The boy stood at the edge of the dock, watching the lantern-lit ship sway gently in the night tide. The smell of salt and fish clung to the air, mixing with the scent of damp wood and burning oil. The letter in his hand bore the seal of Vash, his employer, and the words within carried the weight of his next task.

  The job was simple escort the princess of Alveria to her homeland. A noble task on the surface, but the ink concealed a darker truth. By the time she arrived, she would not be breathing. And the blame would not fall upon him.

  He crumpled the letter in his fist.

  A soft ripple passed through his cloak, an uneasy shudder. The garment had always been a part of him, forming the day the stars aligned and the divine essence fell into him. It had shielded him, protected him, as if it had a will of its own. But now, it writhed against him, whispering silent protests he did not understand.

  Vash's voice echoed in his mind. Gold has no conscience. Do what must be done.

  Few days later

  The carriage rolled through the dense forests bordering Alveria. The wheels cracked against the rocky path, and inside, the princess sat across from him, staring out the window. The moonlight softened her featureshigh cheekbones, soft eyes, lips curled in quiet thought. She had barely spoken since they departed, save for a few polite words of gratitude.

  He should not have listened to them.

  "You are quiet," she said, turning to him. Her voice was light, yet burdened with something unseen. "Most guards like to talk."

  "I am not most guards," the boy replied.

  A faint smile touched her lips. "That is true." She studied him, her gaze lingering on his cloak. "That fabric... it moves strangely."

  He said nothing.

  The silence stretched. Then, she sighed and leaned her head against the carriage wall. "I suppose I am quiet too. But in my case, it is expected. A princess must always be composed." She glanced at him again, her expression softer. "Have you ever wished to be someone else?"

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  His fingers tightened against his knee. "...No."

  Lies. He wished it every day.

  Midnight had come by the time they reached the border outpost. The soldiers were few, their torches burning low in the cold wind. The princess stepped out first, exhaling as she took in the sight of her homeland beyond the gate.

  "Thank you," she said, turning to him. "For bringing me home."

  His cloak became a blade.

  His cloak tensed.

  The words of Vash echoed again. A simple job. A tragic loss. A soldier to blame. You will be paid well.

  The princess frowned. "Is something wrong?"

  He moved before he could think.

  The blade found its mark beneath her ribs. She gasped, stumbling forward, hands grasping at his arms in shock. Her eyes searched his, not with fear but with confusion.

  "...Why?"

  He did not answer. Could not.

  As her knees buckled, he caught her, lowering her gently to the ground. Footsteps approached the soldier Vash had marked as the scapegoat. His presence was scripted, as was his fate.

  The boy's heart pounded as he heard the soldier's voice. "Your Highness?"

  Quickly, the boy dipped his fingers in the princess's blood and smeared it onto the soldier's gauntlets. Then, he let out a ragged breath and shouted, "Help! The princess! He-he stabbed her!"

  The soldier's eyes widened in horror as he reached for his weapon, too late to realize the trap had already been sprung. The other guards rushed in, drawing their swords at the sight of their fallen princess and their bloodstained comrade.

  "No! I-I didn't" The soldier barely had time to protest before a blade struck him down. His screams were cut short, his body falling to the ground beside the princess's cooling corpse.

  The boy turned and fled into the trees.

  The night air was cold against his skin, but his blood burned. The silver of the coins Vash had promised felt heavier than any weight he had carried before.

  His cloak writhed violently against his back, shifting unnaturally. It had never resisted him, never fought him. But tonight, it felt... angry.

  This is not who you are.

  The whisper clawed at his mind, as if the fabric itself was speaking.

  He yanked the cloak off his shoulders, but it coiled back around him, clinging to him like a living thing. It had always shielded him, but now, it felt suffocating. Tendrils of shadow wrapped around his wrists, his chest, his throat—not to strangle, but to remind. The divine essence within it raged, rejecting him, protesting the man he had become.

  He fell to his knees, fingers gripping the dirt. He did not weep, but the silence in his chest was worse. The princess' words echoed in his mind.

  Have you ever wished to be someone else?

  He wished it now.