EPISODE 1
RESURGENCE

The bathhouse echoed with a tranquil stillness as the last of the palace maids quietly exited, leaving Sterlla alone with her thoughts. The water rippled around her, adorned with delicate rose petals that floated like whispers of memories. Her long black hair shimmered beneath the surface, reflecting the golden light filtering through the high, arched windows. The scent of lavender and jasmine lingered in the air, mixing with the faint, ever-present aroma of roses. Despite the elegance of her surroundings, a profound weariness weighed heavily on her heart.

Sterlla leaned back, letting her head rest against the edge of the vast marble tub. The warmth of the water was a fleeting comfort against the cold fear and frustration that haunted her. The bathhouse, with its ornate tiles and cascading fountains, was a sanctuary. But even here, she couldn’t escape the nightmare that had ensnared her life.

She closed her eyes, letting the silence envelop her as she recalled the events of the past six months. Her mind wandered through fleeting moments of joy—the laughter during picnics, the opulent banquets, the dances beneath the chandeliers. But each memory was tainted by a dark shadow. She had died so many times that it was exhausting, each death a grotesque end followed by the inevitable rewind of time. Each time she was pulled back to three days before her demise, forced to relive the dread and anxiety of knowing her fate.

“This cycle is endless,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the gentle lapping of the water. “Until I figure out who is trying to kill me so desperately, there is no saving me from this horrendous loop.” She sighed deeply, the sound almost swallowed by the vastness of the bathhouse. Her eyes opened, reflecting a resolve hardened by relentless despair.

She reached for the silver bell beside her, the cool metal a stark contrast to the warmth of the water. With a gentle shake, the bell’s soft chime reverberated through the bathhouse, summoning the maids who had been waiting just outside. They entered quietly, their footsteps muffled on the marble floor as they approached her with respectful bows.

The head maid, Adena, stepped forward. “My lady, are you ready to leave the bath?”

Sterlla nodded, her gaze distant as she rose from the water. The maids moved with practiced precision, draping her in soft, embroidered towels. Their hands were gentle but efficient as they helped her out of the tub, their movements choreographed by years of serving the royal family.

As they dried her hair and dressed her in a flowing gown of deep violet silk, Sterlla’s mind remained occupied with thoughts of her countless deaths. Each attempt had been different—some swift and brutal, others drawn out and agonizing. Yet the result was always the same: she would wake up three days before the attack, time resetting itself as if mocking her inability to escape.

Once dressed, she stepped out of her chambers, the heavy doors swinging open to reveal a contingent of guards and maids waiting in formation. They fell in step around her as she descended the grand staircase, her presence commanding silent respect. It was not only her status as the Crown Princess that compelled such deference; it was the fear, whispered in the corridors, that she was cursed. Guards and servants alike had been instructed to protect her, to ensure that no harm befell her again.

“I am exhausted,” she thought as she walked, the heels of her shoes tapping softly against the polished marble floor. “I don’t want to die again. I want to live.”

The royal gardens stretched out before her, a symphony of colors and scents that failed to lift her spirits. She strolled along the winding paths, her eyes tracing the delicate blooms of peonies and orchids, but the beauty around her felt hollow. Her gaze was empty, her thoughts a tumult of frustration and determination.

To the palace residents, she appeared a tragic figure, a princess traumatized by repeated attempts on her life. But the truth behind her vacant eyes was far darker. Beneath her calm exterior simmered a rage that threatened to consume her. It was not fear that gripped her heart, but a burning desire for revenge. Whoever was trying to kill her, whoever was dragging her through this endless cycle of death, would pay.

“I need to find out who is behind this,” she thought, her hands tightening into fists at her sides. “But I can’t do this alone.” She paused, watching as a butterfly flitted from one bloom to another. “If I tell my parents, they’ll panic. They wouldn’t believe the truth.”

There was also the strange anomaly she had yet to understand: that one time when she had traveled forward instead of back, waking up three days after her death. To everyone else, it had seemed as though she had merely been unconscious, recovering from the shock. But to her, it was a reminder that even the cycle itself was unpredictable, as if whoever—or whatever—was behind it was toying with her.

“Crown Princess Sterlla, it is time to return to your quarters,” Adena’s voice interrupted her thoughts. The head maid stood a respectful distance away, her expression concerned but composed.

Sterlla turned, meeting Adena’s eyes. For a moment, she hesitated. Then, before she could stop herself, she asked, “Will you help me, Adena?”

The older woman’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean, my lady?”

Sterlla took a step closer, her voice low but intense. “I’ve told you before, don’t be so formal with me.”

“This time is different, my lady,” Adena replied softly. “I must be formal until we find out who is behind these three assassination attempts.”

Sterlla felt a bitter smile tug at her lips as she thought to herself, “Three attempts, yes. To everyone else, it’s only been three times. The picnic, the two parties..but in reality, I have been killed ninety-three times.”

