I need to hurry.
The thought repeated itself in Ahcehera's mind as the damaged transport vessel finally stabilized after the brutal attack.
Fifteen engines had been damaged during the assault, and although the starship had managed to survive the encounter, its mobility was severely compromised. Every system on board felt stretched to the limit, and the crew could not afford to waste even a second.
Ahcehera immediately activated her communication link with Agartha's satellite network and sent out an urgent distress signal, identifying herself through both her royal authority and her senior military rank.
It was not long before the response came.
Within moments, the horizon of space shimmered as another starship emerged from hyperspace, bearing the insignia of Agartha Central Military Base. Relief swept through the ship as the rescue vessel moved into position, docking smoothly and securing the passengers and crew who had nearly lost their lives in the attack.
The rescue team moved with practiced efficiency. Soldiers rushed to check the injured, medics carried emergency supplies through the damaged corridors, and officers coordinated the evacuation in calm, disciplined voices.
The crew aboard the broken starship could hardly contain their gratitude. Many bowed as Ahcehera passed, while others saluted her with earnest respect, murmuring words of thanks that followed her down the corridor.
Their expressions were filled with admiration and relief, and some looked at her as though she had personally dragged them back from the jaws of death.
Ahcehera accepted their gratitude with a faint smile, neither flaunting her contribution nor dismissing it. The truth was, she had simply done what needed to be done.
After excusing herself, she returned to her temporary quarters, her body finally beginning to feel the strain of everything she had pushed it through.
Hunger gnawed at her stomach with enough force to remind her that she had not eaten properly in hours, and exhaustion settled into her limbs as soon as the chaos was no longer in front of her eyes.
Once inside her room, Ahcehera closed the door behind her and entered Cresencia. The familiar sight of her hidden dimension immediately steadied her breathing.
She retrieved a portion of the home-cooked meals she had stored earlier, and the warm aroma that rose from the food brought her a strange, comforting sense of peace after the violence she had just endured.
Sitting down, she began to eat in silence, but her thoughts refused to rest.
The battle replayed in her mind again and again, every command she had issued, every movement she had made, every decision that had come so naturally in the heat of danger. Her hands trembled slightly as she held her utensils. It was not fear exactly, but something close to it.
The way she had led the soldiers, calculated the enemy's weaknesses, and responded with confidence had felt too smooth, too precise, as though her body knew what to do before her thoughts could even catch up.
What just happened out there?
She wondered as she lowered her gaze toward her food.
My body felt out of control back there.
She had not meant to act that way. The battle had required decisiveness, yes, but the level of instinct that had guided her felt almost foreign. Every movement, every command, every tactical adjustment had seemed to surface from somewhere deeper than memory.
It was as though someone else had taken over her body for a few critical moments, using her voice and limbs with a familiarity that sent a chill down her spine only after the danger had passed.
Was it instinct? Or something else entirely?
The question lingered like a shadow she could not shake.
Her thoughts drifted, almost unwillingly, toward her past life. Back then, sniping had been her strongest skill. It had required precision, patience, and a steady mind, and she had always been good at it.
The way she had directed the snipers during the battle, the way she had predicted trajectories and chosen weak points with near-perfect accuracy, felt eerily similar to the focus she had once cultivated in another world. Yet this had been different.
She was sharper, faster, and more absolute.
"I admit, sniping was my best skill before... but this?" she whispered softly to herself, setting her utensils down for a moment. "It's as if those instincts have been sharpened even more now. My body, my mind... everything felt so familiar, so certain."
Ahcehera leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling, letting the silence press gently around her. The adrenaline from the battle had faded by then, leaving in its wake a disturbing mixture of awe and uncertainty.
She had survived, yes, but survival alone did not explain what she had experienced.
If anything, it only deepened the mystery.
Was her body holding memories she did not know how to access?
Had the original princess possessed abilities or instincts that had never been fully revealed in the novel?
Or was there something even stranger at work, some hidden connection between her soul and this body that was slowly awakening under pressure?
Who am I becoming? she thought, the question feeling heavier than it should have. And why now?
She remained still for a long while, lost in the echo of her own thoughts. Then, unable to sit with the uncertainty any longer, she rose and moved toward the window. The stars beyond the glass stretched across the darkness in endless glittering lines, their distant glow both beautiful and cold. Outside, the starship continued its approach toward Agartha's Central Military Base, its sleek hull cutting silently through the vastness of space like a steel arrow aimed at destiny. The journey had resumed, but Ahcehera's mind remained unsettled. Every time she closed her eyes, she could still feel the battlefield, still hear the command tones in her own voice, still sense the unnatural precision of her actions.
Will I meet the hero of the novel? she wondered, a different sort of anticipation threading through the uncertainty. Will he appear when the starship lands? I can't wait to meet him.
