《Modern Pauper to Fantasy Feudal Lord in Another World》


 Railroad to Beyond

    It was blinding. Harsh, burning light scorched into his eyes. Piercing through the thundering and pounding rain. Everything had stopped. The world was shrouded in darkness; yet dazed by the pure, bright light of those cold, uncaring, mechanical eyes. They glared at him. Unblinking. Unfeeling. Everything was silent. Still. Deafening. Frantic. A frail, broken child remained entangled, inching through the air. The miniscule seconds counted down without warning. No hesitation. Mercilessly. A dance of death. Spinning through the rain. All senses heightened. Numbed. Out of control. The boy stared down the oncoming train. Helpless. In the way. Always.


    Always in the way.


    Meaningless. Lost. Forever searching.


    Another number.


    This was it. This was where everything would suddenly end for him. His reality. No. His life. His time attending high school. The future of playing at the beach. Dreams of fireworks at a hot, blazing, summer festival. Finding true love. It all seemed to fade. He could picture it all. The lost, drifting, simple wishes of those beautiful, cliche, cruel stories. Those countless pages he had always read about in thrown away, trashed, and torn books. A normal, average high school life. Being the protagonist. The average high school boy. Surrounded by friends, reliable teachers, fun classes. It ended just like how it all started. A hopeless, unfulfilled pipe dream. Unreachable.


    So unreachable.


    A hand outstretched; nothing gained.


    Dreams that had killed him.


    A horrible, ear-piercing scream filled the air. Multiple onlookers staring on. A crowd growing, yet frozen. Time finally ticked onto the next second. Yoshiro Nakamura''s life had come to an end. Well. In a sense, nobody was wrong for thinking that. It had indeed ended in this world. But soon, it would start again. In a new world. A world where every little detail - no matter how small - was truly meaningful. A world where Nakamura-kun would finally become more. Something other than that thin, looming shadow. Hiding in the claustrophobic prison that was those countless alleyways. That concrete, suffocating maze. A world that the boy had spent his last, brief moments of life hoping to reach. To be a part of. Praying for the day those old, ragged stories behind that abandoned bookstore could become reality. Even just a single book. A page. A word. Nakamura-kun begged that he would at least be given the chance. Just one more chance at the game of life. To live inside a story that finally included him. A version of him that mattered. Even if it was all just a fantasy. A dream. A dazed hallucination within the after life.


    Once. Just. Once. He prayed.


    To experience it once.


    An average life.


    The world was silent once more. Or to perhaps, describe it more accurately, the new world the boy had just recently entered; was seemingly without sound. An endless void. His body felt cramped and miniscule. Barely able to move. Finally, he began to try and lift his heavy eyelids. Nakamura-Kun had never felt this way before. Even within his past life. Never before could he recall having felt... Felt. Felt? His eyes suddenly batted open with more attention. Alarm. His slightly blurred vision adjusted to his new, unfamiliar surroundings. What? Was that whole, tragic incident with that train just a dream? But he could still remember it so clearly. Did he not just meet his untimely, quick, and cruelly fated demise? It didn¡¯t hurt. It should hurt. No, he shouldn¡¯t feel anything. Nothing.The questions seemed to scatter across his mind as he tried to struggle free. A strange, foreign, constricting cloth bundled around himself. It squeezed against his body. However, when he began to cry out in confusion, Nakamura-kun began to hear a very loud ringing. A deafening, horrible sound. A baby crying so loud, so clearly, he wanted to cover his ears. But he couldn¡¯t.


    The boy cried. Nakamura-kun found himself with tears streaming down his face. He heard that uncontrollable sobbing. He tried to squirm free and yell. He couldn''t stop. He didn''t understand where that baby''s cry was coming from. Why he kept crying as well. He couldn''t. Until he finally saw it. Through the obscured ocean of tears as he slowly began to settle down. His gaze locked onto a high-hanging decoration on the wall. Specifically, the reflection in it. There, on that towering wall covered in an elaborate yet slightly faded wallpaper, hung a proud shield. He remembered seeing the large, round design in one of those thrown away books. Where a struggling sorcerer used its powers to travel through time in order to save their friend. Another that held amazing magic, but held a terrible curse. A buckler. However, what was more interesting, and quite alarming to him, was the reflection. The buckler¡¯s reflection held across it''s vibrant, sky blue centre. A baby boy. Staring right back at him with tears still half-drenched across his face. Nakamura-kun had come to the sudden realisation that the baby''s reflection was, in fact, his own.


    Could it be that he really had died, after all?


    In that case, where was this? Heaven? Hell? He didn''t exactly see the telltale signs of fluffy white clouds, or the classic hellfire of either locations around him. He couldn''t see any angels or demons. However, there was one thing he could still see quite clearly. That buckler. It seemed quite recently made, or the very least, kept in pristine condition. It didn''t feel like it was just a prop. Surely not a fake or part of a costume. It was quite likely a real shield some sort of fighter or knight in one of those books would wield. They¡¯d use it whilst defending against a big dragon of some sort. An unstoppable enemy. Upon an even closer look at this quite splendid ornament, the outer ring of the buckler was an unpainted steel, with the inner more outwardly curved ring being painted that vibrant sky blue. Within the blue paint lay an intricate design of some sort. Nakamura-kun wasn''t quite sure what it was trying to depict - or what it represented - but it seemed to consist of some sort of white flower with three petals. It was surrounded by six small white stars placed in a rather unusual arrangement. It certainly didn''t look like the kind of overly ornate shields he''d seen before, or the plain, unpatterned ones; but then those shields were also in black and white. From books. He¡¯d never seen the real thing.


