Reincarnated As An Archmage’s Daughter

The sensation of slipping through the Tower’s wards felt like being pulled through a keyhole while covered in ice cubes.

Valthazar slammed onto a grassy cliffside with all the grace of a falling wardrobe. He immediately dropped Hania, stumbled two steps, and began dry-heaving into a bush.

“My… my internal organs,” he wheezed, clutching his velvet-clad stomach. “They are in the wrong place. Space-time is a cruel thing.”

Hania landed on her feet, brushed off her nightclothes, and looked around. The sky was a bruised purple. They were very far from the Silent Frost.

“Good job, Fluffy,” she said, patting his shaking leg. “You didn’t explode. I’m proud of you.”

Valthazar snapped upright, looking even paler than usual. “Do not call me that. I have successfully taken the heir of the North! Now we head to the capital of Luxemenia. I will reclaim my old estate, drink from the finest blood-wine, and remind everyone why they once feared the night.”

He struck a pose, pointing toward the distant lights on the horizon. “To Luxemenia! To glory!”

Hania stared at him for a second, then let out a soft giggle. “Luxemenia? Did you hit your head on a ward or something?”

The vampire froze. “Excuse me?”

“Luxemenia hasn’t existed for two hundred years,” Hania said, sitting down on a rock and swinging her legs. “The kingdom collapsed during the Dragon War. It’s the Southern Dukedom now, part of the Bumania Empire. They don’t have kings anymore. Just a duke, named Leonarth Emberlyn.”

Valthazar’s hand slowly dropped. His glowing red eyes widened. “A… dukedom? What do you mean it collapsed? I had a standing reservation at the Royal Opera House!”

“It’s probably a parking lot now,” Hania said, watching his face with quiet amusement. “The world kept moving while you were asleep. The Emberlyns aren’t royalty anymore. They’re just the most powerful vassals in the south. And they really don’t like vampires. I think they use fangs as toothpicks these days.”

Valthazar sank down onto the grass, lace cuffs dragging in the dirt. “Everything is gone? The silk markets… the midnight balls… the blood-wine vineyards?”

“All gone,” Hania sighed, leaning in a little. “It’s kind of sad. You’re basically a fossil now. A very well-dressed, useless fossil. If you walk in there looking like this, they won’t kneel. They’ll put you in a museum or turn you into a coat rack.”

The vampire let out a low, mournful sound. “I am a relic. A ghost in a world of… dukes. What is a duke compared to a sovereign of the night?”

Hania saw her opening.

“Exactly,” she said, her voice soft and full of fake sympathy. “It’s a tragedy. But you have me now. I’m from the future, technically. I can help you figure out this new world. I can be your… guide. We’ll make sure no one realizes you’re a five-hundred-year-old shut-in who just woke up.”

Valthazar looked at her, a tiny spark of hope in his miserable eyes. “You would do that? For me?”

“Of course,” Hania said, her grin turning just a little sharp. “Between us, we can do a lot in the south. But first, you have to carry me. My legs are short and the ground is dirty. Also, tell me about the old Luxemenia. If we’re going to… reclaim your old life, I need to know what I’m working with.”

Valthazar sniffled, wiped his nose with a silk handkerchief, and scooped her back up. He started walking toward the distant lights, his steps regaining a bit of their old theatrical bounce as he slipped into his memories.

“Ah, Luxemenia…” he sighed, voice turning misty. “I had so many names back then. In the court they called me the Midnight Architect. I designed the queen’s secret gardens, mostly because I needed safe places to hide from the sunrise. I only worked at night, you see. They thought I was a dedicated genius. Really I just hated the afternoon humidity.”

Hania nodded quietly, making a mental note: Target was basically a goth landscaper.

“I was also a famed sleep consultant for the nobility,” he continued. “I would visit their chambers at two in the morning. They were always so surprised to see me. I’d give them a little prick on the neck to check their circulation… and they would fall into the deepest, most permanent sleep of their lives. My reviews were excellent.”

“I bet they were,” Hania muttered.

“I was a poet, a strategist, a lover of fine velvets!” Valthazar proclaimed to the empty fields. “I once advised the first Emberlyn king on how to stop a rebellion. I told him to hold all meetings in total darkness so no one could see who was stabbing whom. It worked for two whole days!”

As he rambled on about his old identities, most of which sounded like the résumé of a very elegant serial killer, Hania rested her head on his shoulder.

He’s perfect, she thought. He thinks he’s a fallen king, but he’s basically an interdimensional Uber with a tragic backstory.

“And now,” Valthazar growled, his pride flaring again as the sea breeze hit them, “I shall march into this so-called ‘Dukedom’ and demand what is mine! Leonarth Emberlyn will learn the name Valthazar!”

“Yeah, yeah, go get ’em, Val,” Hania yawned. “But if we see a tavern, we’re stopping for creambread first. Even a High Lord needs to eat.”

Valthazar paused, his cape fluttering. “Creambread? Is that some new kind of blood offering?”

“Better,” Hania whispered. “It’s the only reason this world is worth saving.”

Behind them, miles away, the northern sky had begun to crackle with cold red mana. But Hania didn’t look back.

