I'm in another world, and I start out transformed into Lancelot.

"This is a prophecy from a fairy."

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

"A prophecy...?" the princess murmured softly, her purple eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight.

Lancelot chuckled softly, then suddenly reached out and scooped her up from the sofa.

Euphemia gasped, instinctively wrapping her arms around the fairy knight's neck: "Wait, wait a minute!"

"Master, it's time for you to rest~" Lancelot's voice carried an undeniable gentleness.

Her silver hair fell beside Euphemia's cheeks, carrying the coolness of the night dew.

Euphemia wanted to say something, but was gently placed on the four-poster bed. Lancelot knelt beside the bed, his fingertips brushing against her eyelids: "Close your eyes."

The voice seemed to possess a magical power, and Euphemia's eyelids suddenly felt heavy.

In a hazy state, she felt cool fingertips combing her hair and heard Lancelot humming an ancient fairy lullaby.

"Will you... stay here forever?" she mumbled before drifting off to sleep.

Her answer was a light kiss on the forehead and a whisper that faded into the night breeze:

"Just call my name and I will come to you..."

In the moonlight, the fairy knight's figure gradually became transparent, transforming into countless shimmering petals.

The princess on the bed, with a relieved smile on her lips, finally fell into a deep sleep.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

"Ugh—coaxing people is such a hassle..."

The silver-haired knight materialized in the system space and immediately collapsed onto the virtual sofa without any regard for his image.

Halunia rubbed her temples, looking just like a kindergarten teacher who had just finished dealing with a bunch of unruly kids, completely different from her elegant knightly demeanor just moments before.

"Don't misunderstand," she waved her hand at the air, as if explaining to someone.

"It's just a habitual way of adopting the attitude of an older sister taking care of children from the original world..."

As she spoke, she suddenly sat up straight with a start, slapping her cheeks hard: "Damn it... I almost lost control of this body's instincts again..."

A system orb floated above her head, emitting a puzzled beeping sound: "According to data analysis, your restraint during the interaction just now consumed an additional 37.6% of your energy."

"Why not stay by her side openly and honestly, Lady Halonia?"

The sphere of light projected a holographic image: "With Her Highness's authority, it's entirely possible to arrange for you to be a personal knight. This way, you can have 24-hour close protection."

"Ha!" Halunia scoffed, a ghostly blue flame conjuring at her fingertip. "Do you take me for one of those house dogs that fawn over their masters all day?"

The silhouette of the Britannian court emerged from the flames, and the fake smiles of the nobles made her wrinkle her nose in disgust.

She'd already dealt with enough guys like this in her original world!

She leaned back lazily on the sofa, her silver hair spreading out like moonlight: "Besides..."

The flames suddenly transformed into the form of a miniature mecha. "The secret weapon, of course, must make a grand entrance at the most crucial moment."

"For example..." she gently blew away the flames, a dangerous glint in her eyes, "...in the upcoming battle, to destroy those Nightmare with this human-like body..."

"I also need to properly demonstrate what the real Lancelot is like in front of that mecha of the same name~."

As she said this, an undisguised, maniacal smile appeared on her face.

The system suddenly emitted a piercing alarm: "Warning! Dragon instinct activation level 87%! Please immediately—"

"It's so noisy!" Halunia snapped her fingers to freeze the system, but couldn't control her ears, which were starting to burn.

On the virtual screen, the sleeping Euphemia unconsciously rubbed against the pillow, a gesture that almost made the Knight lose control again.

"Aaaaaah! This damn instinct!" She buried her face in the pillow in a frenzy, and a pair of small dragon horns could be vaguely seen through her silver hair.

"I just wanted to be a reliable knight... why is there such a complicated setup?!"

Finally, she raised her head dejectedly, gazing at the sleeping princess on the screen, her eyes softening unconsciously: "Silly princess...you'd better wait patiently for my grand entrance..."

The silver-haired figure gradually disappeared into the data stream, leaving only a pair of glowing dragon eyes slowly closing in the darkness.

Chapter 5 A Monologue Amidst the Interplay of Light and Shadow

The moonlight, like water, spilled into Euphemia's bedchamber. She curled up on the soft bed, a peaceful smile on her lips.