    Recalling those days more and more made his heart ache. His stomach tightened and grumbled at the thought of starving. His body trembled from the thought of being left alone again like this. Forgotten. Ignored. Left to struggle on his own. Just as the tears were about to well up in his eyes again, he heard a loud door creaking. The boy¡¯s attention soon being quickly drawn to a towering figure entering the room. His eyes slowly widened in surprise, and awe, at the person who seemed to be staring right back at him. Smiling. It wasn''t a pitiful smile. They weren''t making fun of him. They were just simply happy. Happy to see him. Him? Really? Nakamura-kun couldn''t believe it. Yet, as if to further cast away his doubts and fears, the figure gently reached down towards him in his crib and lifted him out. Holding him gently against their chest as his chin gently rested on the top of their shoulder. He felt a warm, soft hand rubbing his back as he was comforted. He hadn''t even realised that he was crying again. Why? He wasn''t sad. He no longer felt scared. This was something he''d been yearning for so long. No. It couldn¡¯t be. He¡¯d never known this feeling before. Was it because, if it was actually possible now, in this strange new place - in this foreign and unusual body - that he was feeling... Happy as well? Yes. He was overjoyed. Relieved. As if all his fears had been washed away by the loving embrace of this stranger. The boy couldn''t stop crying as he clung to their clothes for a long, long time. It was a moment of warmth and acceptance he never wanted to end.


    After being returned to his crib, and carefully wrapped up in the snow white blankets. He stopped crying.He watched the figure sit beside him as he was slowly rocked back and forth. Upon a closer look at them, they seemed to be an older woman, draped in similarly coloured clothing that veiled over their face and stopped just short of their feet. A strange, unrecognisable necklace that shimmered in the faint candle light was worn around her neck. Wait. No. He did recognise it. He¡¯d seen that pattern somewhere before, just recently. It was that flower with the three petals again. The silvery beads seemed to be carefully and intricately carved into stars. Six of them all strung along the front of her thin chain. Nakamura-kun wasn''t sure if it was because he still barely remembered his previous mother, or if this was some kind of natural instinct he was experiencing in this new world, but he had this deep gut feeling that this woman watching over him - caring for him - was not the one who had given birth to him.


    As his eyelids began to slowly close. A wave of fatigue washing over him all of a sudden from the gentle rocking of his new, soft bed. The young infant began to hear her speak. He couldn''t understand a word of it. It definitely wasn''t Japanese. On top of that, unlike in some of those books, he wasn''t magically able to suddenly understand foreign languages. It wasn¡¯t translated for him in some other, unusual way either. However, despite that, he could tell it was most likely some kind of story being told to him. Her tone. Her words were gentle, kind, and her beautiful eyes. Nakamura-kun couldn¡¯t help but be captivated by them. He wasn''t able to stay awake to listen to the whole story. No matter how much he wanted to, he was unable to keep a fixated gaze upon the woman. This kind lady that had taken it upon herself to take care of him for all this time. Probably longer than he¡¯d even been aware of it. This all meant something dearly important to him. He knew this. For in this supposed new life, in this hopeful second chance, that was okay. It was okay to close his eyes and rest for just this one moment. Nothing would vanish. Nobody was going to disappear. He wasn¡¯t going to be left cold and alone ever again. Everything was going to be okay.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    Growing up, the young child began to experience more and more changes. He noticed even the smallest of details about this new, growing body. He''d never known white hair to be natural. He was aware of albinos in his previous world having very pale hair. However, never to this extent. Sure enough, however, it was as pure as snow. Not even the slightest hint of blonde. It felt unreal. Nakamura-Kun may have become concerned that he was colourblind, if not for the world around himself seeming to look rather normal. Full of colour and life. It was also quite western and old-fashioned. It almost felt medieval, just like the style from those books. But then, what else could be so abnormal about him? Was he really that unusual compared to before? Well, for one thing, he''d noticed his ears. Whilst still small like his previous body had, were very pointed towards the tips. Not to mention is wide, blood-red eyes. He looked more and more like he was actually a character from one of those books in his previous life. Was Nakamura-kun even human anymore? The boy wasn''t completely sure.


    However, what he did know, was the fact that he really had been born into a world where technology was not as advanced as his own. In fact, he soon realised this world probably didn''t even have factories or advanced agriculture. Not even steel. Since coming to this new world he¡¯d studied as hard as he could, desperately trying to learn everything. Everything he¡¯d learned about it was mostly through his almost inhuman dedication to his new studies. No. It probably was an inhuman dedication. Even before that, however, picking up an entirely new, alien way of speaking was actually a lot easier for him to understand than he''d been expecting. He felt as if it had been even easier to comprehend and learn than Japanese, his old world¡¯s first and only language. Perhaps it was simply from always hearing it from the kindly woman who cared for him each day. How often she¡¯d visit him. The boy would see her every single day for hours on end. How he hung on every word with such keen interest and desire to keep her company. He wanted her to keep visiting. To see her more. He never wanted to feel that terrifying sensation from his previous life ever again. That soul-crushing, devastating emotion.


    Isolation.


    However, there had always been something so unusual about his time spent with her. This word he couldn¡¯t understand yet. She would mention it often, everyday, and it hurt him to see that it worried her when he couldn¡¯t understand what she was trying to say. That look of genuine, heartfelt, and honest concern. It took days, perhaps weeks, or so it felt to him. But it had taken quite a few years, in fact. She''d say this strange word. Nakamura-kun had only recently begun to understand it was somebody''s name. A stranger''s name, repeated over and over. His interest in figuring out who this mystery person was only grew each day. He couldn''t help it. He just couldn''t contain the insatiable thirst for knowledge within himself. He wanted to learn who she was so obsessed with. Who was this caring, adoring woman also speaking about so often? Why did it make his chest feel like it twisted in pain? He wanted to know. To understand. His curiosity had just simply driven him to where he just simply had to know;


    "Who is Fannar?"


