Friendship is a very strange thing.
It is not as dramatic as love, nor as taken for granted as family.
It simply happens in silence, and by the time you notice, you already cannot live without that person.
That was how the friendship between Flora and Claire began.
In the two weeks that followed, they were like two small beasts that had found their own kind, meeting every day beside that broken hole in the wall.
Sometimes in the afternoon, sometimes in the evening, sometimes simply because the angle of the sun was just right and made one want to step outside.
They talked about many things.
Claire told stories of the town—whose dog had given birth to puppies, how fragrant the roast goose at the mayor’s wedding feast had been.
Flora listened with bright eyes, as if hearing legends from a distant kingdom.
What she told Claire were the boring rules of the court: when to curtsy, when to smile, when to pretend not to understand someone else’s sarcasm.
It was an afternoon of excellent sunlight.
Flora made a bold decision.
“I’ll take you inside to look around.”
She took Claire’s hand and felt the other girl’s palm trembling slightly.
It was nervousness, and also anticipation.
Flora knew that feeling.
The first time she had poked her head through the hole, she had felt the same way.
“Don’t be afraid,” she said softly. “I’m here.”
It was probably the bravest thing she had ever said in her life.
Two small figures slipped through the lazy afternoon sunlight, circling around the dozing guards.
Flora had never known she could be this bold.
Perhaps it was because Claire was beside her.
Perhaps it was because summer was almost over.
The cellar was dark.
Flora skillfully opened a cabinet, took out a thinly sliced piece of ham, and handed it to Claire.
Claire accepted it, carefully took a bite, and then her eyes lit up.
“Is it good?”
Flora asked, already knowing the answer.
Claire nodded vigorously, cheeks puffed out like a squirrel that had stolen a nut.
The two girls sat side by side on the stone steps, sharing the slice of ham.
The cellar was quiet except for the occasional distant footsteps.
“Flora,” Claire suddenly said, “have you ever thought about what it would be like if we switched?”
“Switched what?”
“Our identities.” Claire’s eyes sparkled.
“I’ll be a princess for a day, and you’ll be an ordinary girl for a day. We look exactly the same—no one would ever notice.”
Flora froze.
The idea was far too crazy.
If they were discovered, both of them would be in serious trouble.
Mother would fly into a rage, Father would worry himself sick, and the courtiers would chatter excitedly like sharks that had smelled blood.
But Flora looked into Claire’s eyes and saw the pure expectation and excitement there, free of any impurity.
She thought of all the things she had never seen—bakeries, small bridges, streams, children playing in the streets.
“All right,” she heard herself say.
On the morning they switched identities, the weather was impossibly fine.
Flora stood in front of the mirror and watched Claire put on her formal dress.
It was a long gown of finest silk, the Black Sun emblem embroidered on the hem, faintly gleaming in the morning light.
The moment Claire put it on, her entire presence changed.
She was no longer the farm girl who ran through the fields, but a true princess.
“You really look like me,” Flora said softly.
No—it would be more accurate to say that they had always looked like the same person.
Claire turned around, took a strangely shaped amulet from her pocket, and handed it to Flora.
“This is from the most effective sorcerer in town,” she said seriously. “I hope it will keep you safe.”
Flora accepted the amulet.
It was a rough piece of wood carved with runes she could not read.
On any ordinary day she would probably have found such a thing ridiculous.
Why would a child of the imperial family need a country sorcerer’s amulet?
But at this moment she felt it was the most precious gift in the world.
She clenched the amulet tightly in her palm, then changed into the clothes Claire had brought.
A gray coarse linen dress, worn leather shoes, and a strip of cloth for tying back her hair.
The girl in the mirror looked plain and ordinary, no different from the children playing in the streets.
Flora turned lightly in a circle, watching the hem rise and fall.
So this was what it felt like to be ordinary.
So one could be this relaxed without being a princess.
When she climbed out through the hole in the wall, the entire world had changed.
Sunlight poured across the town’s flagstone streets.
People came and went—some hurried, some leisurely.
Vendors’ cries rose and fell; the air was filled with the wheat scent of bread, the oily aroma of roasting meat, and the sweet fragrance of candy drifting from somewhere unknown.
Flora stood at the street corner like a bird that had just learned to fly and did not know which direction to go.
In the distance came the whistle of a train—merchant ships returning from the north were entering the harbor.
A long black-iron dragon spewed steam as it raced along the tracks, the wind it raised scattering countless wildflowers and weeds.
The bronze bell on the church tower struck the hour, its sound echoing over the town.
This was the outside world.
This was the world Claire lived in.
Flora walked into a bakery.
The owner was a kind middle-aged woman who enthusiastically introduced every flavor of bread, completely unaware that the little girl in the coarse dress standing before her was actually an imperial princess.