Adena's brow furrowed in confusion as she glanced back at Sterlla. “My lady? Did you say something?”

Sterlla quickly shook her head, forcing a smile. “No, no, nothing,” she murmured.

Adena hesitated for a moment, her gaze lingering on Sterlla’s face before she nodded. With a quiet command, she gestured for the maids and guards to escort Sterlla back to her quarters. The palace was quiet as they walked through the corridors, the soft glow of lanterns casting long shadows along the walls. Sterlla's mind was adrift, lost in the tangle of thoughts and fears that had plagued her for months.

When they reached her room, Sterlla sat down on her plush, canopied bed, the silken sheets cool against her skin. Adena gently arranged the regal bedspread over her legs, smoothing out the fabric with care. She offered Sterlla a kind smile, her eyes soft with concern, and then bowed deeply before taking her leave. The guards followed her out, the heavy door closing with a soft thud, leaving Sterlla alone in the vast, dimly lit room.

It was nearly ten at night. The palace was steeped in silence, the world outside veiled in darkness save for the scattered brilliance of stars glittering across the sky. A soft, cold breeze whispered through the half-open window, stirring the heavy curtains. Sterlla felt her eyelids grow heavy as exhaustion finally overtook her. She lay back, surrendering to sleep even as thoughts of the relentless cycle haunted her mind.

Her dreams were restless, filled with shadows and echoes of her own voice pleading for an end to the torment. “...I don’t want to die again… please… let me live. This will be the ninety-fourth time…” she mumbled, tossing and turning on the bed, her fingers clutching at the sheets as if she could hold on to life itself.

Outside her door, a faint creak disrupted the stillness. A dark figure slipped through the doorway, the door closing with a nearly inaudible click behind them. They slumped against it, breathing heavily, their frame outlined faintly in the dim light. The figure struggled to stay upright, their body trembling with pain. The soft glow from the window fell across their arm, revealing a deep, crimson wound. Blood trickled down, pooling on the polished floor as the figure pressed their other hand desperately against the injury, but it did little to stem the flow.

Sterlla jolted awake, her eyes snapping open. For a moment, she lay there, disoriented, then her gaze locked onto the shadowy form near her door. Without a second thought, she thrust her hand forward, her fingers curling as if gripping an invisible orb. A vibrant, purple light erupted from her palm, bathing the room in an ethereal glow. Behind her, the faint outline of a dragon began to take shape, its majestic form coiling and unfurling as if summoned from a distant realm.

The dragon’s scales shimmered like a mosaic of amethysts, each one catching the light and scattering it in a dazzling array of hues. Its eyes, the color of molten gold, burned with a fierce, intelligent light. Long, sweeping wings, webbed with delicate, translucent membranes, stretched out behind it, their edges sharp and precise. The creature’s powerful tail curled protectively around Sterlla, its presence a symbol of both grace and raw, untamed power. As it rose, its head, crowned with an intricate array of horns, loomed high above, exuding an air of ancient wisdom and indomitable strength.

But before the dragon could unleash its wrath, a strained, familiar voice broke through the tension. “It’s me, Crown Princess Sterlla.” The figure gasped, their words ragged, each breath a struggle.

Sterlla’s eyes widened, the light in her palm flickering as she lowered her hand slightly. She focused the purple glow towards the figure’s face, illuminating the pale, sweat-soaked features of Commander Linone. His usually stern and composed expression was contorted in pain, his breaths shallow and uneven.

“Linone!” she exclaimed, her voice barely more than a whisper as she took in the sight before her. Blood soaked his armor, the dark stain spreading across his chest where his shirt was torn, revealing a gaping wound in his side. His left arm, slick with blood, was clenched tightly around the injury, but the flow wouldn’t stop. Cuts marred his face, and his armor was shattered at the bottom left, the jagged edges digging into his flesh. He looked as if he had fought his way through hell itself to reach her.

Sterlla’s heart clenched in her chest. “Commander Linone!” She jumped off the bed, her silk gown swirling around her as she rushed forward. But before she could reach him, Linone’s voice cut through the air, sharp and urgent.

“Close the window! Now!” he commanded, his tone leaving no room for hesitation.

Sterlla froze for a split second, then turned and sprinted to the window. She grasped the heavy frame and slammed it shut just as Linone’s next words echoed in the room.

“Duck!”

Without question, she dropped to her knees, curling into a ball and covering her head with her hands. The purple light from her palm vanished, plunging the room into darkness. An instant later, a sharp whistling sound pierced the air. A silver-tipped arrow shattered the window pane, slicing through the space where Sterlla had been standing moments before. It flew across the room and embedded itself with a solid thunk into the main door, the force of its impact reverberating through the wood.

Sterlla’s heart pounded in her chest as she slowly raised her head. The arrow quivered where it had struck, the point buried deep in the wood, the feathered end still vibrating. She glanced back at Linone, who remained slumped against the door, his body low enough that the arrow had missed him as well.