    The question seemed so obvious when he finally said it out loud. It had begun to feel like the simplest of queries that anyone should know the answer to. Especially for his age at the time of asking it. The cruel shame and realisation of how easy this had been to answer this entire time had left his face bright red. It was him. Five years old and he''d only just realised that Fannar was, in fact, himself. It seemed to take the woman caring for him at great surprise as well at the time. Although, looking back on it now, he felt it was more due to the fact he spoke a perfect sentence in Crassieldan - the native tongue the woman raising him spoke - more than anything else. Despite only being taught the very basic words so far. She hadn¡¯t realised his handle on speaking had advanced so far. Nor had she truly understood that this was the reason why he hadn¡¯t ever understood, nor answered to, his own name before that very day. This revelation also started the coming months where his studies would become a much stronger focus in his life; and he would learn to read and write. The whole ordeal took them both by immense surprise. This was only the beginning.


    Even now it had never felt quite real. This whole world. This new life inside this one room with this one kindly lady. This unfamiliar and foreign body. But, more importantly, it took an even longer time beyond that to finally get to grips with the very nature of the fact that Nakamura-Kun was no longer. That human boy from the other world. The person he used to be. He was dead. Gone. But he was also alive right now. He was living as a young, elven boy named Fannar. Fannar Roarsky. The supposed third son of Lord Cathal Roarsky, the feudal lord of a fiefdom named Siltriclove. Allied to the King of Crassield; the kingdom of which their land resided within. No longer was he the starving, abandoned, Japanese child in the streets. No. He was, in fact, a sheltered, Crassieldan, noble son. Horn into the fiefdom of Siltriclove. Nobility. Him. Nagamura-Kun. No. Fannar. He, Fannar, was nobility. This revelation and sudden rising of class baffled him to no end. Was this truly all real? Was this world his new reality? Could he truly believe this wasn¡¯t all just an elaborate, cruel dream he¡¯d soon wake up from?


    He had to come to terms with it, though. This world would not wait for him. Fannar was now considered to be five years old, or when translated into the Crassieldan tongue, ''Ve Piygeld''. He was no longer a teenager. He was no longer even human. It fascinated him how differently the people in this world spoke from the Japanese he''d originally learned; how differently they pronounced their words. Even the order was so unique and exciting to learn. ''Ve'' seemed to mean the number five, and ''Piygeld'' combining ''years old'' together as a singular word. Even his two names felt so unusual and unique to him. However, part of this still troubled him deep down. It felt like he didn''t¡¯ deserve this knowledge. That he hadn¡¯t tried hard enough to better understand this gift that has been given to him. Why? He couldn¡¯t ever truly deserve this treatment, this knowledge, right? He was an outsider. He¡¯d taken this boy¡¯s life and taken over it. Surely. He wasn''t having to learn this out of a need to survive. He wasn''t having to force himself to pick all this new information up. No. He was enjoying it. He was doing it because he loved it. He wanted to know more. He wanted to learn everything. But, most importantly of all, it was all because Seakur Thrayah was his teacher. He was being taught. It was almost like he was at a school and a home at the same time. A real school. A house that he could actually call a home. He wasn¡¯t homeless, he wasn¡¯t uneducated. It didn¡¯t feel right. He couldn¡¯t deserve this all. There were likely so many others like him in his previous world that suffered more than him. Why him? The guilt filled him each day and only drove him to learn more, study harder, to find a way to make the blessings he received not feel completely wasted.


    Seakur Thrayah was the kindly lady who had now dedicated quite a large part of her life helping raise him; and she also seemed to work as a sort of religious figure of sorts within the manor. This choice to devote her life to worship was where her title ''Seakur'' came from; showing she was a successfully converted and devout follower of their Goddess Thrundarusa. Although, his knowledge of the Goddess and Thrayah''s duties hadn''t yet reached further from that. His studies pushed more towards his own bloodline. His heritage. His new father and his new family history. The history of the fiefdom, and the people that lived under his father''s rule; and the thing that fascinated him the most about those studies was actually their family shield. The symbol that resembled their bloodline - or, more specifically - Fannar was captivated by the charge on the shield. That white outline of a flower with three petals, decorated with those unusually placed stars. They called it a sigil - or pronounced ''cijil'' in their tongue - and it wasn''t actually meant to depict a flower or the stars at all. It was actually an ancient language that told entire stories, poems, and even the shortest of messages that could hold immense power within them. Even just one word. He learned each day, during his spare time when Thrayah was not in the room with him, he wanted to figure out how he could try and write in this ancient language. It was almost like an art within itself. Each word was its own amazing painting and design.


    He''d draw a circle and write numbers across the outside of it in a very specific order; almost like a clock with all the numbers seemingly scrambled at random. Then, he''d choose what he wanted to write. When Fannar had decided on a message, he''d write the full message down in a third language - identical to Latin from his old world - and he would then remove the vowels from the message. Apparently, this was the phonetic pronunciation of the written language used to create the sigil. Then, with the letters he had left, he would assign each one to a number using the Sigil''s Table - a guide to tell him which number represented each letter - and he would begin to draw lines that flowed and curled from one end of the circle to the other. Finally, for the finishing touches, he would place small stars where the missing vowels were supposed to be. Then, and only then, would the sigil be completed. So, rather than being that flower surrounded by stars, his family''s shield actually meant ''Afuridg Leyef'' - or ''Average Life'' in the phonetic tongue of the ancient Sigil Language.


