《Remanescence of Shadows》


 Nameless Man

    Who am I?


    If I had to answer that¡­ I guess I was nobody. Or maybe I was someone who never really existed in the first place.


    A blank soul, floating in an empty world.


    But it wasn¡¯t always like this. Once, I had a name. A life. A face that no one ever remembered.


    I was never the strong, charismatic, or handsome guy. I wasn¡¯t the one people admired or feared. I was justthere¡ªthe quiet, dependable one. The guy who stayed after class to help others, hoping someone would finally see him. But no one ever really did.


    And I guess, after a while, I stopped seeing myself too.


    Looking back, I think I was always afraid to live.


    I had dreams. Stupid, childish dreams. A good job. A girlfriend. A life that mattered. But I never chased any of them. I was too cautious. Too hesitant. I told myself there was always tomorrow.


    Until, one day, there wasn¡¯t.


    High school was the first real lesson in disappointment. At first, I thought I had friends. We laughed, talked about anime, shared dumb inside jokes. But when I started pulling away¡ªtoo shy, too scared to keep up¡ªthey stopped waiting for me.


    And then there washer.The first girl I ever loved. The one who told me shewasn¡¯t readyfor a relationship, that she needed to focus on her exams.


    It wasn¡¯t a month before she was dating some rich kid with a future.


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    I guess I was just convenient until something better came along.


    After that, I stopped trying. College? Too risky. I didn¡¯t want to go through it all again. Instead, I settled into a dead-end job that barely covered rent, filling the emptiness with anime and video games. It was easier to live through fictional characters than face how pathetic my own life had become.


    And before I knew it¡­ that life was over.


    There was no one waiting for me at the end. No tearful goodbyes. Just a sterile hospital room and the quiet pity of a nurse who had probably seen too many lonely men die the same way.


    Then, nothing.


    No golden gates. No fire and brimstone. Just¡­ silence.


    I don¡¯t know how long I¡¯ve been here. Seconds? Years? The concept of time doesn¡¯t seem to exist in this empty space.


    At first, I clung to my memories. Replaying them, just to prove I was real. But now, they¡¯re starting to slip. Some faces are blurred. Some voices are fading.


    It¡¯s almost like I¡¯m¡­ regressing. Like the longer I stay here, the younger my mind gets.


    A reset before reincarnation? Or am I just unraveling into nothing?


    The thought makes me laugh. Or at least, it would¡ªif I still had a mouth to laugh with.


    I used to daydream about this, you know? Getting hit by a truck and waking up in a world of swords and magic. Becoming the protagonist of my own adventure.


    Maybe that¡¯s what this is. Maybe I¡¯m finally getting my second chance.


    ¡­Or maybe I¡¯m just another lost soul, floating in the void, waiting to disappear.


    But then¡ª


    The silencebreaks.


    A deep, grinding noise vibrates through the void, shaking the very foundation of this empty world.


    Before me, somethingimpossibleemerges¡ªa gate. Massive, ancient, made of rough-hewn stone. Carvings, jagged and uneven, cover its surface like the markings of some forgotten god. And in the center, where the two doors meet, is a single, unblinkingeye.


    It sees me.


    The gate creaks open, the sound like grinding marble against steel. A blue light pulses from within, alive, breathing, beckoning me forward.


    I don¡¯t have a body. No hands, no feet. But something¡ªsome force¡ªpulls me toward it.


    A moth to a flame.


    I don¡¯t know what¡¯s waiting on the other side.


    Salvation? Damnation?


    But at least something is finally happening.


    And so, without a choice, I step through.

 New world, new life

    My consciousness stirs, dragging me back from a void of nothingness. It feels like resurfacing after being submerged underwater for too long, my senses sluggishly crawling back to life.


    The first thing I notice is the warmth. It wraps around me, almost suffocating, like I¡¯m being swaddled in a heavy blanket. Then comes the wetness¡ªsticky and unpleasant, clinging to my skin like sweat after an intense fever. My whole body feels raw, oversensitive, like I¡¯ve been scrubbed down with steel wool.