Flora looked at the roughly made yet fragrant loaves and felt a strange emotion rise in her chest.
She had eaten the most delicate pastries in the palace and drunk the most expensive tea, yet never before had she wanted so badly to taste every single thing in front of her.
That summer the two girls seemed possessed, switching identities again and again.
Claire learned how to walk gracefully along the palace corridors, how to converse with nobles, and even how to play a few simple pieces on the piano.
She said that when she played, she felt just like a princess in a story.
Flora learned how to bake bread, how to weave clothing, and how to play with the town’s children.
They stole a stretch of time from each other’s lives—brief and beautiful.
But every summer comes to an end.
On a late-summer evening the heat was so stifling it was hard to breathe.
Flora sat in a corner of the town square, listening to a minstrel tell a story.
It was a story about a knight.
The poet’s voice was low and compelling as he described the battle on the Kipchak Steppe: hundreds of dragonblood warhorses more than two meters tall formed a moving black-iron wall, barbarian riders brandishing flaming blades.
But the wind blew from the southwest, flattening the long spring grass, and a white knight carrying a steaming serrated greatsword slowly approached.
The black-iron wall charged toward him, hoofbeats like thunder.
Yet the knight merely accelerated; a blinding arc of light flashed and vanished.
When people could see clearly again, the knight had already torn out a still-beating heart.
Behind him the black-iron warhorses collapsed with a tremendous crash.
Flora listened, entranced, eyes shining.
She thought of her sister Phine.
Surely Sister must look just as imposing when she wore her steam armor, like the knight in the story.
Then the chaos began.
At first it was only a single scream in the distance, then more screams, then the entire square dissolved into panic.
People began to scatter in all directions; shouts, sobs, and footsteps mixed into one chaotic roar.
Flora stood up in a daze and looked toward the summer palace.
She saw firelight.
Flames soaring into the sky, thick black smoke billowing.
The magnificent palace was burning; the fire was like a starving beast greedily devouring everything.
Flora’s heart stopped for an instant.
Claire was still inside.
Father and Mother were still inside.
She began to run.
Against the flow of people, toward the firelight.
She heard someone shout “Don’t go that way!” but she did not stop.
Her footsteps grew faster, her breathing more ragged; tears blurred her vision.
No.
No, no, no.
She ran through the woods and found the familiar hole in the wall.
She squeezed through, crawled along the narrow passage, and emerged into the courtyard of the summer palace.
Then she froze.
The summer palace had become hell.
Fire was everywhere.
The air was thick with choking smoke and a smell Flora had never encountered before.
It was the smell of burning flesh.
She saw the corpses on the ground.
Faces she had once known, courtiers who had once fawned and flattered before her father, were now nothing but twisted, blackened remains.
Flames still burned on their bodies, making a soft sizzle.
Flora wanted to vomit.
But she held it back.
She covered her mouth and nose and kept walking forward.
Then she saw that figure.
A steam knight emerged from the sea of fire, black armor jetting great clouds of steam as it moved.
It was not the heroic figure of a savior from the stories, but a demon from hell.
Flora hid in a corner, trembling from head to toe.
She had never seen steam armor in the summer palace, and there had been no parade scheduled this year.
The knight appearing here was very likely the mastermind behind this disaster.
The knight did not notice her and vanished straight into the distant darkness.
But Flora saw more figures shrouded in mist—more steam knights gathering toward the summer palace.
She knew she was finished.
She crouched in the corner and hugged herself.
Tears finally fell, silently tracing down her cheeks and dripping onto the ash-covered ground.
Then came a tremendous crash.
Flora looked up and saw a burning beam smashing down toward her.
She tried to dodge, but her body would not obey.
Agony, burning, suffocation.
She felt herself pinned under a heavy weight, unable to move.
She wanted to cry for help, but no sound came from her throat.
Pain swept through her entire body; consciousness began to blur.
So this was what death felt like.
It was not that frightening after all.
Only a little regrettable.
She had not yet said goodbye to Claire.
Then the weight pressing on her disappeared.
Someone lifted her out of the rubble.
Flora’s consciousness was already fading; she only saw a black figure and the emblem embroidered on a coat.
It seemed to be a three-headed dog.
“Do you want to live?” a voice asked beside her ear.
“The price is that you will never again be able to live as a human.”
Flora did not know what that meant.
She only knew she did not want to die.
She still wanted to see Claire, still wanted to tell her that that summer had been the happiest time of her life.
She gave a tiny nod.
Then consciousness sank into endless darkness.
Star Calendar Year 1769, Lucis Empire, Duchy of Münster.
The Hound Knight Order that had betrayed the Cardinal infiltrated the imperial summer palace.
Rudolf VII was assassinated on the spot.
That night, only the Second Princess Flora survived.