Valthazar was still mid-rant about the unacceptable lack of gargoyles on the modern horizon when Hania suddenly yanked on his ear.

“Stop. We can’t go another step,” she commanded.

Valthazar skidded to a halt, his velvet boots kicking up Southern dust. “What? Is there an ambush? A holy crusade? I shall rend them limb from—”

“No, look at yourself, Val,” Hania interrupted. She used his new, shortened name like a leash. “You look like a walking theater curtain. And your face? You’re the color of a fish belly. If we walk into a town like this, the first priest we see is going to have a heart attack and try to stake you with a table leg.”

Val looked down at his lace-heavy sleeves, then back at Hania. “I am a masterpiece of nocturnal elegance! And ‘Val’? I am Valthazar the—”

“You’re Val,” Hania snapped, jumping down from his arms. “You’re my eccentric, sickly, pale uncle who has a rare sunlight allergy. And uncles don’t wear seventeen layers of velvet in Southern humidity. We need a makeover. Now.”

She pointed toward a small, sleeping town nestled in the valley. In the center of the town square, a sign with a painted comb and a bottle of rouge hung silently.

“A salon,” Hania whispered, her eyes gleaming.

Val scoffed, crossing his arms. “Why are we lurking like common thieves? If you require pigments, I shall simply conjure them. I can create illusions of beauty that would make every beauty weep.”

Hania turned on him and looked at his eyes with such professional intensity that the vampire actually took a step back.

“Conjure? CONJURE?” Hania hissed. “Val, listen to me very carefully. Magic fades. Magic can be detected. But a high-pigment, oil-based concealer? That is eternal. That is chemistry. We are not compromising on the quality of our foundation. Real makeup or death.”

Val blinked, his red eyes wide.

“Move,” she ordered.

Ten minutes later, Val found himself being used as a literal ladder. He was standing against the back wall of ‘Madam Mireille’s Beauty Emporium,’ holding Hania up toward a high, unlocked window.

“I can’t believe I am a co-conspirator in a cosmetics heist,” Val grumbled, his long fingers trembling. “My ancestors are screaming in the Abyss.”

“Quiet. Your ancestors lived in a time before waterproof eyeliner. They don’t understand the struggle,” Hania whispered. She scrambled through the window and dropped into the darkened shop with the silent grace of a Noctis.

Inside, there were rosewater and heavy powders scenting everywhere. Hania didn’t hesitate. She moved through the aisles like a general, swiping high-end palettes, jars of skin-warming creams, and a bottle of mahogany hair tint.

She popped back out the window, landing in Val’s arms with a satchel full of loot. "Quick, the alleyway," she commanded.

Under the dim light of a flickering streetlamp, Hania went to work. She sat Val down on a crate and opened a jar of ‘Sun-Kissed Glow’ bronzer.

“Hold still,” she muttered, smearing the cream across his high, pale cheekbones.

“Ack! It’s cold! And it smells like… flowers!” Val protested, trying to pull away.

“Don’t be a baby. I’m giving you a healthy Southern tan so you don’t look like a corpse,” Hania said, using a sponge. She blended the cream down his neck, covering the pale blue veins. Then she took the mahogany tint and worked it into his raven-black hair, softening the villainous shine into a more natural, warm brown.

She stepped back, wiping her hands on a cloth.

Val reached out and conjured a small frozen mirror of dark ice. He stared at the reflection. The Scourge of the Night was gone. In his place was a handsome, slightly tired-looking nobleman with sun-warmed skin and hair that looked like it had actually seen a sunset.

“I… I look remarkably approachable,” Val whispered, touching his cheek. “It’s disgusting. I look like I enjoy morning tea and civil conversations about the weather."

“Exactly,” Hania grinned, tucking her supplies away. “You’re Val, the traveling scholar. And I’m your niece. We’re just here to see the sights and definitely not here to reclaim a kingdom that doesn’t exist anymore.”

Val sighed, his theatrical pride finally surrendering to the sheer quality of the bronzer. “Fine. But if we meet this ‘Leonarth’ person, I am claiming I am a count. I refuse to be a commoner, even in this hideous ‘tan’.”

“Deal,” Hania said, grabbing his hand. “Now, let’s find an inn. And Val? If you try to bite the innkeeper, I’m telling my dad where you are.”

“The man with the tower? Please,” Val scoffed, flicking a speck of dust off his now-muted velvet sleeve. “I don’t care if your father is the King of Frost or the Sultan of something. I broke his wards, didn’t I? He’s likely still back there scratching his head and wondering where his ‘trophy’ went.”

He struck a heroic pose, though it was slightly ruined by the satchel of stolen eyeshadow hanging off his shoulder.

“I shall be a model of scholar-like restraint because I choose to be, not because of some northern recluse,” Val declared. “Now, lead the way, little monster. My skin feels suspiciously hydrated, and I require a dark corner and an expensive chair to mourn my lost paleness.”

Hania watched him stomp toward the inn, his healthy glow catching the moonlight. She tucked her makeup sponge away with a tiny, pitying smile.

Oh, Fluffy. You have no idea. Dad doesn’t scratch his head. He just deletes the map coordinates of whoever annoyed him.

“Coming, Uncle Val!” she chirped, skip-hopping after him.