.”

“What is your purpose?”

“We come on behalf of the Empire of Aevorith. Your world has breached thresholds. You have touched the core threads of the Weave. That which should remain still is now known. Seen. Felt.”

“We did what was necessary.”

“Necessity is irrelevant. Exposure is consequence.”

Lira stepped forward. “Say what you mean.”

The envoy turned to her.

“The Empire of Aevorith has preserved continuity for a million dawns. You have violated temporal sanctity. Therefore, your realm is now under reclamation.”

Miraen’s hand drifted to her belt. “Reclamation?”

“You will surrender all known fragments of Latticework, Dreamroot, and Memory Glass. You will seal your gates and dismantle the Echo Archive. Failure to comply will result in a Harmonic Lockdown.”

“You’d try to freeze this world in time?”

The envoy did not blink. “Compliance is peace. Rejection is dissociation.”

Miraen studied them.

They weren’t threatening out of malice.

They truly believed they were maintaining order.

“We need time to consider your demands,” she said carefully.

The envoy bowed again. “You have until the third eclipse. Then the Entropic Choir shall begin its descent.”

With that, the Starless turned—and vanished into the dusk.

—

Back in the Great Hall, Miraen met with Aeliana, Elyon, Lira, and High Archivist Renna.

Aeliana paced the marble floor. “I’ve seen them before. In a dream that wasn’t mine. They exist outside time—not watching, not listening, but holding everything still. They call it mercy.”

Elyon leaned on his staff. “A lockdown like that… it won’t just halt this realm. It’ll erase our will. Freeze our choices. We’d be living echoes.”

Lira spat. “Not living at all.”

Archivist Renna unrolled a scroll of forbidden lore. “I found a reference to Aevorith in the Elder Dreamroot Codex. It mentions a vault world called Caer Lumen—where the Empire imprisons temporal offenders.”

“Prisons?” Aeliana said sharply.

Renna nodded. “Whole timelines, locked in loops. Eternal repetition. No growth. No decay. Just silence.”

Miraen rose from her seat. “Then we have three days to prepare. We need allies. Knowledge. And a defense the Empire won’t expect.”

Elyon’s gaze met hers. “A mirror of their own making?”

“Exactly. If they use harmony to bind, we’ll use dissonance to disrupt.”

Aeliana crossed her arms. “We need someone who understands their structure.”

Renna hesitated. “There’s one.”

Everyone looked at her.

“In the Starlit Archives… there is a sealed memory. A being once part of their Empire. Banished. Broken. But not erased.”

“Name?”

“Seranth. The Archivist of Rejection.”

Elyon’s eyes narrowed. “He survived dissonance?”

Renna nodded. “But at a cost.”

—

That night, Miraen stood on the balcony of her tower, staring into the stars.

Three days.

To stop a war not of swords, but of time and song.

Behind her, Aeliana stepped close, resting her chin on Miraen’s shoulder.

“You’re doing it again,” Aeliana murmured.

“What?”

“Carrying it all. Alone.”

Miraen smiled faintly. “Old habits.”

“Break them.”

Aeliana pressed a kiss to her temple. “We’re not fragments anymore. We’re a chorus.”

Miraen closed her eyes.

She wasn’t alone.

But the path ahead would require more than unity.

It would require discord.

True, unbound, beautiful chaos.

To reclaim not just their realm—but their right to choose their own song.

A pale wind swept across the tower as Miraen turned to face Aeliana fully. The stars shimmered above them—brighter tonight, almost anxious. Somewhere far off, the Vault of Echoes pulsed with dormant energy, awakened by the Starless’ arrival.

Miraen reached out, lacing her fingers with Aeliana’s. “Then we’ll find Seranth. Even if he’s lost in madness.”

Aeliana nodded. “Madness may be what we need.”

Down in the courtyard, Elyon was already gathering supplies, runes glowing faintly along his sleeves. Lira had summoned scouts from the southern border. The chorus was forming—fragmented, scarred, but no longer silenced.

Above them, the stars shifted slightly—three aligning on the eastern edge of the sky.

The first sign of the eclipse.

Time was counting down, and with it, the Empire’s ultimatum.

But for the first time in a long while, Miraen smiled.

Let the Empire come.

They would meet them not with surrender—

But with defiance.