    It seemed like such an unusual message to be used for a bloodline of nobility, and yet, it spoke deeply to him. Like nothing else had ever been able to before. Not in this world. Not since those tossed away pages scattered across those cold, isolating alleyways of Japan. It felt like destiny. As if his dream, his prayers from before he drew his last human breath, had been heard. Each time he saw his family shield from the very first day he learned of its true meaning, it was hard not for him to weep; yet feel incredible comfort and warmth.


    If this was truly an average, normal life, it was more than he felt he could ever truly deserve.

 A Fiefdom Named Siltriclove

    (Art by Chestnut)


    When Fannar found himself alone, taking a small break from his usual studies, he¡¯d usually take the time to become more accustomed to his bedroom. This room was the only thing he¡¯d ever actually seen in this new world, small master bathroom aside. His old crib was nowhere to be found, and he¡¯d assumed it had likely been thrown away due to his growing body. Instead, in its place, the boy would sleep on a small child-size bed with an extremely comfortable mattress and almost - no - definitely too many silk blankets. He often thanked his blessings each morning he rose and each night he set himself to slumber once again. He found it still quite difficult to get accustomed to, however. Despite how soft and overly lavish it was, he just couldn¡¯t quite get used to it yet. Unsure if he ever could. His previous life on the cold, filthy, and hard concrete streets often left him with a harder time and it wasn¡¯t something he wished to return to, of course, but something about this new lifestyle just seemed to gnaw away at the back of his mind. Perhaps it was the guilt of getting to sleep in such a comfortable room, filled with warmth, clean and fit more for only the rich. There was no way he could ever live up to this room. To ever feel like he could truly call this room his own without feeling something deeply, sickeningly, and inherently wrong about it all. It felt stolen. It was taken from somebody more worthy. Not him. Never him.


    The walls were plastered in a dull, bluish-grey paint. Parts of the edges had begun to peel, and the paint frayed along the very fine cracks that ran along some patches of the walls. An off-white, small, and intricate pattern flowed vertically across the walls; it seemed to follow the same sigil as seen on the shield and Seakur Thrayah¡¯s necklace. This design was clearly a very big part of this household, not only culturally and historically, but perhaps also religiously. Fannar wasn¡¯t completely sure on the latter, however, as he didn¡¯t know if her necklace was one representing a symbol of the goddess or not. It could simply be something she had to wear as somebody who was a part of the household or related to the family in some way. A large portion of the room had now changed from being mostly barren of furniture now he had grown, however. A lot of his bedroom was now full of bookshelves. He¡¯d also been given his own desk ever since his studies became more advanced and serious. It all seemed to be made from the same, dark wood. The boy wasn¡¯t sure entirely what the wood was actually from, or if the tree was even something that existed or was even slightly similar to the plants in his old world. But he rarely had the time, and never felt the need, to learn or worry about it for long. It wasn¡¯t a core part of his interests or what those caring for him seemed to want him to focus on, for now. At this point he had begun to believe, or at least suspect from what he¡¯d seen and read so far about this world, that there was no electricity.


    The area was entirely lit by candles in lanterns and decorative, glass lamps. The room would often smell ever so faintly of smoke until somebody opened one of the two doors the room had. He had become accustomed to this now, and was just thankful to be given such a warm, and likely precious light. It was hard for him to imagine how expensive replacing the wax candles most likely cost his family. He¡¯d often find himself trying to light as few as possible when he could; although, this did sometimes cause a disagreement with the kindly lady who took care of him. She didn¡¯t like him sitting in a darkened room for such extended periods of time. He understood she was only thinking of his health, and deeply appreciated it. Fannar often found it hard to put himself above even the smallest of things, though, and often blamed himself for causing her distress in the first place. The boy always found it incredibly difficult to ever value himself or put himself first above anything else in his room. Even from the smallest, feathered quill to the tallest, dark wardrobe.


    This room did have one thing that often confused and troubled him more, however. Putting the fineries and far superior living conditions aside for even just one moment made this issue the most prominent. He had no right to complain. He¡¯d been blessed, gifted with this amazing opportunity he could only dream to ever pay back for being given. Fannar could never do something so selfish as to wish for more or question something that was surely so trivial. But there, around him, it would often close in. Tightening around himself. Drawing closer in the silence whenever he found himself alone. Inching further inwards as the room shrank each day. The boy had long begun to realise and try to understand this one, small, tiny little detail. The one thing missing that he just couldn¡¯t understand. Why did it bother him so? Why would this make him feel this way? Why was something so seemingly unimportant causing him this strange distress?


    It was the windows.


    They didn¡¯t exist. Not a single pane of glass. Even the smallest crack in the wall. There was nothing. He had never seen this new, real world from the outside before. He had absolutely no idea what was outside his room. In fact, he¡¯d never even been in any other room within this manor. It was supposedly quite sizable and grand. However, he hadn''t seen even the slightest slimmer of it. At times, when he felt insecure - often finding himself to feel so when alone - he could just feel everything around him shrinking. It was claustrophobic. Was it because he¡¯d never been in one place for such an extended period of time in his previous life? The alleyways of Japan may have all felt quite similar, but he could freely explore and move around them, his world was the size of a great metropolis before. No. Fannar couldn¡¯t keep thinking this way. These sinful, impure thoughts. This greed that was surely consuming him. He was becoming spoiled by these luxuries around himself. He had to block it all out and set himself back onto a better path. Not for himself. But for all those who had helped bring him into this world, support and raise him, and surely expected him to grow into a man they could be proud of. Even just slightly. He never wanted to be considered a mistake. Ever.