    Something isn¡¯t right.


    I try to move, but my limbs respond sluggishly. They feel¡­ wrong. Small. Weak. My fingers curl instinctively, but instead of the familiar grasp of an adult hand, I¡¯m met with soft, pudgy little digits. What the hell? My fingers look like tiny sausages.


    Panic flickers in my chest. I try to speak, to demand an explanation¡ªwhat the hell is going on?!¡ªbut all that escapes my throat is a pathetic, garbled noise.


    A baby¡¯s cry.


    Oh.


    Oh, you¡¯ve got to be kidding me.


    I blink rapidly, my vision hazy, blurred shapes swimming in and out of focus. But as my eyes gradually adjust, my surroundings become clearer¡ªand they are far from ordinary.


    I¡¯m in a massive, opulent bedroom, unlike anything I¡¯ve ever seen outside of movies or history books. The high ceiling is adorned with intricate golden patterns, the walls lined with rich, deep-colored tapestries that depict scenes I can¡¯t quite make out. A grand chandelier hangs above, its crystal-like ornaments catching the warm glow of flickering candlelight.


    To my right, a tall arched window lets in soft morning light, illuminating luxurious silk curtains that sway gently with the breeze. The furniture¡ªornate chairs, a carved wooden dresser, a marble vanity¡ªis straight out of some Victorian-era noble¡¯s estate. Everything screams wealth and status.


    What¡­ What kind of place is this?


    And then, I see her.


    A woman cradles me in her arms, her long, silver-white hair cascading down like threads of moonlight. Her delicate features are ethereal, almost unreal, with striking violet eyes brimming with emotion. She gazes at me with an expression so warm, so tender, that it takes me a moment to process it.


    Is this¡­ my mother?


    She¡¯s beautiful. Way too beautiful. Definitely not what I expected when I thought about getting reincarnated. I was bracing myself for some generic anime mom with a tragic backstory, but this? This is top-tier genetics. If I inherit even half of her looks, I¡¯ll be unstoppable.


    She¡¯s speaking, her voice soft and trembling, but the words don¡¯t make sense. The language is completely foreign, an elegant yet unfamiliar melody that flows effortlessly from her lips. Even though I can¡¯t understand her, the emotion behind it is clear¡ªrelief, love, something fragile yet overwhelming.


    She holds me close, her arms wrapping around me protectively, as if she¡¯s afraid I¡¯ll disappear if she lets go.


    This should be touching. It should stir some deep, emotional awakening inside me.


    But all I can think is¡ªwhy is everything so damn loud?


    Somewhere nearby, muffled voices chatter, and the faint sound of fabric rustling reaches my ears. But before I can process it, movement at the edge of my vision catches my attention.


    A man stands near the doorway, dressed in elegant black robes, his presence sharp and imposing. Jet-black hair, cold blue eyes, and a neatly trimmed goatee¡ªhis entire demeanor radiates authority and detachment. His gaze locks onto mine for a fleeting second, and then¡ªjust like that¡ªhe turns on his heel and strides out of the room without a word.


    No hesitation. No acknowledgment.


    Cold. Distant. Not a single glance back.


    Oh. That¡¯s my father, isn¡¯t it?


    Wow. Guess some things really don¡¯t change, no matter the world.


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    So this is reincarnation, huh?


    Honestly, I expected something flashier. Maybe a goddess in a flowing dress, welcoming me with a divine prophecy. Or at the very least, a system interface popping up to tell me what my stats are.


    Instead, I get a noblewoman holding me like I¡¯m the most precious thing in the world¡­ and a man who just walked out like I was a piece of inconvenient furniture.


    And, to top it all off¡ªI can¡¯t understand a damn word anyone is saying.


    Fantastic.


    ***


    A whole year has passed since I arrived in this new world.


    In that time, my body has finally gained enough strength to crawl¡ªa godsend, really. Being able to move on my own is probably the greatest luxury of my infant existence so far. No longer trapped in one spot like a helpless slug, I¡¯ve started to explore my surroundings. And what a place it is.


