Serve Coffee, and Connections Will Brew

"Ugh… where am I? Why does this place feel so familiar?" Lyria whispered, her voice faint and filled with confusion. Her eyes wandered around the room, carefully scanning each corner, trying to recognize something—anything—that could anchor her thoughts.

Suddenly, the doorknob turned slowly, as if someone outside was cautiously opening the door. Lyria's attention immediately shifted toward it, her eyes fixed on the creaking door as it gradually opened.

Through the small opening appeared a middle-aged woman—around forty-one years old—dressed in a maid's uniform. Her left hand gripped the doorknob, while her right hand held a cleaning cloth, clearly meant for tidying the room.

The moment their eyes met, the maid froze in utter disbelief. Her breath caught in her throat, the cloth slipped from her hand, and she dropped to her knees. "P-Princess… the princess has returned!" she cried, her trembling voice rising into a loud exclamation that echoed through the palace halls.

Panic and excitement erupted throughout the castle. Knights rushed through corridors, making their way swiftly toward the princess's chamber. The news traveled quickly and soon reached the ears of King Rodin Lextus VII and Queen Elva of Ledoira.

Without hesitation, both royals made their way to their daughter's room with urgency written on their faces.

"Summon the royal physician! No—summon every healer in the kingdom!" King Rodin ordered, his voice sharp with anxiety and determination.

"My daughter…"

At that moment, Artas—the Grand Commander of the Royal Guard—arrived. He immediately bowed. "Honor and blessings to the King and Queen of Ledoira," he declared. The knights behind him followed suit, lowering their heads in unison.

King Rodin gave a brief nod and asked, "What is her condition? And who was the first to find her?"

"It was the maid who regularly cleans her chambers, Your Majesty. Her name is Marge."

"Marge found her first?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. She is currently being held in the dungeon, under close watch by the knights of Squad Four," Artas reported confidently.

"Release her. I know she had no part in this," said the king, letting out a deep sigh.

"But, Your Majesty—"

"My order is final. Or do you wish to be judged under royal law?" the king interrupted firmly, locking eyes with Artas. The commander hesitated for a moment and swallowed hard.

"Understood, Your Majesty. Your will is absolute," Artas finally replied.

The King and Queen entered their daughter's room. There, Lyria sat at the edge of her bed, her eyes wide and uncertain as she looked at her parents. Beside her stood two physicians—one the palace's chief healer, the other a licensed expert summoned from beyond the capital.

"My child…" Queen Elva's voice broke as she rushed forward and embraced her daughter tightly.

"Mother… I'm scared," Lyria whispered, barely audible. Her eyes shimmered with tears, her lips trembled, and her gaze dropped to the floor.

King Rodin exhaled heavily. A storm of emotions raged inside him—relief, sorrow, anger, and vengeance—all churning into a quiet, wordless silence.

He turned away without speaking, leaving his wife and daughter in their embrace. As he closed the chamber door behind him, his gaze shifted toward Artas, who stood awaiting orders in the corridor.

"Artas," the king said in a cold, commanding tone. "Summon all Order Leaders and Knight Commanders. Tell them to assemble in my council chamber. Immediately."

"At once, Your Majesty," Artas replied with a firm salute.