The condescending smiles of the painted angels mocked Amelia as her eyes snapped open. But this time, there was something else vying for her attention – an intoxicating aroma that sent her stomach into rebellion. Beside her, on the lace-draped table, sat a breakfast fit for a queen – buttery croissants, a wedge of aged cheese, and a ruby-red glint that promised solace in a goblet of wine. "Now that's hospitality," Amelia muttered, snatching a croissant and tearing into it, fueling her mind with its flaky goodness as she plotted her next steps.

Her last conversation with the Duke - a man with eyes like polished steel - had danced on the precipice of danger. More questions might reveal who she truly was, Amelia trapped in Eydis's skin. The witches' meddling wasn't just for amusement. It was possible they had a hand in her transmigration. Sensing the dangerous revelation lurking in her thoughts, she swiftly redirected her mind to Eydis’s concealed history, attempting to induce unconsciousness.

One thing was certain - there was more to Eydis than met the eye. Amelia had been blind, just like everyone else, judging a book by its gilded cover. For now, Amelia’s primary objective was survival, and perhaps finding a way back to her original world.

Duke Whitlock, as per her borrowed memories, carried an air of honour. Provoking him deliberately wasn't her intention, as she wasn't that reckless. Yet, she found amusement in these subtle challenges, using them as distractions and decoys to safeguard her genuine thoughts. Thinking in different languages wouldn't earn his trust, not truly. And trust, she realised, was her only ticket out of this cage.

His cryptic words about the witches, about her own role in this bizarre game, hinted at a deeper knowledge. He was playing her, cunningly probing her for answers.

Magic, once a concept she scoffed at, now loomed like a mocking shadow. This world, with its fantastical creatures and whispered powers, was a slap in the face to her staunch atheism. What kind of cruel, omnipotent being would create such flawed, vulnerable creatures like humans?

But now wasn’t the time to brood. Amelia needed knowledge, weapons forged in the fires of this new reality. And she would forge them, one stolen glance, one overheard whisper, one buttery croissant at a time.

**

Millennia ago, humanity teetered on the brink. Greed fueled endless wars, scarring the Earth and consuming resources. Millions succumbed to starvation and disease. Morality became a fleeting luxury. Witnessing this desolation, God chose a drastic path: a reset. He handpicked a select few, elites imbued with immense power to govern the remnant of Earth. Thus, the Alchymia Empire rose, a shining beacon of order amidst the ruins.

At its heart, the imperial family, golden eyes shimmering with divine light, held a direct line to God. Gifted with healing and foresight, they were living angels, their intellect guiding the vast Alchymia. Their power, dedicated solely to healing, was guarded by five mighty dukedoms, each wielding a unique magic.

In the frozen north, Duke Whitlock of Silverkeep ruled, their touch turning metal into an obedient weapon. They single-handedly quelled rebellions, turning their swords against them. Silverkeep's wealth overflowed from its mastery of precious metals. The Dukedom also housed the Empire's finest knight academy, its graduates forming the backbone of the Alchymia army.

To the east, nestled against Silverkeep's icy grip, lay Inferno. This land of fire and ice birthed a different magic - the descendants of Inferno could summon flames that danced with molten fury, a potent counterpoint to Silverkeep's steel. Inferno experienced extremes, from icy nights to scorching days, intensified by geothermal geysers.

Westward, where the ocean embraced the land, was Azura. Their domain was water, its might channelled to facilitate trade within the empire and beyond. Skilled in sustainable fishing practices, their power could extinguish Inferno's flames, making them crucial allies. But Azura wasn't just duty; it was beauty, a land of culinary indulgence and sun-kissed shores, a favourite respite for empire denizens.

Terravale, a ring of fertile lands surrounding the capital, housed the earth-wielders. Masters of mountains and tremors, they were the Empire's shield, deflecting threats with earthquakes and tsunamis. Their domain thrived on agriculture, mineral mining, and their proximity to the grand academies, attracting scholars and labourers alike.

Finally, nestled between Silverkeep and Inferno, lay Sylvanwood, a tapestry of ancient forests. Here, the Duke wielded the language of nature, commanding flora and fauna with whispered words. They lived simply, trading in renewable bamboo to preserve their sanctuary. Yet, their wood-fueled magic held sway over Terravale, their verdant whispers silencing the earth's roar.

Interesting.

Eydis slammed the history book shut, her mind swirling with newfound knowledge. She had picked it from the history section, its well-worn pages indicating it was likely the duke's favourite. 