    Turns out, I live in a mansion. A damn massive, white, three-story estate with a blue roof, nestled in the middle of sprawling, lush green plains. I discovered this little fact when my mother¡ªGrilda, as I¡¯ve learned¡ªtook me for a walk in the mansion¡¯s garden.


    And let me tell you, this isn¡¯t just any garden. This is the kind of garden you only see in fantasy paintings. Vibrant, meticulously maintained flower beds, towering hedges trimmed to perfection, and a path that winds through the greenery like something out of a fairy tale. It¡¯s peaceful, almost surreal in its beauty.


    Whoever my parents are, they¡¯re filthy rich.


    I mean, the mansion alone was a dead giveaway, but what really confirmed it was the staff. Two maids run the household, and from what I¡¯ve observed, they¡¯re extremely competent. Their movements are precise, their work is flawless, and they carry themselves with the kind of efficiency that suggests they¡¯re very well-paid. If my family can afford maids of this caliber, then yeah¡ªwe¡¯re definitely part of the upper class.


    Despite all this, life has been¡­ dull.


    I¡¯ve been listening¡ªa lot. Trying to pick up bits and pieces of the language my parents and the maids speak. It¡¯s not easy. The pronunciation is a nightmare, and the structure is completely different from what I¡¯m used to. But after months of eavesdropping, I¡¯ve managed to grasp some basic words and phrases. It¡¯s not much, but it¡¯s something.


    Still, my days are incredibly boring.


    I wake up. Roll around on the marble floor. Get picked up. Roll around some more. Try to walk¡ªfail. Eat. Sleep. Repeat.


    If I¡¯m just a normal noble kid in this world too¡­ then what was the point of this second life?


    No goddess has appeared.


    No mysterious voice has given me a divine mission.


    No leveling system window has popped up in front of me.


    At this point, I¡¯m starting to think I got the worst possible version of reincarnation. Where¡¯s my overpowered cheat skill? Where¡¯s my protagonist treatment?


    Instead, I get to be a baby in a fancy house with nothing to do but stare at the ceiling and drool.


    ¡­Yeah, this is going to be a long childhood.


    ***


    I thought my reincarnated days were boring, but that changed one sunny morning as I crawled through the hallways of the mansion.


    The marble floors beneath my hands were smooth and cool, a contrast to the warmth of the sunlight streaming in through the tall windows. Dust motes danced lazily in the golden light, giving the air a dreamlike quality. It would have been a peaceful scene¡ªif not for the sudden swish of a mop in the distance.


    Curious, I followed the rhythmic sound, my tiny hands and knees padding softly against the polished floor. As I turned the corner, I found her¡ªMara, one of the mansion¡¯s maids.


    She was a tall, elegant woman, her blonde hair neatly tied into a single bun, not a strand out of place. Thin, oval glasses rested on her sharp nose, accentuating the icy blue of her eyes, which always held a look of quiet authority. Unlike Lina, who was energetic and affectionate, Mara was disciplined, her every movement precise, as if she were performing a carefully rehearsed routine.


    At first, I thought she was simply cleaning. A wooden bucket sat beside her, filled with water, and she held a mop in her gloved hands. But then, as I watched, she set the mop aside and lifted a single hand, her expression calm and composed.


    Then, she spoke.


    "From the heavens'' grace and earth¡¯s embrace, let pure waters flow¡ªAquapura."


    The moment the words left her lips, something incredible happened.


    A thin ribbon of water materialized out of thin air, hovering just above her palm. It shimmered in the sunlight, pure and clear, swirling gently as if awaiting her command. With a simple flick of her wrist, the water stretched out, spilling across the floor in a controlled wave, sweeping away the dust and dirt in its path.


    I froze.


    Magic.


    This was actual magic.


    I had suspected that something like this might exist in this world, but seeing it was completely different from just theorizing. This wasn¡¯t some special effect from an anime or a game¡ªthis was real.


    My tiny body tensed as I watched Mara continue her work with practiced ease. The water obeyed her command, moving precisely where she willed it before vanishing completely, leaving the floor spotless. No residue, no excess moisture¡ªjust clean, polished marble.


