Rebirth of the Phantom Empress

Chapter 1: The Betrayal

Pain.

It crashed over her like a tidal wave, ripping through her body as she gasped for air. Elara's vision blurred, her fingers trembling as she tried to push herself up from the cold stone floor. The bitter taste of iron filled her mouth—blood, her blood. Her chest heaved, each breath a struggle against the searing agony that radiated from the wound in her side. The grand hall of the Imperial Palace, once a place of splendour and majesty, now reeked of treachery. The golden chandeliers above cast a flickering light over the scene of her downfall—her throne room turned execution chamber.

Elara struggled to move, her body weak from the poison that burned through her veins. Her once-pristine white gown was stained with crimson, her long raven-black hair tangled around her face. The imperial sigil—her imperial sigil—was barely visible beneath the blood seeping into the embroidered fabric.

"Why...?" Her voice was hoarse, barely a whisper.

A cruel laugh echoed through the hall.

"You still ask why?" A familiar voice rang out, dripping with mockery.

Elara lifted her gaze, her violet eyes locking onto the man standing above her—Caius Valerian, her most trusted knight. The man she had once called her sword and shield, the one who had sworn eternal loyalty to her empire.

Yet now, he stood before her, a smirk playing on his lips, his silver armour gleaming with the blood of those who had fought to protect her.

"You were always too naive, Your Majesty," he said, kneeling beside her. "Did you really think your rule would last forever?"

Elara gritted her teeth. "I raised you—I made you who you are."

"And for that, I thank you." Caius chuckled, reaching out to grasp her chin, forcing her to meet his icy blue eyes. "But your time is over. The people no longer need an empress clinging to a dying empire."

Her heart pounded, fury and disbelief intertwining. She had seen war, conquered kingdoms, and silenced dissenters with a single word. But she had never expected betrayal to come from within.

"You betrayed me," she whispered. "You... all of you."

A figure stepped forward—her sister, **Ilyra Veylan**. The younger princess, dressed in a flowing golden gown, her delicate features twisted in a look of false sympathy.

"Sister," Ilyra sighed, shaking her head. "You brought this upon yourself. The people suffer under your rule, and your arrogance has left the empire in ruins."

"Lies," Elara spat, her body trembling. "I fought for this empire. I bled for it. And you—" Her voice broke as she looked at the faces of the nobles surrounding her. The very people she had protected.

They had turned against her.

She had trusted them.

Her father, the mighty Emperor of Seraphis, had barely spared her a glance as the accusations were read. Her sister, Ilyra Veylan, had stood before the court with false tears in her emerald eyes, playing the innocent victim while spinning a web of lies. And Sir Caius Valerian… the man she had once loved, the knight who swore to protect her.

Caius tightened his grip on her jaw, his smirk widening. "Your reign ends here, Elara. The Phantom Empress will be nothing more than a memory."

And with that, he plunged his blade into her heart.

Pain—blinding, searing pain—exploded through her chest.

Her fingers twitched as she struggled to move, to fight. But it was too late. As her vision blurred, the last thing she saw was Ilyra standing above her, a cruel smile playing on her lips.

"Die, dear sister. I'll be sure to take good care of everything that was once yours."

Her vision darkened. The last thing she saw was Ilyra's cold smile and the shadow of her once-loyal knight.

---

*Awakening*

She awoke gasping for air.

The sensation of cold vanished, replaced by warmth and the scent of fresh lavender. A soft bed cradled her body, a stark contrast to the filthy dungeon floor where she had drawn her last breath.

Her heart pounded as she sat up, expecting to feel the burning pain in her heart, but instead, her body felt… unfamiliar. Lighter. Weaker.

She turned her hands over, her breath catching. These weren't her hands. They were smaller, delicate, yet malnourished—thin wrists wrapped in bandages, bruises fading but still present.

Panic surged through her. She stumbled out of the bed, her legs trembling. A mirror stood in the corner of the dimly lit room, and she forced herself forward. What she saw made her breath hitch.

The reflection was not hers.

Gone were the regal golden locks and sharp sapphire eyes of Princess Elara Veylan. Instead, a frail girl with tangled raven-black hair and hollow violet eyes stared back at her.

But even through the dirt, the bruises, and the suffering, she was breathtaking.

Her features were delicate, otherworldly—like something sculpted by the gods themselves. Long, dark lashes framed her haunting violet eyes, their depth like a starless night. Though her skin was pale from malnourishment, a single glance told her that once restored, she would be a beauty unseen in a millennium.

This wasn't her body.

Memories flooded her mind—memories that weren't hers.

The girl's name was Selene Ravencourt, the disgraced daughter of a fallen noble house. Beaten, abandoned, and left to die by a cruel stepmother, Selene had perished in this very room.

And Elara had taken her place.

A slow, wicked smile spread across her lips. Fate had given her a second chance.

She would not waste it.

She would rise from nothing. She would become stronger than before.

And this time, when she faced her enemies…

She would make them beg for mercy.

---

*Selene Ravencourt*

The name echoed in Elara's mind as she slowly took in her surroundings. The small room was dimly lit by a flickering candle, the air thick with dust and the faint scent of mildew. The bed beneath her was thin, its sheets torn and barely covering the straw mattress. A cracked wooden dresser stood in the corner, its drawers half-open, revealing ragged garments unfit even for a servant.

This was no princess's chamber.

Her fingers traced the bruises along her wrists, remnants of the abuse this body had endured. Despite the pain, she smirked. If fate had given her a weak, broken vessel, then she would forge it into something unbreakable.

---

*A Sudden Visitor*

A sudden knock on the door made her flinch.

Before she could react, the door burst open, revealing a plump woman with sharp eyes and a permanent sneer. Lady Mirva Ravencourt.

Selene's stepmother.

"Still alive, are you?" Mirva scoffed, arms crossed. "Tch. A waste of space, as always."

Elara—no, Selene—kept her expression blank. She had no memories of this woman beyond the ones flooding her mind—cruelty disguised as duty, hatred masked as disappointment.

Mirva stepped forward, gripping Selene's chin roughly, inspecting her face with disdain. "You should have died in that storm last week. Would've saved me the trouble."

A storm?

A new memory surfaced. The real Selene had been locked outside in the rain for hours as punishment for accidentally breaking a teacup. She had collapsed from exhaustion, fevered, and shaking.

So that's when she died.

Mirva's grip tightened. "You're lucky I haven't thrown you to the streets. No one would take in a useless girl like you—sickly, pathetic, and cursed with those unnatural eyes."

Selene's violet eyes flickered coldly.

Unnatural? She inwardly laughed. If only they knew what true power looked like.

"I asked you a question, girl. Are you deaf as well as dumb?" Mirva's nails dug into her skin.

Selene tilted her head slightly, meeting Mirva's gaze with eerie calmness. "I'm alive," she said, her voice softer than a whisper but firm.

Mirva's lips curled in irritation as if expecting her to cower. When Selene didn't, the woman clicked her tongue and released her chin. "Hmph. Get downstairs and clean the kitchen. I won't have you lying around like a leech."

With that, she turned and stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

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