Chapter 4: The Man with Silver Eyes

Anastasia couldn't breathe.

The man had disappeared into the corridor as silently as he had appeared, yet his words lingered in the air.

*"You came earlier this time."*

Earlier...

This time...

She had never seen him before.

So why had he spoken as though they had already met?

"...Anna?"

Katya hurried toward her, kneeling beside the shattered crystal glasses scattered across the marble floor.

"What happened?"

"I..."

Anastasia forced herself to look away from the corridor.

"Nothing."

Katya frowned. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Maybe I have.

She quickly gathered the remaining shards, hiding the trembling of her hands.

The heavy wooden door behind her remained closed once more.

The voices inside had vanished.

It was as though the meeting had never happened.

The Winter Banquet had begun.

Music echoed through the palace.

Violins and cellos filled the grand ballroom with elegant melodies while hundreds of nobles glided across the polished marble floor.

Servants lined the walls with silver trays balanced carefully in their hands.

Anastasia kept her head lowered.

She couldn't stop thinking about those silver eyes.

She remembered every important character from *The Winter Crown.*

The Crown Prince.

The heroine.

The villain.

The ministers.

The generals.

But none of them had ever spoken those words.

*"You came earlier this time."*

That sentence didn't exist.

Someone...

had changed the story.

Or perhaps...

the story had begun changing itself.

"Anna."

Housekeeper Vera's voice snapped her back to reality.

"Yes, Madam."

"Take this wine to the northern reception chamber."

She accepted the tray.

"Immediately."

Anastasia bowed.

"Yes."

She hurried through the palace corridors, carefully avoiding the East Corridor this time.

The northern wing was quieter.

Most of the guests remained inside the ballroom, leaving the surrounding halls almost deserted.

Good.

The fewer people she met...the safer she would be.

She rounded a corner.

Then froze.

A little boy stood in the middle of the corridor. He couldn't have been older than six.

Golden curls framed his rosy face.

He wore an elegant white military coat embroidered with silver snowflakes.

He was crying. Softly. Silently.

Anastasia looked around.

No guards.

No servants.

No parents.

Only the child.

He rubbed his watery eyes with tiny gloved hands.

"...I can't find Mother."

Her heart softened. She knew this scene.

No...She didn't.

This wasn't in the novel.

She glanced at the wine tray.

Housekeeper Vera had ordered her not to delay.

If she ignored the child...

Nothing would change. She would survive.

If she helped him...She would be changing the story.

Anastasia hesitated.

Just one small decision.

One child.

What difference could it make?

She sighed.

"...Come here."

The boy sniffled.

"You'll help me?"

"I'll help you find your family."

His face brightened instantly.

He reached for her hand without hesitation.

His fingers were tiny.

Warm.

Anastasia smiled despite herself.

"What's your name?"

"Misha."

"Misha..."

The name sounded familiar.

But she couldn't remember why.

They had only taken a few steps when hurried footsteps echoed through the corridor.

Four Imperial Guards rounded the corner.

The moment they saw the boy...

Their expressions changed.

"Your Highness!"

Every guard immediately dropped to one knee.

Anastasia's smile vanished.

Your...

Highness?

She slowly looked down at the child holding her hand.

Misha blinked innocently.

"You found me."

One of the guards rushed forward.

"We've been searching the entire palace."

The commander turned toward Anastasia.

His expression softened.

"You have our gratitude."

She quickly lowered her head.

"It was nothing."

The guards escorted the little prince away.

Just before disappearing around the corner, Misha turned back and waved enthusiastically.

"Thank you, Anna!"

The corridor fell silent again.

Anastasia released the breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

A prince.

She had just held hands with a prince.

"...Wait."

Her eyes widened.

Misha.

Prince Mikhail Vasiliev.

The youngest son of the Emperor.

He...

He wasn't supposed to appear until Chapter Seven.

Why was he here now?

Her stomach twisted.

No.

More importantly...

Why had she remembered him only after he left?

Had saving him...changed something?

That night...Long after the banquet had ended...

Anastasia finally returned to the servants' quarters.

Every muscle in her body ached.

She closed the door behind her.

The room was quiet.

Katya had already fallen asleep.

Moonlight spilled across the wooden floor.

Her gaze drifted toward the bedside table. The blue book was waiting.

Exactly where she had left it.

Slowly...She opened it.

The pages turned by themselves.

Stopping at Chapter One. Her breath caught.

The story...

had changed.

One paragraph had vanished.

Completely.

The lines describing a frightened young prince wandering the northern corridor...

were gone.

As though they had never been written.

In their place...fresh silver ink slowly spread across the page.

**The first thread of fate has been severed.**

Anastasia stared in disbelief.

The next sentence appeared one letter at a time.

**Three hundred and eleven remain.**

Her blood ran cold.

"What..." Three hundred and eleven what?

Threads? Deaths? Timelines?

Before she could read further...The words disappeared.

Only one final sentence remained.

*Be careful.*

**He has begun to remember you.**

The candle beside her flickered.

A freezing wind swept through the room.

The page turned by itself.

Stopping on an illustration.

A man stood alone beneath falling snow.

His black military coat billowed in the wind.

His silver-gray eyes looked directly out of the page...

As though they were looking at her.

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