    On one of the shelves of his larger bookcases, Fannar began to find a slowly growing and changing collection of curled up scrolls that had replaced the books he¡¯d stop reading. As he grew older and his interests shifted alongside his knowledge of his heritage, he began to wonder more and more about the outside world, and how it really worked. Taking one of the scrolls from the shelf, he untied the thread from around it and spread it across the table, keeping each side of the papyrus held down with the sides or corners of different books. There, incredibly detailed and beautifully illustrated, lay a small map of some kind of settlement. A village? No. From what he felt like were measurements in a system he was unfamiliar with, and the numbers and lines that ran across the borders of the page, it seemed rather big to be just a village. It was perhaps more similar to a large town or smaller city. At least, comparing it to the maps he¡¯d seen in the trashed light novels and manga in his previous life. Whilst pure fantasy, he felt there was usually some form of fact tying them down to reality. Only, this time, the map was probably a real place. A place he lived in. It was the settlement of his home town. At least, Fannar had assumed it to be a layout of the town, as it shared the same name as the fiefdom his father owned. Siltriclove.


    At the very north of the map seemed to be a large outlined body of water. It occurred to the young child that this potentially was a sign that his father¡¯s territory was, in fact, coastal. It might have been an inland sea, however. He wasn¡¯t sure, as when pulling out more maps and opening them up across the floor and other surfaces, he couldn''t find a larger map of the land outside the town. But Fannar was certain that it likely wasn¡¯t a lake, considering the lengths of the docks, and the amount of wards that seemed to hug its edges. Fannar wasn¡¯t exactly an expert, of course, but he¡¯d always loved finding fantasy maps in comics and other discarded novels; imagining what it would¡¯ve been like to live as part of those worlds and trying to understand the geology behind them. Although, when he thought back on these worlds, something immediately seemed to be incredibly different. Something that seemed so standard as a part of these maps, especially as a part of the rough time period he¡¯d assumed the world was in, was missing. There weren¡¯t any walls. Not even a single tower. Their land was entirely open. It perplexed him, yet only served to draw him in further towards researching these maps. They all seemed to be of Siltriclove, but perhaps at different times. There seemed to only be very minor adjustments from each, with the biggest change being new buildings and other small works.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    One of these smaller projects seemed to include two bridges, the first being quite large and grand, with the second being smaller and seemingly quite slim. They were both built across a somewhat sizable river that split the town entirely in half. Almost all of the residential areas labelled and detailed on the maps were tightly packed up against both sides of the river bank. A road also seemed to have been a lot more clearly and boldly detailed, on what he assumed was the newest map of Siltriclove, compared to the other features that had been illustrated on the paper. It winded across the larger bridge, and seemed to start from the western ward, before leading out far towards the southern east through the fields of crops. What also seemed to interest him was the fact that all the fields were on one side of the river. He couldn¡¯t see a single field of crops on the other side. The only time he¡¯d seen a suggestion of one was on the most worn and slightly tattered map he¡¯d managed to find; the faint lines being missing without a trace from all other versions. Perhaps this meant nothing on the western side of the river could grow? The farmlands that lay to the western side of the town¡¯s river also seemed to almost be the same size of the down if he grouped them all together into one. Fannar felt that this may have either been the sign that the town was using both resources from the sea and the fields for a strong trade route towards somewhere in the east, and potentially across the ocean, or that there was a population greater than he had initially assumed.


    Fannar couldn¡¯t quite pinpoint where his father¡¯s manor, his current place of stay, was located. However, when dwelling on this point, he felt that they likely weren¡¯t very close to the other structures on the map, nor near the ocean or river. It could get incredibly quiet in his room when Seakur Thrayah wasn¡¯t helping to tutor him or just simply visiting. He couldn¡¯t ever recall hearing wagons, footsteps, or voices from his room that seemed to be coming from the outside. The same seemed to apply to the classic sounds of the ocean. Fannar wasn¡¯t quite sure when he¡¯d heard it before exactly, but he did recall seeing it with the loud, supposed sounds of waves being played across an incredibly large screen on one of the skyscrapers in his original home city from his previous life. The strange cry one of the birds made as it flew across its¡¯ illuminated surface. The laughter that faded as each of those miniscule squares twirled and twinkled away into darkness. The next, hauntingly meaningless, and brief attempt to capture the attention of those who truly mattered taking its new chance in the spotlight. It had caught his eye as well, for a moment, but that memory had brought on another part he wished he¡¯d left forgotten. As everyone else on those bustling streets and rushing on between the shops kept their eyes focused on that large screen, their own tiny handheld screens, and the flickering lights of the traffic lights - he remembered seeing it. Something nobody else would look at. Not for longer than a second. It wasn¡¯t as important as those larger-than-life sources of information and claws of companies trying to fill their already overflowing pockets. No. Not for them. But it was all he could look at when he saw it, looking down from the brief digital view of the ocean, lying down in complete silence. Yet it was louder than all of the screaming tires of the cars and the deafening yells of the people chattering. Constantly, persistently, pointlessly chattering.


    The body of another homeless child. It splayed across the cold concrete just in the alleyway opposite from the one he¡¯d been briefly staying in. Still. He could tell what had happened. They were unusually open with their body language, unbundled, unshakable. It was the middle of winter. There was no fire near them, nor a shop with an exterior furnace to burn trash. They weren¡¯t shivering. They weren¡¯t trying to curl up to keep the rest of them warm. The sight of the statue-like child would¡¯ve burned itself into his mind - if not for the countless others that clouded and mixed together. Even as he thought back on it at that moment, his small fists clenching part of the map he¡¯d begun to blankly stare past, he wasn¡¯t quite sure if it was a child he was remembering. Nor what they looked like. Only vague shadows, whispers of a figure, and frays of tattered clothing would stay in their proper places. Every other detail just seemed to constantly change, shift, and drift away. Just like the ash-like snowflakes that haunted the winds of that bitter day. It was almost ironic. The staple of the hot, summer vacation he¡¯d often dreamt of, always coming back to remind him about the reality of that unforgiving winter. Fannar could almost feel the sickening, defeated sensation fill his stomach again, slowly sitting back down on the chair as he released the now crinkled corners and sides of the map.