    I wanted to scream. Not out of fear, but out of sheer excitement.


    Mara finished the spell, lowering her hand as if nothing extraordinary had just happened. She adjusted her glasses, sighing softly to herself, then turned¡ªand immediately spotted me sitting there, eyes wide as dinner plates.


    For the first time in this new life, I felt genuine awe.


    Mara tilted her head slightly, raising an eyebrow. ¡°How did you get all the way over here, young master?¡±


    I blinked. I had no way of answering, so I just continued to stare at her hand, half expecting more water to appear.


    She let out a quiet sigh, shaking her head before gracefully kneeling down and scooping me up into her arms. ¡°Curious little thing, aren¡¯t you?¡± Her tone was neutral, but I could swear I saw the faintest hint of amusement in her eyes.


    As she carried me back to my crib, I felt my mind racing with possibilities.


    Magic was real. And if magic was real¡­ then I had to learn how to use it.

 Intensive Studies

    It¡¯s been two long years since I was reincarnated, and I can finally say I¡¯m getting used to the life of a noble heir. I wake up in silk sheets, eat extravagant meals, and live in a mansion so big that I haven¡¯t even explored half of it. It sounds nice on paper, but honestly? It¡¯s boring.


    The biggest upside so far is that I¡¯ve finally cracked the language of this world. The strange words that once felt like tongue-twisters now make perfect sense. Now that I understand the language, I finally figured out my name is Castiel. It feels weird¡ªlike putting on a new identity while my past self lingers in the background. But if I¡¯m going to live this life right, I need to accept it.


    Another perk of my growing body is that I can finally walk, meaning I can move freely around the mansion without needing to be carried. No more helpless baby days for me. And with that freedom comes a goal: getting into the library.


    The third floor of the mansion holds a treasure trove of knowledge, locked away behind towering wooden doors. I¡¯ve tried sneaking in multiple times, but the maids always catch me before I can even grab a book. Well, too bad for them¡ªI¡¯m not giving up.


    I may not have a cheat skill or a system menu, but I have something just as powerful¡ªknowledge. And if I want to succeed in this world, I need to study everything. I miss my computer, I miss the internet, where everything was just a click away. But here? If I want to learn, I have to read.


    As I climb the stairs leading to the third floor, my heart skips a beat. The library doors are slightly open.


    Someone must have forgotten to lock them.


    I sprint forward, pushing the heavy door open just enough to slip inside.


    The scent of aged parchment and polished wood greets me, wrapping around me like a warm embrace. Tall wooden bookshelves stretch toward the ceiling, lined with thousands of books. The soft glow of sunlight filters through the arched windows, casting golden rays across the dust-speckled air.


    This¡­ this is amazing.


    I walk between the shelves, running my fingers along the leather-bound spines. Ten thousand books, maybe more. This might as well be the Alexandria Library of this world.


    I reach for a random book, my small hands barely able to pull it from the shelf. But before I can even open it¡ª


    A tap on my shoulder.


    Oh, come on. Not again.


    I turn around slowly, already knowing who it is.


    Standing behind me is Lina, my personal maid. Golden drill-shaped pigtails, bright blue eyes, and a maid uniform that highlights her curves. She has been taking care of me since birth¡ªchanging my diapers (which I¡¯d rather forget) and reading me bedtime stories.


    Lina folds her arms, her eyes narrowing playfully. ¡°Young master¡­ What are you doing here?¡±


    I sigh. ¡°I just want to learn how to read. Why won¡¯t you let me stay?¡±


    Lina raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. ¡°I¡¯ve explained this before, haven¡¯t I? Master Lucian doesn¡¯t want you using the library. It houses books on magic, and an inexperienced reader could stumble upon something dangerous.¡±


    Ah, Lucian. My father.


    The man who barely acknowledged me on the day of my birth. The man who only speaks to me at mealtimes and spends the rest of his time locked away in his office. I don¡¯t know what he does in there, and frankly? I don¡¯t care.


    But this time, I won¡¯t back down so easily.


