Chapter 2: The weight of survival

Did she die?

Liriel couldn't help but wonder as the nothingness around her stretched endlessly as her thoughts echoed in the void. Was this it? Death? A cold, quiet abyss?

"Laura, can you hear me? Laura?" The trembling voice of a man broke through her disoriented haze. It reached her ears like a distant echo and dragged her out from the void.

Laura? Who's Laura? she frowned at the unfamiliar name.

"You can rest assured," another voice spoke calmly, older and measured. "She just needs rest. It's likely her body hadn't fully recovered before setting out. Feed her the medicine as prescribed, and she should be herself again before midnight."

Liriel's eyes fluttered open, and the blurry outline of wooden beams came into view. She blinked several times, but the image remained as glaringly real as the dull ache in her body. Her breath hitched. Where is this? Why is the coffin roof so high? Her thoughts scrambled in confusion. Am I… not dead?

"Laura, my dear! You're finally awake!"

She turned to the source of the voice. A middle-aged man dressed in an old-fashioned tunic stood beside her bed, his face pale but visibly relieved.

"Doctor! Come quickly!" the man exclaimed, stepping aside. An older man in a long coat approached, replacing him at her side. He leaned in, inspecting her with practiced precision, his cold hands touched her forehead before lifting her eyelids one by one.

"How are you feeling, my lady?" the doctor asked, his tone professional but tinged with concern.

Liriel swallowed against the dryness in her throat. Her voice cracked as she rasped, "Who are you?" Her eyes flicked uneasily between the two men.

The man froze, his face visibly paled. "Laura... it's me. Your father," he said, his voice trembled with disbelief. "Don't you recognize me?"

Father? Her head spun as she tried to process his words, but they only deepend her panic.

She darted her gaze around the room, taking in her surroundings. The small, rustic space felt both foreign and claustrophobic. A single window let in faint moonlight filtered through fluttering curtains. A wooden dresser stood by the door, and on the table beside it, a lantern cast a soft, flickering glow. The air smelled faintly of herbs and damp wood.

"Oh my, Doctor, what's wrong with her?" the man—the one calling himself her father—asked.

The doctor raised a hand to calm him, turning back to Liriel. "Lady Laura, do you remember how you fainted?"

Liriel's mind stuttered as fragments of memory tried to slot into place. "I... I was stabbed," she whispered hoarsely. "A stake—it—"

"Stabbed?" the man shot up from his chair. "Doctor, what is she talking about?"

"Please, calm yourself," the doctor said, though a slight furrow formed on his brow. "Lady Laura, you're likely confused from the high fever. Try to focus on your surroundings. Can you recall where you are?"

Liriel stared at him, her pulse raced and though She tried to think, to piece together what was happening but the images from before—the stake, the blood, the figure in the shadows, were so vivid.

"I don't know..." she murmured. Her voice cracked as she asked, "Who am I? No... where am I?"

The man claiming to be her father visibly flinched at her words. His shoulders slumped as he sank back into the wooden chair beside her bed.

"You're Laura Wynstan," he said softly. "My daughter. We're in Borvalley, staying at the village inn."

"Borvalley?" she echoed, the unfamiliar name twisted on her tongue.

"Yes," he nodded. "We were on our way back to Ashwood palace when you suddenly fainted. I had no choice but to halt the journey and bring you here. Do you really not remember?"

Ashwood.

The name rang a bell in her head.

Ashwood, the capital city of Valtoria, the kingdom from the novel she had finished just last night. The story, though fairly average, had tugged unexpectedly at her heartstrings, lingering in her mind even after she closed the book. She had planned to reread it after finishing her assignment that was due tomorrow.

Could it be? Had she somehow been pulled into the novel when her hand touched the book?

"I'm sorry," Liriel said, her voice calm despite the chaos brewing in her chest. "My memory feels a bit... blurry right now. And I'm feeling dizzy."

If this really was the book, then she needed to avoid raising suspicion. Drawing attention to herself in this world could mean disaster.

"Do not worry too much," the doctor reassured her, his tone professional. "It's likely a little blunder caused by the fever. If there's no improvement by morning, consult me again before you leave. And don't forget to take the medicine."

The doctor turned to her supposed father, who rose from his chair and shook the doctor's hand.

"Thank you, Doctor," her supposed father said, rising from his seat. His concerned gaze lingered on her before he added, "You should rest. I'll be back shortly."

Liriel nodded faintly, watching as they left the room. The door creaked shut, leaving the space silent broken only by the rustling of the curtains.

As soon as she was alone, Liriel exhaled sharply, tension breaking loose from her body like a dam bursting. Her eyes darted around the room again, taking in every detail.