    Why was he the one to come to this new world? Why was he the only one here? Why couldn¡¯t it have been them? He couldn¡¯t understand it. No. He never wanted to even try to comprehend it.


    Running a hand through his snow white hair, he shook his head as he tried to clear his mind, he suddenly seemed to pause. He moved his hand towards his focus, in front of the paper. He was holding a freshly-dipped quill. Ink slowly dripping off the end of the pointed feather. Then, the boy looked at the illustration. He stood up, stumbling back quickly as the chair tumbled with a loud crash behind himself. Fannar¡¯s bright, red eyes widened in absolute surprise, and slight horror. He¡¯d not even noticed that he was doing it. He wasn¡¯t sure why he even had. How? But, there it was. A new building was drawn on the map. The edges and gaps of the page that surrounded it now covered in a few blotches of the pitch black liquid. Slowly, approaching the map - trying to push down his newly rising fears of ruining this map he¡¯d been trusted with - the young boy tried to make sense of it. He¡¯d written his name beneath the building he¡¯d drawn. The style being quite different from the rest of the picture. Even having a stereotypical, classic little triangle roof, with a door. All other structures being simple squares and other box-like shapes without such cute, or unnecessary details that were likely supposed to be just helpful, rough guides to the general layout of the town. It couldn¡¯t be. The more he looked at it, the more it confused him. Slowly, he put the quill back into the little, glass pot of ink. No. He¡¯d never even seen this land before that day. He hadn¡¯t seen any suggestion or intentional placement that would make sense for it to be the manor on any other of these maps. There was nothing even there in that space before. However, there in the north western corner of the map, he began to connect the dots. The path that was at first, seeming to be originating from the one of the dock wards, now seemed to be more likely to be starting from his father¡¯s manor. Or, at least, from where he¡¯d unconsciously drawn the location of the home.


    It was near the sea. Not as far from the other structures than he thought he¡¯d been. It only made him more confused. He could only try to keep talking himself out of this being the true location of where he was. It was just a strange coincidence. A mistake he¡¯d made. Just a mindless scribble. If he was truly there, in that pointless, silly little sketch- No. He wouldn¡¯t be. He wasn¡¯t. After all. He couldn¡¯t hear any of it. Surely he¡¯d hear something. He could hear birds every now and then, he could hear when Seakur Thrayah was approaching and leaving, he could hear some movements downstairs at times as well. It was how he could tell he was likely on a higher floor. But nothing else. There was surely no way the sounds of the outside wouldn¡¯t reach him as well. However... All that aside. It did begin to dawn on him for a brief, likely fleeting moment. A question that would perhaps never be answered, or perhaps was silly to even ask himself.


    If this really was where he currently lived, and he found it whilst thinking of his previous ''home'' on the streets of Tokyo, could what he just did...


    Count as clairvoyance?

 Feast for the Vultures

    Seakur Thrayah came in one evening, on the day the young elven child turned seven. It was just shortly before the time for Fannar''s father to hold a very important feast within the dining hall downstairs. It appeared that the feudal lord was expecting guests; other noble lords from nearby neighbouring lands to the west. The kindly carer smiled warmly down at the young boy as she spoke softly. Her long, silky black hair slowly slipped across her shoulder and in front of her face; her pale skin looked far more human-like when compared to Fannar¡¯s. The elven woman¡¯s eyes thinned with endearment as she gently laid a gloved hand on the boy¡¯s head.


    "Your father wishes to invite you to the meeting with the other lords, Fannar. Do you think you will be able to come?" She asked as she respectfully knelt down to speak with him on his level.


    Fannar¡¯s face filled with surprise as he looked towards his caretaker. This would be the first time the two would have met, at least, to his knowledge and memory. Never before had he seen his father outside of portraits he had been shown before. Fannar felt nervous; however, his newfound and rising desire to meet his new father in this new world soon took over his doubt. He felt encouraged. After all these years being cared for and treated so kindly by Seakur Thrayah, perhaps this was finally a sign that he¡¯d become worthy enough to see the person who¡¯d let him stay in this manor for so long. This was it. Now, he was finally seen as capable enough to attend thanks to the guidance and teaching of his dearest caretaker, and friend. His progress in his studies must have begun to shine as something to be seen as enough to repay his father back, even if only in a small way. It felt like he¡¯d achieved something great. Something that might finally bring further meaning and worth to his previously pitiful, and empty existence.


    "Yes, I do! I would love to accept father''s invitation!" Fannar finally replied, after some thought. His tone seemed confident and his eyes were lit with anticipation.


    Soon, Seakur Thrayah helped him dress into new, more suitable attire for the occasion. They felt rather uncomfortable to wear, however. It wasn''t because of the fabric. No. The garments were incredibly soft and warm, and almost felt tailor made to fit him perfectly. They were just so fine and expensive in appearance. He was truly grateful for being allowed to wear them, but felt undeserving, and it felt so unusual. Fannar felt rather overdressed; as if he was only deepening his sensation of being an imposter, and the one who stood in the mirror was meant to be somebody else. He still couldn''t truly fit into his new life of nobility, even after all these years. The young boy still held these dark, twisting feelings within his psyche, that somehow he had stolen something truly important from¡­ Someone. He just wasn¡¯t sure who. It almost felt like everyone in both his old and new worlds at times. At others, he wondered if it was the soul of this bodies¡¯ original host. Had he stolen the vessel another life was supposed to have been given? Somebody''s family?


