POV: Ruqayyah (waking up in Aisha’s body)

  Ruqayyah awoke, her left temple throbbing as if struck by a nail. The pungent scent of blood and rose incense immediately assaulted her nostrils. She tried to groan, but her tongue was numb and dry. Ruqayyah realized this was not a scent she was used to. Her back was pressed against the cool, smooth marble floor.

  He forced his eyes open. The room was dimly lit, only by a few torches set into the high stone walls.

  “He’s awake,” a hoarse voice whispered—cold, merciless.

  Ruqayyah flinched. She tried to sit up, but the world felt like it was spinning violently. Her hands groped for support, touching the soft but damp silk. She looked down. This was not her nightgown. Layers of intricately embroidered gold silk spread across her body, her shoulders stained with blood that was dripping from her temples.

  “Who… who are you?” Ruqayyah asked in a hoarse voice. The words came out in a strange language—but strangely, she understood every word clearly.

  Two large men in tattered clothing stood before her. One held a dagger with dried blood on the blade. In the corner of the room, a veiled woman glared at her with deep hatred—eyes that, in Aisha's memory, had once seemed trustworthy.

  “Don’t ask too many questions, Vizier’s Daughter,” the woman hissed. “Your fate was sealed the moment your father dragged you to Baghdad. You should have rotted in Khorasan.”

  The Vizier's Daughter? Khurasan?

  Ruqayyah struggled to make sense of it all while battling the dizziness in her head. Memories of the stove explosion in Palembang were still fresh, but the reality before her was far worse. She was no longer a boarding school student anxiously memorizing; she was in the midst of a deadly conspiracy where her life could end at any moment.

  Suddenly, a translucent blue flash appeared at the edge of his vision.

  [ Soul Synchronization: 100% ] [ Status: Injured (Mild Concussion) ] [ Emergency Mission: Escape from the palace basement ] [ Note: Use Aisha's knowledge of secret passages ]

  System? So that white expanse wasn't a dream. I really did switch bodies. This scenario is insane—but at least it's better than dying in a refrigerator explosion.

  The fear that had paralyzed him turned into a sharp survival instinct. He had to move—or he would become another corpse in history.

  The veiled woman stepped closer, pulling the rough rope to tie Ruqayyah's hands.

  “My father… Al-Fadl… he will find you,” Ruqayyah said, deliberately slowing down her words to gauge the reaction.

  "Your father is busy arguing with the Caliph in Khurasan. He won't even know that his daughter has turned into a corpse at the bottom of this well," the man with the dagger laughed—a hoarse sound that sent shivers down Ruqayyah's spine.

  As the woman bent down to take her hand, Ruqayyah saw an opening. A flash of memory from Aisha's training surfaced: the heel kick she had used in the Merv market. Without thinking, Ruqayyah launched her kick.

  No!

  The heel of her shoe struck the veiled woman squarely in the jaw. She fell backward, hitting a stone pillar, and lost consciousness.

  “Bastard!” shouted the man brandishing the dagger.

  Ruqayyah rolled to her side. The pain hit her head again, but she didn't care. She saw a small wooden door behind a thick curtain—the escape corridor.

  She scrambled to her feet, struggling against the weight of the hanging dress.

  “Haidar! Haidar, help!” she screamed. She didn’t know if Haidar was anywhere near her, but she was betting everything on the one name she remembered from the body she now inhabited.

  Ruqayyah slipped into the dark corridor just as the man's dagger struck the hem of her dress, tearing the silk. She ran aimlessly, her hands touching the cold, damp stone wall.

  Amidst the pounding of his own breath and the footsteps of his pursuers, a bitter smile almost crossed his pale lips.

  I used to worry about the rice in the dormitory kitchen. Now I'm trapped in the Abbasid era. Fate, it seems, isn't content with giving me toxic friends; it wants me to experience the blood-soaked conspiracies firsthand.

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  He wouldn't let history swallow him up—at least, not without a fight.

  Behind him, the dagger-wielding man's footsteps echoed—heavy, deliberate, getting closer.

  The corridor suddenly turned sharply. Ruqayyah tripped over her own dress. She fell—but instead of hitting the cold stone floor, she hit something hard. Something very hard. Like a wall of muscle covered in armor.

