Third-person POV

The room, which had already been tense and heavy with confusion, seemed to freeze entirely as the impossible continued to unfold right in front of everyone. The man who had just been declared dead, the king whose body had been prepared and placed inside a coffin, had sat up. His movements were stiff and unnatural, like his body didn’t fully belong to him anymore, and his head turned slightly as his eyes moved across the room in a slow, searching way. He looked lost, confused, like someone who had been dragged back into a place he no longer understood.

Some of the guards took a step back without realizing it, their hands hovering near their weapons even though they clearly didn’t know what they were supposed to do. The reporters who had been gathered at a distance began to murmur loudly among themselves, their fear and curiosity mixing in a way that made the atmosphere even more chaotic. Some of them raised their devices again, recording everything, even though their hands were shaking slightly.

No one had ever seen something like this before. No one had ever expected to, and before anyone could even begin to process what was happening with the king, something else shifted in the room.

The servant’s body, which had been lying still not too far from the coffin, suddenly moved. Her fingers twitched first, a small, almost unnoticeable movement that would have been missed if the room hadn’t already been so tense. Then, slowly, her eyes opened, and another wave of panic spread through the room.

Now there were two of them.

Two bodies that were supposed to be lifeless, both moving, both aware in a way that made no sense to anyone watching. The murmurs grew louder, the fear more obvious, and even the guards who were trained to handle dangerous situations looked like they were completely out of their depth.

Electra, however, did not look fazed in the slightest by their dramatic reaction. There was a calmness to her that stood in complete contrast to everyone else, and as she slowly took a step closer to Jella, a small smirk formed on her face.

Leaning slightly closer to Jella, just enough for her voice to stay between them, Electra spoke in a low tone that carried a subtle threat in it. "I told you," she said, her voice almost soft. "The dead can talk."

Jella didn’t respond immediately. Her heart was racing so fast it felt like it might give her away, and her eyes flickered briefly toward the king, who was now sitting upright in the coffin, and then toward the servant, whose breathing had become uneven but very real.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. None of this was supposed to happen.

"But you didn’t believe me," Electra continued, her smirk widening just slightly as she straightened again, her gaze never leaving Jella’s face. "And now, with all these people watching, you’re going to find out the truth."

Her eyes darkened slightly as she added, "We’ll see if my father was really killed by a servant... or if someone else did it and decided to blame a helpless girl who she also killed."

The accusation didn’t need to be said directly. Jella felt it, and for a brief moment, her composure cracked. Her lips parted slightly, her voice coming out lower and less steady than she intended. "You’re making a mistake," she said, trying to keep her tone controlled, but the slight tremble in her voice betrayed her. 𝙧𝙚𝙚𝔀𝒆𝓫𝓷𝙤𝓿𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝙤𝓶

Electra scoffed softly, clearly unimpressed.

Without another word, she turned away from Jella and walked toward the coffin where her father sat. The room quieted again, not completely, but enough for the shift in focus to be obvious.

All eyes were now on her andmemories or on the king.

Vale’s gaze moved slowly as she approached, his expression still carrying that same confusion, that same disorientation. He looked at her like he was trying to place her, like he knew her but couldn’t fully understand how or why.

Electra stopped in front of him. For a brief moment, she just stood there, looking at him, her expression unreadable. Then, almost without thinking, she reached out and took his hand. The contact was instinctive, something she didn’t question or think about, and even she didn’t fully understand why she did it.

It just felt right.

His hand was cold, not just cool, but cold in a way that reminded her of what he was now, and yet, when her fingers wrapped around his, something shifted in his expression. His eyes focused more clearly, his confusion easing just slightly as he looked directly at her.

"Do you recognize me?" Electra asked, her voice quieter now, softer than it had been before.

She didn’t tell him anything else. She didn’t mention her him ormemories, or feel the need to worsen the emotional distance between them. All she wanted was for him to see her, to know her, even if just for a moment.

Vale stared at her for a long time. His gaze searched her face slowly, like he was trying to hold onto something that was slipping away from him, and then, gradually, something changed. A small smile formed on his lips, weak but real, and his voice, when he spoke, came out rough and uneven.

"Electra..." he said, her name sounding heavier coming from him, like it carried more meaning than she could understand. "My little girl... Electra."

The words landed harder than anything else had. Electra didn’t react immediately, but something inside her shifted again, something deeper this time, something that made her grip on his hand tighten slightly without her realizing it.

Vale’s expression didn’t stay soft for long.

It broke. Guilt, heavy and overwhelming, filled his eyes, and even though no tears formed, the emotion was clear in every part of his face. "I’m sorry," he said, his voice shaking slightly. "I’m so sorry."

He shook his head weakly, his grip on her hand tightening just a little as he continued. "I couldn’t protect you... I couldn’t do anything right. I failed you. I was a terrible father."

The words came out again and again, repeating, like he couldn’t stop himself, like this was something he had been holding onto for too long.

Electra listened. She didn’t interrupt listening him, or try to stop him, but after a moment, she forced a small smile on her face, even though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "I forgive you," she said simply, her voice steady despite everything she was feeling.

It wasn’t entirely true, not because she didn’t want to forgive him, but because she didn’t remember enough to know what she was forgiving. Still, she said it anyway, because she could see that he needed to hear it.

"And I want you to rest," she added softly. "But before that... I need you to tell me something."

Her expression hardened slightly as she spoke again, her eyes locking on his. "How did you die?" she asked. "And who killed you?"

The question changed the atmosphere instantly.

The reporters, who had been keeping their distance, began to murmur even louder now, their voices overlapping as they tried to make sense of what they were witnessing. Some of them moved slightly closer, their curiosity overpowering their fear, while others stayed where they were, clearly unsure of how safe it was to be anywhere near the situation, but all of them were listening, and waiting.