    Pushing down and bottling those thoughts once more, slowly, as he exited the small room, the young boy began to see parts of his new home that he''d never seen before. Inching forward as he unconsciously held one of the fingers belonging to Seakur Thrayah, who followed behind him. It felt alien. Yet, it was also exciting and new. He examined the wallpaper of this new hallway. The paper felt like it was far newer than the one in his bedroom, as if freshly coated on not too long ago. His eyes sparkled at the brightly ornate staircase railing that glimmered a bright gold. They appeared to be engraved masterfully with his family sigil; and as he began to examine his surroundings even closer, he realised it was faintly intertwined with the patterns on the walls. It was even used as a signature in some of the large, hanging portraits of his father and his ancestors. It was like the entire house was reminding you that it belonged to a noble and powerful lord who ruled over a part of the land. One who truly treasured their heritage and most likely embodied the true teachings of their bloodline. Fannar couldn¡¯t bear to even think of touching anything else as he descended down the staircase. It would be horrible to dirty it, or try to take away the beauty of this home.


    As he soon reached the bottom, the faint whispers of unfamiliar voices soon grew silent as Fannar laid eyes on the nobles who were all sat at the grand dining table. They all seemed to be awaiting their food to arrive. Empty glasses and plates decorated the beautifully adorned dining room. The boy suddenly realised that he had absolutely no idea who to even look for when it came to his new father. He''d never met the man. His father in this new world had never visited him during his time growing up, and all the paintings and illustrations of him seemed to be from the noble lord¡¯s childhood, up to a very early stage of his adulthood. Nothing seemed recent enough to surely match his new age. That''s when he noticed something truly startling. There he sat. A young-looking man with long, pointed ears like Fannar''s, with the same hair colour, and tall physique. He hadn''t aged even slightly compared to the paintings he''d seen of his father in those books. Nor the pictures Seakur Thrayah had shown him. Not only that, but he was the only one amongst them who seemed to even share the trait of having pure white hair and blood red eyes like his own. It truly took him aback that his father seemed to have not aged even a day. It struck him again, far more effectively than before, that this world was home to many that weren¡¯t human. Or, what Fannar considered truly ''human¡¯'', anyway. Not a single man at that table looked that much older than at least twenty or so. Swallowing his doubts, he approached this man and subconsciously bowed his head in respect.


    "I thank you deeply for your invitation to this event sir, I humbly accept your offer." He spoke in the most clear and polite tone he could muster past his nerves.


    However, just as he was starting to anxiously wonder if he should have said ''father'' instead of ''sir'', he saw a look of surprise fill the man''s face as the rest of the room had broken into sudden laughter. All the other men chuckled and smiled heartily, the ones sat closest to the host of the meeting even patting the man''s shoulders merrily, or elbowing him playfully with teasing grins. The woman behind him having a small giggle at the sight as well, using this as her que to leave the room and attend to her other duties. Relieved that the two would not suddenly start a fight or be overly tense around each other despite their long separation.


    "Well! What a wonderfully polite little gentleman you have there Lord Cathal!" One of the shorter, ginger-haired men exclaimed.


    "Quite! My lads could learn to have some respect from him!" Another remarked joyfully.


    He hadn''t realised it yet, but Fannar had broken some troublesome ice to help lighten the mood from a rather tricky discussion they''d had prior to his entrance. His father''s surprised face soon changed to one filled with a sense of pride as he smiled and made room for the boy to sit beside him. Fannar soon sat down quickly in response and politely returned the smile towards him in a pleasant manner. The boy¡¯s hesitation dissolved quickly. He felt a strong sense of acceptance and relief from this exchange. He hadn''t been sure about their relationship, or what his father thought of him, as he''d never come to visit him. He''d never really thought to ask if he could exit his room to meet the lord, either. However, he understood that his father was most likely an extremely busy man, surely very hard-working as well, considering he was the sole leader of this quaint fiefdom. He had to manage his people, the money, and possibly countless other things Fannar couldn''t even manage having to shoulder the burden of. It was the same in his previous life, as well. The city bustled as many suits carried their cases of work to and from work as they kept themselves and their families afloat. Fannar understood their fear of becoming like him. He¡¯d never resented them. No. He would put the past aside. It was disrespectful to keep thinking back on that life, especially in front of his father. In front of all the noblemen who¡¯d taken the time to attend. To Seakur Thrayah, aswell. He was simply grateful enough to the man for giving him food and shelter, not to mention his fine clothes and the company of Thrayah for all these years. It was like a blessing from heaven itself to finally live a life of quiet comfort after all those rough nights in the cold streets of- No, this wasn¡¯t the time. But, then again, it was of... Uhm. His mind drew a blank. It was strange. He couldn''t quite remember the name of the city anymore. It kept escaping his mind. However, that was for the best. it wasn''t likely that he''d ever have to think about it again. It was better to forget that life. After all, this was his new life now. Those cold, isolating nights were behind him. He wouldn¡¯t ever be left alone. This world was different. Right? Right. Yeah. It was. This time was different.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    "Young master?" An unfamiliar voice rang out after the soft sound of metal and china clinking against the wooden table reached past the young boy''s thoughts.


    "Hm?" The boy''s head perked up slightly.


