I Was Reborn in Another World, But I Awoke Inside a Corpse

Chapter 170: What She Chose to Share

The late afternoon sun dipped beneath the high balconies of Elaraiya's inner sanctum, casting long beams of golden light across the moss-draped path where soulflowers bloomed in silence.

Isaac sat alone on the edge of a garden wall, half-shaded beneath a canopy of drifting petals. His coat lay folded beside him, sleeves rolled up, one hand loosely cradling a ceramic cup of tea he hadn't sipped in a while.

He wasn't tense.

He wasn't waiting.

But he was thinking.

Steps approached—soft, sure, elegant.

He didn't need to turn.

Sylvalen stepped into view, her hair unbound and catching the breeze, her expression calm… but thoughtful.

"I spoke with her," she said, sitting beside him without asking.

Isaac's eyes flicked to her. "Aelira."

She nodded.

He waited, letting the silence stretch. Letting her decide how much she wanted to say.

"She was shocked," Sylvalen said softly, "when I told her everything."

Isaac's grip on the teacup didn't tighten, but his brows did lift.

"You told her?" he asked gently. "All of it?"

"Yes," Sylvalen said. "That I gave myself to you. That I love you."

Isaac exhaled—slowly. Not from regret. Not from fear.

From weight.

"I didn't expect you to share that with her," he said at last. "Not so soon."

Sylvalen looked at him. Her voice was quiet. Steady.

"She's not just a princess. She's my sister. The one who raised me when our mother died. She deserves the truth."

He stared ahead for a moment, into the golden light. Then spoke.

"And… how did she take it?"

Sylvalen smiled—not triumphant, not playful.

Just warm.

"She was stunned. She tried to stay composed, but I saw the crack. She didn't expect me to grow up so fast. To make a choice that couldn't be taken back."

Isaac nodded slowly. "Did she blame me?"

"No," Sylvalen said. "That's what surprised me most. She was worried. Protective. But not of her pride. Of me. She wanted to make sure I wasn't hurt. That it wasn't unbalanced."

Isaac's jaw tightened slightly. "I would never—"

"I know," Sylvalen interrupted softly, placing her hand over his. "She knows too. Now."

He looked down at her hand. Then up into her eyes.

"Are you sure you don't regret telling her?"

Sylvalen leaned in slightly, voice barely above a whisper.

"I don't regret loving you."

Isaac's throat worked around a quiet breath. The weight of her words settled into his chest—not heavy, but anchoring.

"She said something else before she left," Sylvalen added. "She said… she's proud of me."

He looked at her fully now.

"Then I owe her a quiet thank-you," he murmured. "Because the woman I love just became more free than she's ever been."

Sylvalen tilted her head slightly, a spark in her eye.

"Was that… romantic?"

Isaac smirked. "Accidentally."

She chuckled, then leaned against his shoulder.

For a while, they said nothing else.

And when Lira came around the corner later and saw them sitting there together—silent, close, the air thick with the quiet aftermath of vulnerability—she didn't interrupt.

She just sat nearby.

Because no one needed to say what was already known:

They weren't hiding anymore.

Not from the world.

Not from the ones they loved.

Not even from themselves.

Later That Day 

The halls of the moonstone court were busier than usual. Isaac, walking beside Sylvalen and Lira, could feel the atmosphere shift the moment they entered.

Courtiers parted like silk drawn across the wind.

Servants bowed—not nervously, but reverently.

One bard, stationed discreetly near the edge of the corridor, strummed a few soft notes that included a familiar refrain:

"He woke the Sleeper,And stilled the Sin—With silver flameAnd shadowed grin."

Isaac winced. "Do I… have a ballad now?"

Lira smirked. "Three. You're trending."

Sylvalen raised an eyebrow. "This is only the beginning."

As they approached the inner ceremonial chamber, the reason for the unusual formality revealed itself:

A greeting delegation.

All six dynasties.

Six young women stood in polished robes or formal garb, each flanked by an attendant or house representative.

Isaac paused.

"…What is this?"

Sylvalen's expression remained calm—but her fingers subtly tightened around his wrist.

"Politics," she said flatly.

Aelira stood nearby, arms folded, clearly observing—but not intervening.

One by one, the daughters stepped forward.

Thalara – The Home Dynasty

Serenya Thalara, a noble of moonlit poise, bowed lightly.

"As kin of the Ninth Princess, I bring no demand—only respect for a man who stood beside her in the world's darkest hour."

She stepped back gracefully.

Vaelorn – The Warrior House

Maevira of Vaelorn, clad in silver-black armor, offered a curt nod.

"If the hero of our age seeks strength in his companions, I offer mine."

Lira leaned sideways. "She's proposing to arm-wrestle you."

Y'selaria – The Divine House

Tiarin of Y'selaria stepped forward, robed in ceremonial gold.

"Our order believes in destiny. You are not mentioned in prophecy… which may make you vital."

Sylvalen muttered, "They want to catalog your soul."

Naelith – The House of Secrets

Velina of Naelith glided forward, no bow, only a sly look.

"My mother sends no offer—only a question: 'What do you truly want?'"

Isaac replied evenly, "Still working on it."

Lorienn – The Merchant House

Alariel of Lorienn radiated charm and refinement. She smiled sweetly.

"My family sends wine, two trade offers, and the sincere interest of their eldest daughter."

She winked. "No pressure."

Lira muttered, "You're being auctioned off."

Eryndros – The House of Beauty

Last came Enathra of Eryndros, elegant in soft violet.

"My house believes in devotion and quiet strength. I bring neither blade nor song—only an invitation to share stillness."

She bowed with simple grace and stepped back.

Isaac blinked.

Lira folded her arms.

Sylvalen stepped forward half a pace.

"I thank the six houses for their recognition of Isaac's service," she said, voice cool and measured. "But let me be clear: he does not belong to Thalara, or Vaelorn, or any dynasty."

Her gaze sharpened.

"He is already claimed."

There was no edge to her voice—no arrogance.

Only finality.

Aelira raised one eyebrow but said nothing.

Velina of Naelith chuckled softly.

Alariel gave a graceful shrug of disappointment.

Maevira smirked and nodded. "Fair."

Tiarin folded her hands and murmured a blessing.

Enathra smiled once, and walked away without comment.

The others followed.

Outside, as they passed beneath the carved archways, Lira exhaled loudly.

"Well," she muttered, "that wasn't awkward."

Isaac rubbed his forehead. "I didn't ask for this."

Sylvalen's voice was calm. "You became a hero. That comes with… invitations."

"Political entanglements," Lira added. "And subtle marriage traps."

Isaac sighed. "I miss demon fights."

Sylvalen took his hand.

"I don't," she said softly.

"Because now they all know who you belong to."

He looked at her.

Then at Lira—who grinned and gave him a mock salute.

"Congratulations," she said. "You're officially a national treasure."

Isaac groaned.

But he smiled.

Because despite the whispers, the politics, the pressure—

He knew exactly where he stood.

Not among dynasties.

But between two women who had already chosen him.

And whom he had chosen in return.