The book intricately mapped Alchymia's network of houses, from the silver-wielding Silverkeep in Scandinavia to Azura, masters of water on the Mediterranean coast. Earth, however, was unrecognizable. No America, no Asia – just 500 million lives clinging to a world once scarred by ancient wars. Unknown forces and weapons had shaped this altered reality, erasing Earth's dominant powers. Although hailed as a utopia, she couldn't help but scoff at such notions.

Examining the world map anew, she found a faithful replication of her own world, albeit with borders reshaped. Sylvanwood meandered through Finland, Terravale embraced central Europe, and Inferno blazed a trail across Russia and China.

Eydis admired the design, the efficiency. Humanity, it seemed, needed God-chosen rulers. Still, the slow population growth intrigued her. Wars and plagues weren't mentioned, so what suppressed their numbers? Fertility issues? Could water-wielding Azura, despite the vast ocean separating them, hold sway over fire-powered Inferno? Sylvanwood, cloaked in secrecy, traded only in bamboo, their whispers likely priceless intelligence. Perhaps, in this world, divinity truly resided in nature's embrace.

A sigh escaped Eydis' lips as she shut the book, the musty scent of ink and ancient paper clinging to her senses. This wasn't the past, not by a long shot. This was a world forged from the crucible of forgotten eras, a phoenix rising from the ashes of history.

Perhaps it's the future, or a different Earth, avoiding the snarl of a time travel paradox, and Eydis let out a sigh of relief.

Among the Five Houses, Sylvanwood held a peculiar allure. It was a land shrouded in secrecy, its borders drawn with whispers rather than lines, a stark contrast to the other dukedoms with their showy displays of power. Eydis admired their quiet strength, their ability to command nature's whispers and secrets, a power akin to the gods of old: all seeing, all hearing. They traded little, guarding their nature like a jealous god, yet their influence stretched far, like the unseen roots of ancient trees. Unlike the Azurans, who preached sustainability while profiting from controlled fisheries, Sylvanwood seemed content with their silent wisdom.

"Miss Eydis," a voice broke the spell, sending a jolt through her. The Duke stood behind her, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Your musings on Sylvanwood’s power were intriguing, to say the least. Though I must confess, Azura might take exception to your…unorthodox assessment of their trade practices."

"My apologies, for accessing your library, Your Grace," she curtsied. The Duke stood before her, a snow-dusted titan in a sapphire-trimmed cape. His silver eyes, sharp as glacial shards, held unspoken questions.

"Nonsense," he countered. "This library welcomes all, even curious maids." His gaze, icy yet strangely inviting, lingered on her face. "But you, Eydis, are no ordinary maid. Who are you?"

The air crackled with unspoken challenge. "Someone who survived magic, Your Grace," she met his stare, her brown eyes unwavering. "And someone who wants to understand it."

He smiled. "An intriguing pursuit. And perhaps one I could assist with, if you allowed." His voice dropped to a husky whisper as he leaned close. "My lady saviour, your curiosity is…enticing."

Charming.

Eydis leaned in, her gaze unreadable. Her fingers grazed his arms, sending shivers in their wake. "An offer I wouldn't easily refuse, Your Grace.” She lingered, savouring the warmth, before gracefully pulling away. "But your time is precious, dedicated to the Dukedom and Lady Athena."

A flicker of surprise crossed his face, quickly masked by his usual stoicism. "Your concern is touching, which reminded me." He bowed slightly, his gaze lingering on her lips. "We shall speak again, my saviour."

The Duke's retreating figure left a void in the room. He was a master of veiled seduction, his cold facade concealing a smouldering intensity. Who knew such a heart could beat beneath that icy exterior?

Returning the history book, she searched for magic texts. Their absence was unsettling. Was this powerful knowledge deliberately concealed? Memories from the original Eydis offered no clues, only whispers of magic's existence. Frustration gnawed at her.

Moving towards what seemed like a secluded reading area, she was greeted by a flood of sunlights pouring from a floor-to-ceiling window. In Silverkeep, this sight was a rare treasure, and seemed to hold special significance. Settling by the window, she gazed out at a breathtaking sight. Blue mountains cloaked in snow, vast lakes frozen in time - it was a mesmerising view.

Contemplating the Duke's proposition, she considered the absence of magic books in the library. Fatigue began weighing on her, gently pulling her towards slumber.