That thought should have excited her more than it did. Richmond Mors was a major figure in the original story, a hero with a reputation that seemed to shine wherever his name was spoken. Yet the closer she drew to Agartha, the more she felt that the future was not waiting patiently in the shape she expected. The air seemed to grow heavier with each passing minute, and even the thought of meeting one of the novel's central characters could not fully dispel the strange sense of pressure settling over her chest.
I don't know what lies ahead... she admitted to herself, fingers tapping lightly against the armrest near the window. But why does it feel so heavy?
Trying to calm herself, Ahcehera decided she needed something grounding, something ordinary. She retrieved a chilled can of milk from her storage and took a slow sip. The cold sweetness of it spread across her tongue and down into her chest, easing the tension just enough for her to breathe more evenly. It was a simple comfort, but right then, simplicity was exactly what she needed. The ship vibrated softly beneath her as it continued its descent, and before long, the distant lights of Agartha's Central Military Base came into view.
When the starship finally docked at the bustling spaceport, the sight that greeted her was overwhelming in the best and worst ways. Rows upon rows of military personnel stood at attention, their uniforms immaculate and their posture disciplined. Medical staff dressed in pristine white waited nearby, carrying the most advanced emergency equipment available within the Sirius Kingdom. Every movement in the spaceport seemed calculated and precise, proof of the base's immense power and importance. The sheer efficiency of the place was impressive enough to make even Ahcehera pause. This was not merely a military installation. It was one of the kingdom's strategic pillars, a place where power, order, and authority met in seamless coordination.
As she descended the starship's ramp, she felt the shift in attention almost immediately. Whispers rippled through the crowd, subtle at first, then spreading as more people recognized her. She kept her expression composed, her back straight, her steps measured. By now, she was certain the news of the attack had already spread across the network. If not through official reports, then through the Starnet, which no doubt loved nothing more than a dramatic headline involving royalty, danger, and military heroics. Somewhere out there, people were probably already speculating about her strength, her ability, and the fact that she had emerged from a battle she was never supposed to survive.
By now, everyone must have heard, she thought dryly. The trending search should probably be filled with headlines about how I, the princess, am a peerless genius hiding my real strength.
The thought almost made her laugh. She had become an unexpected senior military strategist at an age where most people were still proving themselves as junior officers, and the revelation had likely already reached the wider network. Whether the public accepted it or not was another matter entirely, but she had no intention of explaining herself to gossip and speculation. She would let people believe what they wished. As long as they continued to underestimate her in the right ways, that could be useful.
Halfway down the ramp, she was greeted by Admiral Stone, a towering man in a decorated uniform who stood with the kind of rigid authority only years of service could earn. As one of Agartha's most respected officers and the guardian of the southern border, he carried himself with a dignity that matched his station. Yet when he saw her, he bowed respectfully, showing no hesitation at acknowledging her rank.
"Greetings to Your Highness!" he said, his voice firm but reverent.
"Hello, Admiral Stone," Ahcehera replied with polite composure.
His presence told her something important immediately. He was the highest-ranking officer currently present, yet even he stood beneath her in military authority. That knowledge should have felt strange, but it did not. Instead, it settled around her like a quiet reminder that her new identity carried far more weight than she had expected.
"Princess," he said after straightening, his expression softening with concern, "I have heard the news of your valor. How are you holding up?"
"I am well, Admiral Stone. Thank you for your concern," she answered evenly.
Then, after a brief pause, she added with calm insistence, "However, I must ask that you address me as Strategist Hera while we are in military territory. In the military, there is no royal blood, only ranks and responsibilities."
The admiral's eyes sharpened with renewed respect. "Understood, Strategist Hera."
Satisfied, Ahcehera inclined her head. "If there is nothing else, I shall take my leave."
"Of course, Strategist," Admiral Stone replied, stepping aside immediately.
She moved on without delay, crossing the polished corridors of the base toward her assigned office. The metallic walls gleamed under artificial lighting, and the entire structure seemed to hum with the quiet energy of a place built for war, discipline, and command. Yet despite the calm exterior she maintained, her thoughts were already racing ahead. There were still many things she needed to address, many questions she still had not answered, and many dangers waiting somewhere beyond her current line of sight. The restlessness in her chest would not fade, no matter how much she tried to focus.
Ahcehera did not know it yet, but she was right to feel uneasy.
A man was standing outside her office.
The moment she saw him, her steps faltered almost imperceptibly. His posture was straight, his presence unmistakably powerful, and the instant their gazes met, recognition struck her like a bolt of lightning. Her mind went blank for a single terrifying second.
Why is he standing outside my office?
What made him wait here?
Does he have any business with me?
Her heart skipped.
Oh shit!