Emilia Re Zero Novels & Stories

Questions swirled in her mind, a whirlwind of uncertainty and wonder. "What does all this mean? How did I come to be a part of this ancient lineage?" Emma whispered to herself, her voice filled with awe and confusion. Emma Reynolds was, the daughter of Eliza Reynolds and Edgar Reynolds, major guardians of the Moonrise Legacy, unknowingly Emma had inherited her mother's legacy. Tragically, Eliza had lost her life in battle a few weeks after giving birth to Emma. Taking the oath, that he would go wherever his wife went, Edgar took a knife, and stabbed himself to death too.

Emilia threw her phone down in frustration and cursed vehemently, "Men are all bastards. Not a single one of them can be trusted!" … Despite Emilia cursing, she knew deep down that she had no choice but to seek out Gael. He was the only one who could help her. That was right, only he could help her sort this out. Emilia held Gael's leverage in her hands, and he had to help her. They were in the same boat. An hour later, Emilia arrived at Ressington Tech Co. with the summons in hand. As her car came to a stop, she noticed that the entrance was crowded with workers. It seemed like they were busy with renovations.

I asked, studying the figure. The stranger reached up, slowly pulling off the mask to reveal a petite woman with a pixie-like face and short black hair cut close to her head. Her gaze was sharp, intelligent, and assessing. “Hi, Noah,” she said, extending a hand toward me. “I’m Emilia.” “Emilia…?” I echoed, reaching out to shake her hand, still somewhat taken aback by her sudden appearance. “Emilia, the hacker,” Raymond clarified, a grin touching his lips as he took in my surprise.

The moment the door closed— the smile vanished. Completely. Emilia's expression darkened. She picked up her phone. A message waited in her inbox. A desperate plea from the man who had failed to deal with Vessara. Her grip tightened around the device. Hatred slowly spread across her face. "Vessara." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "No one has ever taken what's mine." Her eyes grew colder. "And you won't be the first." Outside, the last rays of sunlight disappeared beneath the horizon.

I thought about that for a moment before turning toward Ragnar. “Is she speaking from experience?” Silence immediately settled over the room. For several seconds nobody moved. Then Soren coughed suspiciously into his hand while Ragnar lowered his head and stared at the documents on his desk. The movement was subtle, but I noticed it. His shoulders were shaking. The emperor was laughing. Not openly. Not visibly. But definitely laughing. The realization seemed to offend Lyrielle far more than my actual comment. “You believe you’re clever.” “I know I am.”

Emilia stood in the doorway, dressed in a simple cream blouse, her hair pulled back, her expression calm in a way that made my chest tighten. "Emilia," I said quietly, stepping toward her. "You don't owe this woman a single second of your time." "I know." Her eyes met mine, steady, unflinching. "But I need to hear whatever she came here to offer. I need to know exactly how far they're willing to go." Everything in me wanted to refuse on her behalf, to throw Eleanor Whitmore out of my building and slam the door behind her. But I remembered the gala, the way Emilia had stood in that ballroom and taken back her own life without asking permission from anyone, and I stepped aside.

“Beasts don’t turn into princes. That’s just… rubish.” “Rubbish,” Emilia corrected gently, chuckling. “It’s British. And for the record, fairytales happen every day.” Emilio narrowed his eyes in mock suspicion. “Prove it.” Emilia leaned back and looked out at the garden blooming under the soft drizzle. Roses climbed the stone walls, wild and lush, their thorns sharp but their petals delicate. A memory bloomed just as vivid. “Once upon a time,” she began, voice low and wistful, “there was a girl with nothing. No money. No direction. Just pain, broken dreams, and a heart too full to be noticed.”

Emilia smiled, elegant in a tailored black blouse, seated in a minimalist office filled with books and sleek monitors. “I don’t disappear, Richard. I wait. There’s a difference.” “What do you want?” he asked, voice wary but intrigued. “To finish what Vanessa started,” Emilia replied, leaning forward, “but without her recklessness. Lena has momentum now. She has sympathy. She’s playing the long game. But she still has blind spots. Soft spots.” “And you know where they are?” Emilia tapped her screen. A still image appeared: Lena at a charity gala five years ago, smiling next to a man in a gray suit.

His head buzzed with anger, his chest burned with the weight of his father’s scorn. He needed air. He needed space. He needed— The scent hit him like lightning. Warm bread. Soap. Wildflowers after rain. His wolf stilled, ears pricking, nose lifting. His pulse spiked, heat flaring low in his belly. Her. Damien slowed, his breath catching, as Emilia stepped from the shadows. She wore a simple cotton dress, her hair dark and loose around her shoulders. She was the maid’s daughter, meant to go unseen, meant to keep her eyes lowered, meant to move silently through the halls of the Blackfang estate like a shadow.

No! Delilah’s eyes widened. “Emilia, are you trying to cheat on Jax… with me?” She asked slowly. Emilia seemed to come back to her senses, “No, no. Goodness me, that’s not it. You just… reminded me of someone. Forgive me, but you are so hot, I got lost there for a second.” She rambled and hastily let Delilah go, before stepping away, “Where was I?” “Your suspicions about Jax being gay.” Delilah reminded her.