The morning birds sang softly outside, their chirps weaving through the dawn air. Gentle rays of sunlight spilled into the grand royal chamber as a maid gracefully pulled open the velvet curtains. The golden light warmed the marble floor and gilded furniture, dancing across the silken drapes.
She walked quietly to the far end of the room, where a small tea desk sat by the window, the prince's favorite corner. She unlatched the window, letting in a breeze that wandered into the chamber. The wind wrapped around the sleeping figure on the large canopied bed, rustling the sheets and kissing his cheek.
Her eyes settled on him, slender and ethereal, the young prince looked as if carved from porcelain and moonlight. His long, golden hair was braided into a thick, elegant plait that spilled down the side of the bed, longer than most noble ladies could dream of growing. A soft sigh escaped his lips, but he did not stir.
Then,
BANG!
The double doors burst open in a panic, slamming against the walls as two young men rushed in.
"Your Highness!!!"
One of them, a young man in a crisp black servant uniform, looked on the edge of collapse. The other, dressed in a sleek mix of blue and black battle regalia, clearly a knight or a personal guard, crossed his arms, already predicting this chaos.
"Why is he still asleep?!" the servant wailed, so loudly that even the painted ceiling might have flinched.
The maid jumped and bowed low, trembling. "I tried waking His Highness, truly… but he wouldn't rise…"
The guard gave a small sigh. He looked entirely unsurprised.
"For the love of the gods, Your Highness!" the servant cried again, practically in tears. "Please wake up! Today is the royal summons! Her Majesty has gathered all the princes!"
There was a moment of silence. Then, a sleepy voice drifted from the bed.
"So noisy…"
The servant froze in place like a statue. A moment later, he slumped into the corner of the room, pulling his knees to his chest and burying his head.
"He called me noisy…" he whimpered, trembling like a kicked puppy.
The guard pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered something under his breath, clearly done with this daily routine.
On the bed, the prince stirred. Slowly, his long lashes fluttered open, revealing eyes as violet as precious gems. He blinked once, then twice, looking toward the sunlight with sleepy displeasure.
"Hmm? Does the hero live in a place like this...?" he mumbled. His voice was still heavy with sleep as he hovered lazily in the air, legs crossed like a meditating monk. A yawn escaped his lips as his eyes adjusted to the light flooding the massive room.
He glanced around, blinking at the sheer luxury, the high ceiling painted with golden patterns, the velvet curtains swaying in the breeze, the marble floor that looked polished enough to reflect the stars.
"Ugh… so heavy," he groaned, nearly tipping backward as the thick golden braid tugged his head down. "What the hell is this…?"
Then a smile crept across his face. No, not just a smile. It was like a smug, victorious grin.
He'd done it. After so many failures, he had finally succeeded in the ritual. He had acquired the hero's body.
He looked down at his hands. They were delicate and elegant. The form of a noble. Not the rough warrior he knew. He furrowed his brow.
Something wasn't right.
The hero he remembered came from the gutters. A broken soul born from blood and pain. So then… why was he waking up in a palace room that looked like it belonged to royalty?
Before he could process more, a voice wailed from the corner.
"He is awake! But still dreaming!" cried the servant, curled in a dramatic pile of regret and failure. "Oh gods, forgive this incompetent servant!"
The Faceless slowly blinked.
Another voice cut in, it was calm, controlled, and far more composed.
"I recommend skipping your morning honey lemon drink and getting dressed quickly, Your Highness," said the guard standing nearby, arms crossed. His body barely shifted as he spoke.
"…Your Highness?" the Faceless repeated. "Me?"
The guard tilted his head, confused. The servant in the corner gasped in horror.
"He slept so hard… he forgot who he is!" the servant sobbed. "Ahhh, please, gods, punish this wretched servant for failing to stop such a tragedy!"
The Faceless's eye twitched.
"Shut up already, you're annoying!" he snapped, and said in an annoyed tone.
The servant let out another wail. "He called me annoying…!"
".....???"
The Faceless stared blankly. He'd stolen the body of a hero. So why was he suddenly being called Your Highness…?
"Klein," the guard said dryly, pinching the bridge of his nose, "if you have time to cry, prepare His Highness. The Queen will arrive shortly."
As the guard sighed, shaking his head in disappointment, the Faceless stared at the floor in stunned silence.
Something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.