“Just call my name and I will come to you.”

In the dream, the knight clad in lake-blue mecha smiled as his figure gradually transformed into countless shimmering petals, dissipating into the night.

"One day, the name Euphemia will resound throughout Britannia."

This is their secret, a promise between the knight and the princess.

—Not as a princess, but as herself.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

As the morning sunlight streamed through the gauze curtains, Euphemia slowly opened her eyes, the warmth of her dream still lingering on her fingertips.

She gently stroked the red emblem hidden in her sleeve, the smile still lingering on her lips.

"Your Highness, the Vermilion Bird Knight is already waiting in his office." The maid's voice brought her back to reality.

Euphemia nodded, and couldn't help but smile as she thought of her always serious and earnest personal knight.

Although Suzaku is completely different from the dreamlike fairy knight in her dream, he has indeed given her a lot of support like a friend since they met.

When she pushed open the office door, the somber atmosphere that greeted her made her pause.

Zhuque stood with his back to her by the window, the morning light outlining his taut silhouette. To her surprise, he wasn't wearing his knightly uniform, a symbol of honor, today.

“Suzaku?” she called softly. “We should head to the art museum.”

The moment she turned around, Euphemia felt a pang in her heart at Suzaku's pale face and bloodshot eyes.

His tightly pursed lips trembled slightly, and his right hand unconsciously rubbed his left chest—where the royal brooch should have been pinned, but was now empty.

"Your Highness," his voice was hoarse beyond recognition, "please allow me to resign from my knighthood."

These words were like a bucket of cold water poured over her. Euphemia recalled the fairy knight's prophecy from the previous night and suddenly felt a surge of absurd irony.

She suppressed the inexplicable disappointment in her heart and asked as calmly as possible, "Is it because of disobeying orders last week? My brother, Xiuzenair, has already—"

“It’s not because of that.” Suzaku’s voice, which had suddenly risen, echoed in the empty office.

He seemed startled by his own lapse in composure and immediately knelt on one knee: "Please forgive me... but I cannot continue to deceive you."

Euphemia looked at his trembling shoulders and suddenly understood something. She stepped forward slowly, her voice filled with genuine concern:

"Is the responsibility of being a knight putting too much pressure on you?"

"No!" Suzaku suddenly looked up, the pain and struggle in his eyes reminding Euphemia of the falling petals in her dream last night.

“I am truly grateful for the trust you have placed in me. That is why I am even more determined not to tarnish this position.”

He took a deep breath, as if to uncover a long-buried wound: "Seven years ago... I killed my father."

The birdsong outside the window suddenly became shrill. Euphemia's eyes widened.

Looking at the young man before me who always adhered to the code of chivalry, I saw him now painfully tearing open his own wounds.

"Back then, my father would rather let the entire country turn to ashes than surrender..." Suzaku's voice was broken, "I...I chose to exchange his life for the survival of more people..."

A tear fell onto the marble floor, splashing up tiny droplets.

"A sinner like me...is unworthy to stand beside you..."

He shoved the brooch into Euphemia's palm, then recoiled as if burned the moment it touched her fingers, before turning and rushing toward the door.

"Wait!" Euphemia's call did not stop him. The heavy wooden door slammed shut, knocking a landscape painting off the wall.

In the empty office, Euphemia looked down at the brooch in her palm. The cold touch of the metal reminded her of Lancelot's warm hand in her dream last night.

She shook her head with a bitter smile: "What qualifications... We all live in sin..."

Memories flooded back—opinions that had been deliberately ignored in the council chamber.

The meaningful title of "flower vase princess" at the banquet, and the whispers behind her back about her being a "puppet prince"...

Euphemia's fingers gripped the brooch tightly, its sharp edge piercing her palm, but the slight pain paled in comparison to the surging sorrow in her heart.

She gazed in the direction where the Vermilion Bird had disappeared, her skirt swaying unconsciously an inch forward before abruptly stopping.

"Your Highness?" the head maid asked cautiously, "Should we send someone to retrieve the Vermilion Bird Knight?"

