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The day came sooner than expected.
Not just for the empire—where the wind whispered of wedding bells and scandal—but for her.
Iris. Or rather… Salira Hasrima.
She lay half-submerged in a marble tub filled with warm rosewater and floating petals, steam curling into the air like silk. The servants had left her alone for privacy. Her red hair trailed behind her like spilled ink, eyes half-lidded in a rare moment of peace.
A bath before the wedding.
A moment of stillness.
Click.
The sound was soft—but strange. Not like a door. Not like anything in this world.
Her eyes flew open.
Across the room—just above the bath—something shimmered into existence.
A floating translucent screen. Glowing pale blue. Like a projection from nothing.
Words began to type out on it, letter by glowing letter:
[SYSTEM: Welcome, Reader. To the world of "The Rose of the Northern Throne."]
Iris froze.
Her breath caught.
She stared at the screen, lips parting in disbelief.
That message.
That exact message.
She'd seen it before.
Her heartbeat quickened. No. Not here. Not in this body.
Before.
Before she was Salira. Before she was stabbed. Back when she was still Iris.
A dream. Just a dream.
It came rushing back—a half-forgotten memory.
She had dreamed of this. A screen. A bath. That same message—welcome, reader. It made no sense then. Just a weird dream before her last shift at the diner.
Before she died.
Her chest tightened. "No… this can't be…"
THUD!
A sudden loud noise—like something falling.
Her head whipped around. "Who's there?!"
No answer.
But when she turned back—
The screen blinked once. Then again.
And a new message flickered to life for just a fraction of a second:
[...while it lasts.]
Gone.
Vaporized into blue static. So fast she didn't fully see it.
"Wait—!" Iris reached forward instinctively, water splashing—but the screen was already gone.
Silence.
Just the water, the steam, and the thunder of her own heart.
She sat still, soaked in rosewater, eyes wide.
"What the hell was that?"
Was she hallucinating?
Dreaming?
Had the world just glitched?
"…No," she whispered. "No, I saw that. I remembered it."
And that frightened her more than anything else.
Because if she was remembering things from before she died—then maybe this world wasn't as real or stable as she thought.
Maybe she wasn't just reborn.
Maybe she was still inside something.
A dream. A book. A trap.
Or worse—a countdown.
She closed her eyes and forced a slow breath.
No.
No more fear.
There was a wedding ahead. A role to play. A future to fight for.
Whoever—or whatever—was watching her?
They'd have to wait.