Chapter 363
The rice fields blurred into strokes of green and brown, the trees dissolved into dark green streaks, and the grayish-blue sky seemed to remain still while the earth beneath it sped away.
The rapidly moving scenery created an illusion, as though time itself were being accelerated, pulling her farther from everything she had ever known.
She allowed her awareness to grow still, sinking into the endless stream of visuals, using its speed and uncertainty as a temporary escape from the stagnant pace and dreadful certainty inside the cabin.
'I never expected this.'
At first, the murmur was only a thin whisper within her heart, an admission that surfaced from the depths of a weary soul.
Erietta had never imagined, not even once, that beauty could be found within a forced journey that felt like exile.
Throughout her life, the world beyond the towering walls of the Bathee family and the corridors of Star Academy had always seemed distant, forbidden, or filled with threat.
Yet now, confined inside this moving cage, it was precisely through the barred window that she witnessed a landscape flowing so vividly and freely.
'Was my decision to reincarnate into this world truly the right one?'
Dozens of minutes passed, measured by the steady rhythm of wheels upon rails and the scenery that began to feel repetitive.
The haze of her initial fascination gradually thinned, leaving a quieter and deeper space within Erietta's mind.
There, an old question she had long pressed into the darkest corner of her awareness began to crawl outward, taking form in a murmur that echoed only within the void of her thoughts.
She asked no one in particular, perhaps fate or her former self, whether her decision to reincarnate into this world had been the correct choice.
Whether the red thread she had chosen to weave anew had instead led her into a web more intricate and cruel than her previous life.
'Erietta Bathee is not entirely me, nor is she the only soul inhabiting this body.'
The silence lingered for precisely five seconds, an empty pause between the rumble of the train and the flow of her thoughts.
From the deepest recess of her hidden consciousness, that murmur surfaced again, this time carrying a fundamental truth she kept guarded like a pearl at the bottom of her soul's ocean.
Erietta Bathee, she admitted to herself, was not a pure singular entity.
Within this one body, behind the name given by the world, more than one soul resided.
There were layers, echoes of other lives, an accumulation of awareness far more complex than anyone who looked at her could imagine, including the expressionless guards surrounding her.
She remembered it not as a complete and sequential memory, but as fragments of vivid dreams, shards of emotions both foreign and familiar, and flashes of wisdom that appeared suddenly in critical moments.
Before this tangled karma led her to become Erietta, even before her cycle of reincarnation in this world began, there had been another starting point.
There had been a life in a different world, beneath different stars, where she had been known by a name that now felt like it belonged to someone else—Myra Astrielle.
'All of Myra's characteristics were a fortress.
Now that fortress has been seized, and I remain among its ruins.'
Within the memory buried in the deepest layer of her consciousness, the figure of Myra Astrielle emerged like a silhouette carved from moonlight and mist.
Her face was oval, tapering gently toward the chin, with a soft jawline that nonetheless conveyed quiet firmness.
Her expression rarely slipped into extremes.
More often, she appeared neutral and silent, as though the world before her were a complex equation she patiently solved before deciding upon the appropriate response.
A smile, if it appeared at all, was merely a faint curve at the corner of her lips, almost conceptual, a rare gift reserved for moments that surpassed ordinary meaning.
Myra's eyes were the center of her entire aura.
Their color was neither deep ocean blue nor striking emerald green, but a faint bluish-gray, like smoke dancing within pale silver light, or a twilight sky veiled in thin mist.
Those eyes did not radiate sharp brilliance, but instead absorbed surrounding light, creating a depth that was silent and contemplative.
Her gaze was always calm, penetrating without intimidation, more inclined to observe, record, and understand than to demand or judge.
Many felt fully seen by a single glance from those bluish-gray eyes, though Myra herself rarely realized the quiet power within her stare.
Her hair was cut in a simple and practical style, a short layered bob or a long pixie cut that followed the shape of her head.
The cut was not intended to impress, but for efficiency and ease, a silent declaration of self-control and a refusal of excess in appearance.
The short hair reinforced the clean and firm impression of her face, as though declaring she did not wish for anything to obstruct her vision or distract from what she deemed important.
Her skin bore a warm pallor, not the pallor of illness, but a calm and natural fairness, like morning light filtering through thin clouds before touching the earth.
Her posture was upright yet not rigid, relaxed yet not flamboyant, reflecting an inner balance deliberately maintained.
Every movement was smooth and economical, no energy wasted, as though each step, nod, and swing of her arm had been considered for its impact and purpose.
In clothing, Myra tended to choose cool monochrome palettes—gray, dark blue, soft black, or muted white.
The cuts were clean, minimalist, and nearly without ornament.
Her attire did not seek attention, but rather framed her presence simply, allowing the essence of her calm and sharp observation to become the focus.
She was like a painting rendered in diluted ink upon textured paper, beautiful in its subtlety and powerful in its intentional simplicity.
'She came from outside everything—not from this place, not from this world, and certainly not from this boxed universe.'
Beyond the neat structure of this universe, somewhere among the countless ordered boxes of the multiverse, lay the true origin of Myra Astrielle.
The world where she first opened her eyes was not governed by hierarchical families like the Bathee.
Her original universe operated under unfamiliar logic, bounded by stricter physical laws, while its technological advancement lagged behind many modern human civilizations.
There, within one of the existential boxes woven neatly into the vast cosmic lattice, the thread of Myra's life was first spun.
Yet that boxed universe which had once been her home was not kind until the end.
Within the framework of a reality that might have seemed perfect and orderly from the outside, there lay the seed of a tragedy that would eventually be reaped.
Myra's life in her original world did not end peacefully or ordinarily.
In time, a horrifying event—a calamity or betrayal of cosmic or deeply personal scale—befell her.
To be continued…