Chapter 1: Two Souls, One Body**

  *Am I dead?*

  Movement. A heartbeat. A breath. But none of it was hers.

  Only silence, thick and smothering, wrapped around her like a shroud.

  Yet—Elaine was still aware.

  *Where... am I?*

  Her voice, faint and disembodied, drifted through a void no one else could hear.

  She searched her memory. The Black Forest. The fall. The cold.

  That *should* have been the end.

  But her body moved.

  Not hers. Not by her will.

  *This is... my body. Why can't I control it...?*

  Panic clawed at her thoughts. A scream welled up but never reached her lips.

  Then she felt it—something inside her. Heavy. Grounded. Like a blade buried deep in her soul.

  'Who... are you?'

  A hush fell between them.

  '...You're Leon, aren't you?'

  ---------------------------------

  Cold earth pressed against his back.

  Leon opened his eyes.

  Moonlight. The rustle of wind. Blood in his mouth.

  *The battle... the fall...*

  Fragments of memory flickered—then died. The Temple of Luna. Then nothing.

  And now—this body.

  It wasn’t his.

  The muscles were soft. The balance wrong. Even his breath tipped him off-centre.

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  He raised an arm—too smooth. No calluses. No tight pull of trained sinew.

  Long hair brushed his shoulders. Slim fingers. Delicate limbs.

  This wasn’t a warrior’s body.

  Then came memories that weren’t his. A forest. Running. A beast. Panic sharp as shattered glass.

  '...You're Leon, aren't you?'

  His breath caught. The world narrowed.

  That voice.

  ‘Who’s there?’

  It echoed—not aloud, but from within.

  'This is my body. Why are you moving it?'

  Leon exhaled slowly. Steadying himself.

  ‘I don’t know. I remember the temple... and then darkness. And now—this.’

  A pause.

  Then came the surge—confusion, fear, anger.

  'Get out. This is mine!'

  ‘You were dying,’ he said. ‘If I hadn’t shown up, you wouldn’t be breathing.’

  Silence. But no denial.

  ‘I didn’t mean to steal it. You let me in. Just... for now.’

  Silence stretched.

  Then—

  'Then let’s cooperate. Just for now.'

  Leon nodded.

  Two souls. One body.

  A fragile balance had begun.

  ------------------------------

  He shut the stone door behind him and stepped into the narrow passage.

  Cold air. Old stone. Moss and dust.

  *Elaine used this path once,* he recalled.

  A hidden exit from the keep. Now, a secret way back in.

  At the end, he pushed through a worn panel behind a storeroom wall.

  Fourth floor. Not his room.

  Hers.

  He opened the door.

  Moonlight filtered through silk curtains. Lavender hung faint in the air.

  'This is... my room.'

  A dressing table. A bed. A wardrobe.

  He stepped toward it.

  'That’s my... my favorite Bruniell dress...'

  His hand hovered.

  He shut the wardrobe gently and chose a plain training shirt instead.

  The torn riding habit—he folded it.

  'I liked that one...'

  Her voice was quiet. Fading.

  Leon smoothed the garment and placed it carefully in a drawer.

  At the basin, he cleaned the gash on his arm.

  She said nothing, but the pain echoed between them.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured.

  He bandaged the wound.

  In the mirror, a composed face stared back.

  But the eyes weren’t his.

  Her memories bled into him—soft impressions, like echoes underwater. A name surfaced. Someone close. A maid?

  He practiced her voice:

  ‘Good morning, Adelle. I was just reading last night.’

  Too stiff.

  Again.

  The girl in the mirror said nothing.

  ‘This room’s yours,’ he said. ‘I’m just borrowing it.’

  Still silence. But warmer now.

  Dawn neared.

  He blew out the candle.

  ----------------------

  Midnight.

  Lavender-scented sheets. A bed too soft.

  Leon shifted.

  *This isn’t the battlefield. Not even my room.*

  He stilled.

  Something felt... off.

  'What’s wrong...?'

  ‘I think I need to use the bathroom.’

  A long pause.

  'Ah... well, um... if you move now, the maids will wake up.'

  ‘...So?’

  'There’s... a silver chamber pot under the bed.'

  Leon went still.

  Eventually, he reached beneath the bed. Cold metal met his fingers.

  'You can use it. I’ll... I’ll feel it too, so please... just be quick.'

  No words. Just careful movement.

  Then—the softest, most humiliating sound imaginable.

  '...Ah!'

  Elaine flinched. Not from pain. From the unbearable reality.

  He finished in silence.

  ‘...Sorry.’

  'There’s a linen wipe in the box. Please... use it.'

  He obeyed.

  Lavender-scented linen. Clean. Humbling.

  'Put it in the basket. The maid will see to it.'

  He did.

  Then stood still for a long while.

  ‘This situation...’

  'Don’t talk about it. Just forget it. Please.'

  He nodded.

  ‘Goodnight, Elaine.’

  No answer.

  But this time, the silence felt almost human.