Her gaze landed on the wardrobe near the door, where letters were etched faintly into the wood: Moonlight Inn.

Her heart dropped.

The Moonlight Inn.

She recognized the name immediately. It was the same inn that was burned down in the novel during the assassin's attempt on the prince, the antagonist of the story. He had been staying here in disguise, only barely escaping the attack. But not everyone had been so fortunate as the fire had claimed several lives, including a girl who had overheard the plot and rushed to alert him. That girl was Laura, the stablemaster's daughter.

Her chest tightened as the pieces snapped together.

Laura? Wait—

Liriel's hands gripped the coarse blanket beneath her. She gasped as the weight of realization crushed her.

Hadn't the man just called her Laura?

She had transmigrated into the book—but into a cannon fodder character destined to die tonight.

The corridor was dimly lit, and the faint aroma of roasted meat wafted up from downstairs, mingling with the distant hum of voices. Liriel stepped out of her room, her bare feet brushing against the creaky wooden floor. She moved cautiously, her senses heightened as if danger lurked behind every corner.

As she reached the landing, she spotted the man who had called himself her father, standing halfway down the staircase.His broad shoulders hunched slightly as he peered over the railing, his expression softened with concern when he noticed her.

"Laura," he called softly, climbing back up to meet her. "What are you doing out of bed? Do you need something? You should've called for me."

"Father," Liriel murmured, the word catching awkwardly in her throat. It felt foreign, unfamiliar, yet it carried a strange weight that warmed a part of her heart she'd long kept closed. She'd never had the chance to call anyone that in her life. The absurdity of saying it now—here, in a world that wasn't real—almost made her choke on it. She swallowed hard and pressed on, her voice steadier this time. "You're a stablemaster at the palace, right?"

Her question made him pause, surprise flickering across his face. "Oh my! Has your memory returned?"

She had guessed it before, but hearing it aloud only made her pulse race faster. This was it. This was where her fate was sealed in the novel. The assassin attack, the fire—it was all meant to happen tonight. And if the story unfolded the way she remembered, her life would end here.

She grabbed his hand suddenly, gripping it tightly enough to make him flinch "Father, we need to leave. Now,"

"Why? What's wrong? Are you not feeling well?" he asked, concern etched into his weathered face. He tried to touch her forehead, but she shook her head vehemently, stepping back slightly.

"No—it's not that. I just… I have a bad feeling about this place," she said, fumbling for an excuse. "It's dangerous here. We need to get out."

Her father frowned, "Dangerous? Laura, this is an inn. We've stayed in places far worse than this during our travels. What's gotten into you?"

Liriel's lips parted, but no words came. She couldn't tell him the truth—not without sounding completely unhinged. How could she explain that she knew assassins were coming? That a fire would engulf the inn and everyone inside it? How could she explain any of this without him thinking she had lost her mind?

Her mind scrambled for something, anything, to convince him. "I... I had a dream," she said quickly, her voice lowering. "A bad one. I saw flames, Father. And people screaming. I saw us—here—in this inn. We have to leave before something terrible happens."

Her father studied her face, his brows furrowing deeply. "A dream?" he echoed skeptically. "Please," she pleaded, her voice breaking slightly. "Just trust me. Just this once. Let's leave. It doesn't matter where we go, just anywhere but here."

Her father hesitated, but gave in, his expression softening at the sight of her panicked state. "Alright, alright. You pack the things, and I'll go look for a way out. I'll come back to fetch you once everything is ready."

"No!" Liriel grabbed his arm, her voice firm but laced with urgency. "You don't need to come back. Just stand by the gate—I'll meet you there."

"Fine," he relented with a sigh. "But don't take too long, alright?"

Liriel nodded quickly, watching as he descended the stairs. She waited until his footsteps faded before hurrying back into the room. She threw open the wooden wardrobe and gathered their belongings, her hands trembling slightly as she stuffed them into the travel bag.

After narrowly escaping death once, she had no intention of succumbing to it again—not when she'd barely gotten her breath back. She wanted to live, no matter what it took, even if it meant doing so inside the world of this book. From years of devouring transmigration stories, she knew one unshakable truth and that survival depended on avoiding the main characters and their plots. The closer she got to the whirlwind of protagonists and antagonists, the greater her chances of being caught in the crossfire. Laying low, blending into the background, and steering clear of drama seemed like her only path to safety.

Liriel stepped out of the room with the weight of the travel bag slung over her shoulder pressing against her back. Her eyes flicked to the other end of the corridor—the door to his room.

Lucian Aldric Vaelan, the misunderstood villain.

He'll survive, she told herself. He's supposed to survive. He doesn't need me.