The Callibean Kingdom is prosperous—every corner of the palace speaks of wealth and progress I never thought possible. It's a state-of-the-art place, with marble floors that gleam like water and windows made of glass so clear they might as well not be there at all.
It's been a couple more days since I shared that meal with Cael, and I've learned more about the world outside these walls from him than from any servant or noble. He brings me scraps of news along with my meals—whispers from the market squares, tales from travelers passing through the capital, bits and pieces of information that never reach the royal court.
And from these snippets, I've learned something that makes my blood run cold: I didn't just wake up in Vernom's body. I've turned back in time—ten years before the war that would eventually take my life.
Which means I'm not twenty-eight years old. I'm eighteen again.
My past self is probably already on the battlefield, fighting in a war waged by the Custodian Kingdom—not against Callibean, but against the Bastil Kingdom instead. Custodian has always been a warfaring nation, hungry for land and resources, sending boys like me to die for kings who sit in comfort far from the front lines.
I died without ever knowing who won the final war between Custodian and Callibean. Whether my homeland conquered this prosperous kingdom, or whether Callibean rose up to claim victory over the warmongers I once served.
But now… now I know what's coming. I know that in ten years' time, the two kingdoms will clash in a conflict that will leave thousands dead—including me, if things stay as they were.
The question hangs heavy in my mind, weighing on me every time I look out at Callibean's peaceful gardens, every time I see Cael's young face light up when he talks about his little sister back home, every time I catch my reflection in the mirror and see Vernom's gentle features staring back at me.
I know the future. But do I want to change it?
Or should I just live as I am now—live the quiet life Prince Vernom was meant to have—and not interfere with the course of things?
I don't want to live and die on a battlefield again. I've already done that once, and the memory of it still haunts my sleep. But wars feel inevitable—like storms that gather on the horizon, no matter how much you try to prepare for them or wish them away.
As I stand by the window, watching the sun set over the palace towers, Cael knocks softly and enters with fresh tea. He sees the look on my face and pauses.
"Is everything alright, Your Highness?" he asks quietly.
I turn to him, and for a moment, I consider telling him everything—about who I really am, about the war that's coming, about the choice I have to make. But what good would it do? He's just a servant boy; he can't change the fate of kingdoms.
"I was just thinking about the future," I say, my voice low.
Cael sets down the tray and looks out the window with me. "My mother used to say that the future is like a garden," he says softly. "You can choose which seeds to plant, but you never know exactly how they'll grow. Sometimes the smallest flower can change the whole look of the place."
I look at him, surprised by his words. Maybe he's right. Maybe even a prince who was never meant to matter can change things. Maybe I don't have to choose between fighting and running away. Maybe there's another way.
But how? How can one person—especially one who's still trying to figure out how to be a prince—stop a war that's already written in the stars of my memory?
A horn sounds in the distance—deep and clear, echoing through the palace grounds. Cael's face pales slightly.
"That's the royal summons," he says. "They only blow that when something important is happening."
I take a deep breath, straightening my shoulders. Whatever is about to happen, it might be the push I need to make my choice.
"Then let's go see what it's about," I say, and for the first time since waking up in this body, my steps feel steady and sure.
I was a soldier in my previous life—confident in my strength, able to march for days without breaking a sweat. But now, as I hurry through the palace grounds, I'm a frail eighteen-year-old prince, heavily panting because this place is simply huge.
The royal family doesn't live in just one building—they occupy a whole complex, where each structure is called a 'Palace' in its own right. There are quarters for the king's concubines, numerous gardens spread across the grounds, and even man-made lakes glittering under the afternoon sun.
The Palace where I reside is part of the smaller sections of the royal complex, tucked away far from the main hall and front gates. Still, the lake behind it and the garden before it are large and meticulously maintained—a peaceful view that never fails to make me forget where I really am.
I glance back at Cael, who walks quietly behind me. I've grown to prefer having just him at my side instead of a retinue of attendants; he feels more like a friend than a servant.
"What do you think is happening?" I ask, wiping sweat from my brow with the back of my hand.
Before he can answer, we round a bend and I spot the royal carriage waiting by the central gate—adorned with the golden crown emblem of Callibean. My brows knit together in confusion.
"Prince Vonce must be back from his post," Cael says, his voice quiet with respect.
Prince Vonce—the crown prince, first in line to the throne. From what little I know of Vernom's memories, he's everything Vernom was not: tall, strong, commanding, with a reputation as both a brilliant strategist and a ruthless leader. He'd been stationed at the northern border for the past year, overseeing defenses against potential threats.
As we draw closer, the carriage door swings open and a man steps out. He's broad-shouldered with dark hair cut short, his eyes sharp as hawk's when they scan the grounds. Even from a distance, I can feel the weight of his presence—the kind of authority that comes naturally to those born to rule.
His gaze lands on me, and for a moment, his expression hardens. Then he walks toward us, his boots making no sound on the cobblestones despite his size.
"Vernom," he says, his voice deep and steady. "I heard you had an accident. You look… different."
I straighten up as best I can, trying not to show how winded I am. "I'm well enough, Brother." The word feels foreign on my tongue—this is the first time I've met the crown prince face to face.
Prince Vonce studies me for a long moment, his eyes seeming to see right through the gentle facade I've been trying to maintain. "Good," he says finally. "The king has called a council meeting. All princes are to attend—even those who prefer to hide away in their gardens."
The edge in his voice isn't lost on me. Whatever warmth might have existed between the brothers is long gone, replaced by distance and perhaps even resentment.
"Cael, you may return to my quarters," I say, turning to the boy. He bows and hurries off, casting one worried glance back at me before disappearing around the corner.
Prince Vonce gestures toward the main hall. "Come. We have much to discuss. Word from the north—Custodian's army is moving again. They've finished with Bastil Kingdom and are setting their sights on new lands."
My blood runs cold. So it's already starting—the march toward the war that will one day claim my life.
As we walk toward the main hall together, I feel the weight of my choice growing heavier with each step. I can either stay in the shadows as Vernom always did, letting events unfold as I know they will… or I can use the knowledge I have to try and change things.
But can a frail prince with a soldier's soul really make a difference?