    Fannar¡¯s blood red eyes searched upwards and behind himself, towards a much more human-looking man dressed in rather simple clothes. Even more so compared to the ones Fannar had worn in his room usually. But, they did seem slightly more worn and frayed than his own were. Their ears were small and rounded, they seemed slightly older in appearance to the noblement at the table as well. His dark hair was short, almost as dark as Seakur Thrayah¡¯s, but at the same time feeling more natural to the boy. He¡¯d almost started to miss seeing the faint flecks of other colours of dark browns that were also prevalent in the hair of his old body. The man¡¯s hair also seemed rather similarly unkempt and slightly unclean, which made him grow slightly uncomfortable. Not because he felt disgust or that he wanted to avoid them, but because it felt hauntingly familiar. A name began to edge across the edge of his tongue again from the darker reaches of his mind. No. He didn¡¯t want to remember it. There was nothing to remember. He was just surprised to see an actual human. That was surely it.


    "Forgive me for asking, but are you quite alright, young master?" The tall, dark-haired man asked. His dark green eyes meeting with the child''s.


    Something seemed very unusual about the sudden pause between them both as Fannar''s eyes widened. Slowly, he brushed a lock of white hair away from his pale face, still stunned at the sight of another being with perfectly human ears. But, even moreso, what really struck him now was the look in the man''s eyes. His pupils were twisted, faltering, and unstable. Filled with desperation, and yet, vacant of soul or willingness. Yes. He remembered. He knew this look in the thin man''s eyes. In fact, without truly realising it himself, he was giving the exact same look back. He''d known those eyes. Those terrified, trembling eyes. He''d lived those intense, unnerving emotions for years. The boy had started to unconsciously mimic them. Those dark, horrible feelings oozed up from his burning stomach and into his dry throat.


    Why...


    Why? Why was there somebody like that here? In this world? This home? Wasn''t this world supposed to be different? Why? He was just imagining it. It wasn¡¯t the same here. This is different. His heart began to race as he slightly gripped the tablecloth.


    "W-Why, yes. I am quite alright, thank you, sir." The boy managed to reply with an uncomfortable and nervous smile.


    Why were this young boy''s eyes so familiar? The human thought.


    "That...¡± His gaze strayed to the other noblemen, whose faces were starting to turn sour again at their conversation.


    ¡°That is very good, young master. You need not be so formal with me. I am just a humble servant.¡±


    It was extremely strange, especially for the son of a wealthy lord, for any elf to speak to him like this. It took him completely by surprise. But it made him wonder more.


    Could it be? The older man couldn¡¯t believe it.


    Even this cruel man''s own son? He felt appalled just by the thought.


    To their own kind?


    The servant''s grip on the remaining plates he held tightened slightly as he pushed those thoughts down. Trying to stifle his own smile, that he returned towards Fannar, from becoming twisted with a dark excitement. After all, it''d all be over soon. He''d have his revenge. For himself, for his family, for his kind. For the people of his own impoverished land that fed the filthy, corrupted men that sat at this table. The dark-haired man was new to this land owned by Lord Cathal, but he was certain it must be very much like his own. All lords were the same. He knew they were. They would never be able to change their greedy ways. Especially his own lord, who sat on the very opposite end of the table with his disgusting grin, already itching to stuff his irritatingly fowl face. Dragging him around like some stray dog on a chain for a leash-


    A small hand seemed to suddenly wrap itself around his wrist as his thoughts stopped. Flinching for a moment as he looked down.


    The young boy was exchanging another glance with him again.


    "You''re not." Fannar raised his voice.


    "Huh?" The man mumbled as he looked down warily at the small child.


    "You''re not a servant, right?" Fannar smiled warmly, though his trembling eyes likely gave his rising fear of the older man away.


    "You''re just helping for a second, and then you¡¯re joining the rest of us, right? You¡¯re not a servant. Y-You¡¯re¡­ Another new friend." His smile faltered and could barely keep itself formed as it wavered across his face. Fannar¡¯s clenched fist trembled.


    "What is this sudden nonsense?!" The lord the servant had just been glaring at suddenly blustered as he slammed onto the table.


    Fannar''s father cleared his throat and gave a stern look towards the lord, making the other man startled and quiet. Slowly, they sat back down into their chair in silence. However, the rage had not left his face, and his mood seemed to be spreading to the others across the table.


    "After all." Despite his crackling voice, the boy''s eyes softened with his father''s help.


    "You''re the one making my first meal that I may share with my dear father, right? That makes me really happy.¡± The tears started to well up in his eyes as he pulled the human closer to him, as if trying to stay strong and not let them spill as he spoke.


    ¡°I''ve gotten to meet so many new people today, important, special new friends. That includes you. Right?" His smile even managed to finally straighten out, as well. It was genuine. His eyes clinging on to a shine of innocent, naive hope.


    "I, uh, young-" The dark-haired man mumbled, similarly becoming a bit shaken up from the exchange. Amazed that the rich man¡¯s son would even want to hold his tattered shirt.


    "Fannar." He finally released the human''s wrist.


    "Yes, Fannar." The servant managed to smile back, a pure look of surprise having washed over his face. "It¡¯s- It¡¯s an honor to meet you as well."


    Who was this boy? Was he really of nobility? He couldn''t possibly be. But yet, here he was. How?


    There wasn''t time to think about it. The servant soon left the room again after catching a glimpse of his lord''s outraged, blood-red face, swallowing his rising fears of what he was about to have to do. He''d never even held doubts about his plans before this very moment. He''d simply be adding a little twist to his lord''s wicked plot to grab more power, to fuel his own revenge. But, could he still do it? Could he do that to a child like Fannar? An elf that had finally seen him as another living being? Somebody who might even be able to begin to understand his pain? His suffering? His torture? Could...


    Could he¡­


    Kill him?