  “ Ugh! ”

  A strong, rough hand gripped her shoulder, pulling her away from the impact. Ruqayyah looked up, her eyes filled with sweat and tears, trying to focus in the dim light.

  A man stood before him.

  His face seemed carved from stone—sharp, cold, his eyes full of contempt. He wore a dark military uniform. Behind him, armed soldiers stood like shadows, ready to attack.

  “Let go… please…” Ruqayyah whispered, her voice hoarse with thirst.

  The man—Al-Mu'tasim—narrowed his eyes. He was leading his elite unit to hunt down a rebel faction reportedly hiding in the basement. The last thing he expected was to encounter a noble girl, blood and dust smeared on her face.

  “Princess Al-Fadl?” Al-Mu'tasim’s voice was low, heavy, and curt. “What are you doing crawling around this rat maze like a thief? Where are your manners?”

  Ruqayyah was speechless. She knew Aisha? And in a situation like this, she asked about manners?!

  Before he could answer, the dagger-wielding man appeared around the corner, blade raised. Seeing Al-Mu'tasim and his soldiers, he froze—pale as a sheet.

  “Amir… Al-Mu'tasim?” the assassin whispered, trembling.

  Al-Mu'tasim didn't answer. He took a short, sharp breath, then, with a movement too fast to follow, drew his sword. The sound of steel slicing through the air was both beautiful and deadly.

  “You have stained my brother’s palace with blood,” Al-Mu’tasim said coldly. “Go to hell—or tell me who sent you.”

  This wasn't a fight. Al-Mu'tasim moved like a calm storm—efficient, merciless. In three strides, the assassin was down, wounded, Al-Mu'tasim's knife pressed to his throat.

  “Capture him. Don’t let him die before he speaks,” he ordered his guards.

  After the chaos subsided, Al-Mu'tasim turned to Ruqayyah .

  For Ruqayyah, it was the first time she had witnessed such a fight.

  Seeing it live was far better than any movie, he thought in awe.

  Al-Mu'tasim sheathed his sword with a sharp, cold click, his gaze sweeping over her from head to toe. Her torn dress. Her disheveled face.

  “You’re a nuisance,” she said, without a trace of sympathy. “A noble lady should be writing poetry or studying etiquette, not chasing after lowly people in this filth.”

  Ruqayyah fell silent, her surprise fading into cold, sharp irritation. Huh… too bad he was so rude, she thought.

  He calmed his breathing and looked directly at Al-Mu'tasim's forehead, without the slightest hint of fear.

  Forehead? At least that's more polite than looking him in the eye, he muttered.

  “I’m sorry if this little accident of mine offended your sense of propriety, Amir,” Ruqayyah replied. Her voice was low, almost a whisper, each word sharp like a dagger. “Next time, I’ll make sure to die in a perfect position of prostration so as not to disrupt your patrol schedule.”

  Al-Mu'tasim blinked. This wasn't how Aisha bint al-Fadl usually spoke. Normally, she would have responded indifferently. But this bold gaze and tone… there was an unusual fervor there.

  “Your mouth is braver than your trembling legs,” Al-Mu'tasim stepped closer, forcing Ruqayyah to look up. “Come with me. Before I change my mind and leave you out here in the cold.”

  Ruqayyah didn't argue. She simply watched the prince's broad back as he walked away. Stiff as a freshly painted school dormitory wall, she thought bitterly.

  In fact, they are both equally stiff. ^_^

  A moment later, Al-Mu'tasim roughly draped his thick cloak over Ruqayyah's shoulders. Ruqayyah froze .

  The masculine scent of iron and sandalwood touched her senses, giving her a strange sense of security—and simultaneously challenging her “ I can do this on my own ” mindset .

  [ Ping! Status Updated: Receiving Special Attention from Al-Mu'tasim ] [ Warning: This prince should not be underestimated. Do not reveal who your true master is. ] [ Mission Completed: Survived the First Assassination Attempt. Reward: A dagger (for defense). Status: Still Alive (Miracle). ]

  Ruqayyah narrowed her eyes at the blue text. Instead of relief, a faint, bitter smile crossed her lips—a smile that usually silenced her friends at boarding school.

  "Your miracle is ridiculous," he thought dryly. "I almost died because of this cheap scenario, and you call it a miracle? What an insult to common sense."

  He tore his gaze from the system and back to Al-Mu'tasim's broad back, his expression once again unreadable. Cold. Wary.