Outside the window, Suzaku's figure had already disappeared at the end of the tree-lined path. Euphemia took a deep breath.

The content of the royal etiquette lesson automatically came to mind—straighten your back, slightly raise your chin, and keep the corners of your mouth up at a 15-degree angle.

When she spoke again, her voice had regained the composure characteristic of royalty:

"No need. Let's get ready to go to the art museum."

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Euphemia's military boots tapped crisply on the marble floor of the art gallery, and the hem of her white vice-governor's uniform swayed gently with her steps.

She raised her hand to signal the guards to keep their distance, and walked alone toward the Impressionist exhibition hall, which was her brother Clovis's favorite place.

“A nominal vice governor…” She chuckled self-deprecatingly, her fingertips tracing the delicate gold thread embroidery on the cuffs of her uniform. “Actually, I knew it all along.”

Sunlight streamed through the stained glass, casting dappled blue patches of light at her feet.

She paused before "Mount Fuji at Sunset," the burning sunset on the canvas turning her pupils amber.

The glass display case reflected her slightly pale face and the symbolic epaulettes of a deputy governor on her shoulder.

"But I still want to do what I can."

The sound of the escort captain's walkie-talkie came from afar: "The Avalon confirms that the Lancelot is in the final commissioning phase and is expected to be ready for combat by 1800." The voice was exceptionally clear in the empty exhibition hall.

Euphemia looked up at Clovis's life-size portrait directly in front of her. In the painting, the emperor held a scepter, but his gaze was fixed on a distant place outside the frame.

She suddenly noticed a small scratch in the lower right corner of the picture frame—it was from when she was twelve years old and accidentally touched it with her scepter.

“I’m sorry… Brother Clovis.” Her voice was so soft it was almost inaudible. “Although I met Zero, I didn’t avenge you.”

A tear slid down her cheek, leaving a dark stain on the collar of her uniform. She remembered the masked figure in the ruins.

Recalling his voice when he said, "This world needs to change," she realized that she saw a purer ideal in the enemy than in her brothers.

"But I also can't think of a way to save Lelouch and Nunnally..."

The thought surprised even herself. As a princess of Britannia, she was supposed to regard her rebellious siblings as enemies.

But the image of Lelouch, who always gently protected Nunnally in her memory, overlapped with the Zero who was now starting a revolution, making it impossible for her to hate him no matter what.

"I don't have the power of my elder sister and elder brother Xiuzenair; I'm just a stumbling block wherever I go..."

She turned and leaned against the window, the sunlight gilding her profile. In the distance, towards Tokyo Bay, the silhouette of the Avalon warship was faintly visible.

Suzaku should be lying in Lancelot's cockpit right now, undergoing the final neural connection test.

Is that boy, who always stands tall with his back straight, also feeling anxious about the upcoming battle?

When I came to my senses, I realized that I had been acting recklessly and willfully.

She recalled the shocked expression on Princess Cornelia's face when she insisted on appointing Suzaku as a knight.

She recalled the nobles whispering, "The 'vase princess' is finally going to make a fool of herself." She remembered the complex emotions in Suzaku's emerald eyes when he rejected her.

"I chose to be a knight against my elder sister's wishes, but I was rejected~"

She tried to say it in a light tone, but couldn't control the tremor in her voice. More tears welled up in her eyes, sparkling like crystals in the sunlight.

At that very moment, the Command Seals on my arm suddenly became burning hot.

Three scarlet stripes gleamed faintly beneath the cuffs of her uniform, and she seemed to hear that familiar voice ringing in her ears, carrying the ethereal and gentle quality unique to fairies:

"Don't underestimate yourself, my Master."

Euphemia looked up abruptly, and it seemed as if flower petals were drifting through the sunlight. She wiped away her tears, watched the faint light of the Command Seals slowly fade, and a determined smile appeared on her lips.

“Yes…” she murmured to herself, taking one last look at Clovis’s portrait. “I promised you I would show you how Euphemia’s name would resound throughout Britannia.”

She straightened her uniform collar and turned to walk deeper into the exhibition hall. There, an unpublished Clovis posthumous work awaited her inspection.