THE SOUL'S EXCHANGE

Marraige, Reunions and deaths, just a usual evening in king's landing

The grand hall had been alight with energy all evening, a celebration as rich and elaborate as the ancient kingdom itself. After the spectacle the Queen had just orchestrated-a performance that left the guests murmuring and stunned-everyone gradually returned to their seats, laughter and conversations resuming as the festivities continued. The flicker of candlelight danced over opulent tapestries and glimmered off goblets raised in joy. A sense of revelry hung thick in the air, filling every corner of the hall with an infectious thrill.

But not everyone shared in the ease of the moment. Among the crowd, one figure remained on edge, his composure unraveling with each passing second. Regulus Stark sat motionless, his usually stoic face betraying hints of restlessness. His heartbeat raced, a frantic rhythm echoing through him like a drum, because he could feel something-something he'd once known intimately. A familiar magic stirred around him, brushing against his senses like a long-forgotten melody.

His gaze darted across the hall, searching, hoping. Could it be? he wondered, barely daring to breathe. If he had been reborn, then perhaps, just perhaps, Lord Death had granted the same mercy to the one person he had lost-the one who had been taken from him too soon. A sliver of hope ignited in his chest. Maybe I can have my Yildiz and my Sitara both at once.

Just as his eyes were about to shift away, disappointed, they fell upon a pair of hues so strikingly familiar, they pierced through him like an arrow. Across the room, he saw them: beautiful violet eyes, gleaming with a depth that only magic could hold.

His heart leaped as recognition dawned. Those were her eyes-the eyes of Mastani. She had come from an ancient and powerful magical lineage, one that reflected its gifts through the unique hues of their eyes. Hers had always been an enchanting violet, a shade that held secrets and strength. Even though her appearance had changed-her skin now a rich, warm bronze, her curls a soft platinum-her gaze held the same intensity, the same spark. It was her. Her magical signature, so unmistakably entwined with his own, flooded his senses.

The pull between them was undeniable, the bond they'd shared in their past lives flaring to life, like embers fanned back into flame. Memories cascaded through his mind: the day his mother had dragged him across the seas to Istanbul to meet his betrothed when he had been a reluctant seventeen, and she a bright-eyed fourteen. He remembered his hesitation, the way he had initially recoiled from the idea of being tied to someone so young. Yet, over time, they had found a connection that transcended their roles, one that bridged their very souls.

She had become his confidante, his partner in everything that mattered. She was the only one who had known his plans to betray the Dark Lord, his secret dream of a future free from shadows. Those plans had been woven into late-night conversations around the same time she had fallen pregnant with their first child, after a quiet, secret wedding.

But that future had shattered one dark day during the battle of Diagon Alley, when she had stood alone, fighting valiantly, even as she bore his child. She had given everything-too young, too brave, and with a life inside her that had never had a chance to begin. The memory had haunted him every day since.

His vision blurred, tears pricking his grey eyes as he moved across the hall, urgency propelling him forward, his heart aching with a mixture of longing and disbelief. It felt like a dream-a fragile, precious thing that might shatter if he touched it too soon. Part of him feared this was some cruel trick of fate, a mirage sent to taunt him.

But he had to know. He had to be certain.

With trembling hands, he reached her, the air between them alive with the energy of their shared bond. She turned as he approached, her violet eyes widening with recognition, a softness that broke through the walls he had built around his heart. She was here, standing before him as real and alive as she had been in his dreams.