Chapter 4: Flora

Aiden walked behind the armored guard, each step echoing faintly against the polished stone. The hallway stretched out before them, transitioning from dust-stained corridors into grander, more intricate halls.

The very air seemed to change—warmer, lighter, like even the oxygen here had passed through silken filters. Rugs no longer bore patches or frayed edges; they gleamed beneath golden chandeliers, woven with the sigil of House Leonidus: a roaring lion’s head above twin crossed swords.

He kept pace, though the magnitude of the estate now pressed upon him like invisible weight. This place was power manifested in marble and metal. And walking these pristine halls as a mere servant—no, an intruder now possessing both memory and hunger—felt like dragging muddy boots through a cathedral.

"How many people have died in this hallway alone?"

he thought, remembering the story.

His fingers twitched. His body still held memory of last night—Akidna’s warmth, her breath in his ear, the way her heartbeat seemed to synchronize with his, until he couldn’t tell where he ended and she began. He swallowed. The lingering taste of her mana, sweet and volatile, still burned faintly on his tongue.

"....wow," he breathed, suddenly the main mansion coming to view.

The architecture towered, beautiful and cruel in its perfection. Pillars rose like ivory trees. The glasswork danced with morning sun. Gardens peeked through archways, symphonies of color and calm. This was the domain of gods playing nobles.

The guard slowed, clearly noticing his awe. But it wasn’t just the estate Aiden was watching. It was the armor. That sigil. He’d read about it—one paragraph in the game’s world-lore—easily overlooked. But now, standing here, it bore a weight history books couldn’t replicate. House Leonidus. Descendants of the Sun God’s chosen beast.

A golden bloodline.

A family who’d erased rebellions with a smile.

And now, Aiden was apparently their plaything.

The guard leaned toward him.

"How?" he whispered, like he was afraid the mansion itself would hear. "How are you still ....alive?"

Aiden froze mid-step.

"...What did you say?"

"....How are you still... breathing?" the guard clarified, voice low and raw.

Aiden kept walking, but slower now. His heart thudded, sharp and deliberate. He hadn’t forgotten the knife by his side when he woke up. Or the faint copper smell of blood, drying too quickly. He’d brushed it off—assumed a suicide attempt gone wrong or a staged scene by the system. But now...

The air shifted again. The hallway suddenly felt colder, more intimate. Like walking into the mouth of something that had already chewed once and was considering a second bite.

"...I don’t understand," Aiden replied, matching the guard’s hush. "What do you mean?"

The man jerked him to the side, into an alcove shadowed by ivy vines and a stained-glass window.

"I was sent to check on you," he said, breath shaking. "But I was late. When I arrived—" he gulped "—you were lying there. Dead. A blade in your chest. You weren’t breathing. No heartbeat."

Murder.

The word detonated in his mind.

Not an accident. Not a system error. Someone wanted Aiden—this Aiden—dead before the story even began.

His skin crawled. His own story was being overwritten, twisted. The butterfly effect had begun, and he was still trying to find his wings.

But... why would someone kill the laundry boy?

This character had barely existed in the original game script. An extra. A forgotten footnote. Unless...

’Unless he was more than that. Unless someone knew what I could become.’

He focused. This wasn’t the time to spiral. He needed control. Calm.

"Let’s say I... believe you," Aiden said, voice low. "You said Lady Flora sent you?"

The guard nodded.

"She received... intelligence," he said awkwardly. "Late. But enough to worry. So she sent me. I was supposed to intercept the threat. But—"

"....You failed," Aiden finished for him, golden eyes narrowing.

The guard flinched. "I tried."

Aiden placed a hand on his shoulder. His grip was gentle, but firm—like a prince hiding a blade in velvet.

"Forget what you saw," he whispered. "Bury it. Deep."

The guard blinked.

"I—"

"Now. One more thing." Aiden’s voice took on a curious softness. Commanding yet smooth. His incubus blood stirred, like a second breath below his own.

"Who would want me dead?"

Silence.

Then, like a confession pried loose:

"...Knight Gail."

The name cut through him like cold steel.

The knight. Flora’s fiancé. One of the first men the uncontrollable incubus killed in the original story. A fool with too much jealousy and too little skill. A stepping stone on his descent into madness.

But now? Now Aiden wasn’t spiraling into madness. He was climbing.

And Gail had just signed his death warrant.

"...Ah," Aiden said, chuckling.

The guard looked startled. "You... aren’t afraid?"

"I’m relieved," Aiden said, brushing imaginary dust off his tunic. "For a second, I thought it was someone important."

They walked on, and Aiden’s smile didn’t fade. He was done playing prey. It was time to turn the script inside out.

"Lets move on...Take me to her ladyship," he said.

"But—what about how you came back—?"

"I’m Jesus," Aiden deadpanned.

"...What?"

Aiden smirked. "Exactly."

They approached the Pearl Wing—a section of the estate walled in white stone and gold-veined columns. The air smelled like rose oil and incensed sandalwood. Even the floors gleamed like still water.

Knock knock.

"My lady. John here. With... Aiden."

Step. Step. Step. Step

The door burst open like a secret being snatched back into silence.

A hand grabbed Aiden by the collar and yanked him in.

Bang.

The door shut behind him like a final verdict.

"You can go," a calm voice inside commanded.

John hesitated. Then turned and left, the hallway swallowing him whole.

Aiden blinked. The scent hit him first—jasmine and heat and something heady, almost narcotic. The air was warm, too warm. Like stepping into a private summer.

A hand released him.

Small.

Feminine.

He turned.

The blonde maid stared at him with wide, guarded eyes. Her grip didn’t match her size. Neither did her silence.

She stepped aside. Aiden followed the scent toward the deeper chamber.

Then he saw her.

Lady Flora D. Leonidus.

She lounged on a velvet chair, legs crossed, golden hair falling like molten fire over one bare shoulder. Her gown clung to her figure with criminal precision—black and gold, low at the front, high at the thigh.

It was her eyes.

Golden. Like his.

Burning, like hers held a sun caged inside.

"Aiden."

Her voice was calm. Measured. Dangerous.

But it wasn’t her body that made his breath pause.

It was...

The system blinked to life.

[Flora D Leonidus

Status: -------

Bloodline: Mythical Lion Bloodline (High tier)

Mana: High

Grade: A+ class

Personality: Confident/Confused

Skills: Lion Bane (High Tier), Myth Aura (High Tier), Saint Sword (Ascendant Tier)

Beauty: Radiant (Very High Tier)

Talent: ⭐⭐⭐⭐]

[High amount of Ember detected.]

Aiden’s heartbeat skipped.

Ember.

That word again.