Gentle sunlight bathed the black stone of Hainar Keep. Groves of birds flew across the sky, chirping merrily, while quiet waves pushed against the smooth cliffs as the sun rose over the horizon, casting a golden hue across the waters of the Sedna Sea.
Hainar Keep was wide awake early in the morning. In the East Wing, however, it was as quiet as ever.
In his chamber, Serin suddenly jolted awake, his entire body drenched in sweat, the simple white nightshirt sticking uncomfortably to his skin.
He looked around as if to confirm whether he was truly awake. Then, seeing the familiar room, he calmed down, his breathing slowly evening out.
Serin rubbed his eyes and wiped away the sweat obstructing his vision. Feeling hot, he stood and walked over to the window, taking a deep breath as he closed his eyes—simply feeling the cool wind brush against his skin and dry the sweat on his body.
A comfortable groan escaped his mouth.
The chirping of birds, the distant sound of waves, and murmurs and footsteps from the castle entered his ears. With each deep breath, a faint smell of charcoal tickled his nose as smoke rose from the chimneys.
Serin fully calmed down. His fists clenched as he became lost in thought, recalling everything he had experienced the night before.
"Adam Feller from the Republic…" he muttered quietly, staring at his hands as hints of orange and red appeared while the sunlight gently caressed his palm.
Startled, Serin pulled his hands back quickly and shook his head.
"Chess… it really exists here, no different from how it was on Earth… but… how?" he pondered seriously, overlooking the port, the sea, and the city below.
No matter how much he thought about it, the answer refused to come. Smiling bitterly, Serin shrugged. "It's not important anyway. This is a great opportunity… as absurd as it feels… I can gain divine blessings… I can gain real power through this."
Serin gripped the window hinge tightly as he muttered, "I don't know if I can go back… but I have to try. I have to at least find out why I'm here… in this strange new world."
He slapped himself lightly, as if to sober up completely. Then he took a long breath and sat down at a nearby desk. Resting his hands beneath his chin, he closed his eyes and began thinking deeply.
As a chess player, Serin had long developed the habit of thinking deeply—overthinking, even. Recalling Adam from the Divine Arena and Count Hainar's reprimand, he realized that if he wanted to achieve anything, he would need to plan carefully. Sitting around and sulking would accomplish nothing.
After some time, Serin opened his eyes.
"First, I need to get used to the ways of this world. But before that, I should get to know the people around me… after all, I can only rely on them for now."
Having cleared his thoughts and considered several possibilities, Serin finally made a decision.
He grabbed the nearby bell, his expression awkward as he mused, "This is really… like royalty…" Then he chuckled dryly and shook the bell vigorously, the sound ringing loudly through the room. After that, he waited.
He did not have to wait long. The two maids attending him arrived promptly—the same pair as before, one young and one elderly.
"My prince… you're awake!" the young maid said with a smile, while the older woman watched him quietly, concern evident in her eyes.
"Oh—yes… um… forgive me… what are your names?" he asked awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head.
The old maid visibly heaved a sigh of relief, then smiled warmly, her expression kind. "This old servant is called Branna, My Prince. I once served your mother…" she answered, her voice lowering toward the end, her eyes tinged with nostalgia.
She immediately shook off the gloom and continued, "And this lass here is Tessa."
"Good to know. Thank you," Serin replied with a smile.
To his surprise, stunned silence followed. He looked at the two maids and found them flustered, clearly not daring to meet his eyes.
After a brief moment of thought, Serin realized his mistake. "Perhaps a 'Prince' wouldn't be so polite… is that it?" he thought inwardly, a mild headache forming. "It'll take some getting used to…" He sighed softly, breaking the awkwardness.
"Oh—silly us. We'll prepare your bath right away, My Prince," Branna said.
"Wait…" Serin called out suddenly as Branna and Tessa hurried to comply, stopping them mid-step.
"Inform the Steward that from today onward, I won't be having breakfast in my quarters. I'd like to eat with everyone."
Branna and Tessa exchanged a glance. Then Branna nodded, smiling broadly, and the two quickly set about their tasks.
Serin took a warm, refreshing bath and got ready quickly. He didn't want to miss breakfast.
Standing before the mirror, Serin quietly studied his reflection.
He wore a long crimson noble tunic, its heavy fabric well made and secured at the waist with a broad sash. He had managed to put it on himself without much trouble—but something still felt off.
He adjusted the sash, frowned, then stopped, no longer sure what he was trying to fix.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
Tessa entered and glanced at him before stepping closer. "May I?" she asked.
Serin nodded.
With a few quick movements, she straightened his collar and tightened the sash just enough. When she stepped back, the difference was subtle, yet undeniable.
"…Thank you," Serin said, averting his gaze awkwardly. It was difficult to tell when he should be polite and when he should not be with servants. "Looks like I'll need those etiquette lessons before anything else," he mused lightly.
She inclined her head. "You dressed well on your own, my lord. Just the details."
Serin looked at his reflection again. The figure staring back still felt unfamiliar—but less so than before.
His silky jet-black hair fell neatly over his shoulders, smooth and well kept, framing his face without appearing overly styled. A few loose strands brushed his forehead, giving him a softer, more composed appearance.
More importantly, he looked much more presentable. "Wow… I was never this handsome on Earth," he chuckled under his breath.
"You are recovering well, My Prince," Branna commented.
A moment later, the door opened and Steward Bartley entered. "Prince Hainar, it's time. I will lead you to breakfast," he said, smiling gently.
Serin took a deep breath, steadying himself, then nodded.
Steward Bartley led the way through the quiet corridors of the East Wing, his pace unhurried yet purposeful. Servants stepped aside as they passed, bowing deeply with practiced silence. Serin followed a step behind, his posture stiff at first, then gradually easing as he reminded himself to breathe.
The scent of food reached him before the hall itself—warm bread, faint spices, and something savory simmering gently. His stomach tightened, not only from hunger but also from nervous anticipation.
The dining hall doors stood open.
Sunlight streamed through tall arched windows, casting long bands of gold across the polished stone floor. A wide table occupied the center of the room, crafted from dark oak and set with silverware and ceramic dishes—simple, yet refined. Steam rose softly from covered platters, and the quiet murmur of conversation filled the air.
The hall was very much alive when Serin stepped inside.
Immediately, heads turned toward him. Conversations halted abruptly. Cutlery paused. Chairs shifted. He caught brief glances from nearby servants before their eyes lowered again. Soft murmurs followed—maids and servants whispering under their breaths.
At the end of the long table sat Count Hainar.
Serin noticed him instantly; it was almost impossible not to.
The Count was doing nothing remarkable—simply seated upright, hands folded loosely near his plate—yet the space around him felt ordered and controlled. Even in silence, he commanded attention. When their eyes met, Serin felt an odd tightening in his chest—not fear, exactly, but the weight of expectation.
Beside him sat the Countess.
She did not look up immediately. Her gaze settled on Serin only after a moment. Her eyes were clear, her expression gentle yet stoic.
From the corner of his eye, Serin noticed someone shift in their seat.
He was not entirely clueless; he had asked Tessa about the household earlier, so he immediately recognized Alaric, whose resemblance to the Count was unmistakable.
Alaric met Serin's gaze confidently and smiled. "Prince Serin, it's good to see you with us again."
Serin acknowledged the greeting politely and shifted his gaze.
Then he noticed the second son. His eyes darted between Serin and his plate. Leaning back slightly in his chair, hands clasped on the table, he appeared far more restrained. "Cousin," he greeted simply.
Serin couldn't tell whether Edric was simply awkward or something else, but he paid it no mind and nodded in acknowledgment.
Lastly, he noticed a young woman about his physical age.
This must be Ellis, he thought.
Ellis noticed him the moment he entered the dining hall.
She paused mid-motion, one hand resting lightly on the back of her chair, her gaze lingering on him just a fraction longer than politeness allowed. Unlike the others, she wasn't as restrained—not exactly. Serin found it difficult to pinpoint what set her apart.
"So you really are awake," she said, her voice clear and calm, tinged with faint curiosity.
Serin turned toward her. For a brief moment, their eyes met, and Ellis felt an odd dissonance. The face was Serin's—paler, perhaps thinner—but the gaze was different from what she remembered five years ago.
She inclined her head in a small, proper bow. "Prince Serin."
There was no hesitation or stiffness in the title—just a simple greeting.
"I'm glad," she added after a beat. "The castle has been… quieter than usual these past years."
Serin sensed a sincerity he hadn't felt from anyone else until now. It was as if she were stating a simple fact, nothing more.
He nodded, unsure how to respond. Ellis studied him openly—not rudely, but without attempting to hide it either. Her gaze seemed distant, as if she were weighing something.
"You look better than I expected," she said at last, a faint smile touching her lips. "Different—but better."
Then, as if realizing she had stared long enough, she pulled out her chair and sat down, smoothing her skirts with practiced ease.
"Well," Ellis continued lightly, glancing toward the rest of the table, "I suppose it's only right you're here again. Breakfast feels less… incomplete this way."
She lifted her cup, but before taking a sip, she added quietly—just for him to hear,
"Welcome back, Serin."
For the first time since entering the hall, something loosened in Serin's chest.