    I shift my expression¡ªtilting my head slightly, widening my violet eyes just enough to glisten under the sunlight. The perfect balance between innocence and desperation. The "puppy dog eyes" technique.


    ¡°Please, Lina?¡± I say, my voice soft, almost pleading.


    Lina visibly tenses.


    She bites her lip, her resolve wavering.


    ¡°Young master¡­ You know I can¡¯t¡­¡±


    I double down. Lowering my gaze slightly, I let out a small, disappointed sigh¡ªthe finishing touch.


    Lina groans, pressing her fingers against her temple. ¡°Ugh¡­ Fine! But just one book!¡±


    I mentally cheer. Victory.


    She scans the shelves, tapping her chin before finally plucking a book from the middle row.


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    ¡°This should be fine,¡± she mutters, handing it to me.


    I look down at the aged leather cover, the golden letters embossed elegantly.


    Mysteries of the World for Noble Children


    ¡ªBy Gwyn Lachius.


    Wait. Lachius? I think I''ve heard this surname before¡­


    ¡°Who¡¯s the author?¡± I ask, blinking up at Lina.


    She adjusts her sleeves and sighs. ¡°Gwyn Lachius. Your grandfather.¡±


    ¡­My grandfather?


    I look down at the book again, my grip tightening. So my family isn¡¯t just nobility¡ªwe have scholars too.


    Lina kneels down, smoothing out my slightly ruffled clothes. ¡°Your grandfather was a famous alchemist and scholar. He wrote many books like this for noble children to study. Since this one is safe, I¡¯ll allow it.¡±


    She leans in slightly, her blue eyes softening. ¡°But promise me something, young master.¡±


    I tilt my head. ¡°What?¡±


    She smiles gently, brushing my bangs out of my face. ¡°Promise me you won¡¯t try anything reckless, okay?¡±


    ¡­Hah.


    No promises.


    But I nod anyway. ¡°I promise.¡±


    Lina seems relieved, standing up and stretching. ¡°Alright then. Let¡¯s get you out of here before Mara finds us.¡±


    She picks me up, tucking the book under her arm, and walks us back toward my room.


    As we move through the halls, I keep my gaze locked on the book in her hands.


    My first real step toward knowledge.


    And if my grandfather was a great alchemist¡­ then maybe¡ªjust maybe¡ªI¡¯ll find something truly valuable in these pages.


    I sit on my bed with Lina by my side, the heavy book resting between us.


    Even though I¡¯ve grasped the spoken language, reading is a different beast altogether. The script of this world is runic and complex, each letter curling into intricate shapes that look more like arcane symbols than actual words. I can pick out a few basic characters, but for anything beyond that? Yeah, I¡¯m going to need help.


    I glance up at Lina, who¡¯s already flipping through the pages with a bright smile. ¡°Alright, young master! Let¡¯s start from the beginning.¡±


    The book is packed with information¡ªalchemy, elemental forces, even the calendar system of this world.


    Unlike Earth, where the year is divided into twelve months, this world has only six: Luminare, Floraven, Ignisar, Aquorine, Umbraile, and Frigora. Each one is dedicated to one of the six great gods said to govern existence. Even the weeks follow a different pattern, with only six days instead of seven: Lunaris, Solis, Terris, Ventis, Aquis, and Ignis.


    ¡°The names represent the divine tools of creation,¡± Lina explains, tapping a page with her finger. ¡°Moon, sun, earth, wind, water, and fire¡ªthe sacred elements the gods used to shape the world.¡±


    I nod, absorbing the information. It¡¯s fascinating, but also overwhelming. Every tiny detail, from the way time flows to the very foundation of reality, reminds me that I¡¯m no longer in the world I once knew. I¡¯ve been completely reset.


    But then we reach a specific section¡ªone that instantly captures my full attention.


    Magic.


    My fingers grip the edge of the page as Lina begins reading aloud.


    To perform any spell, one must harness a unique energy known as Mana, which is produced by special cells in the body called Fluxicles.


    Fluxicles? Now that¡¯s a term I haven¡¯t heard before.


    ¡°Every living being has Fluxicles,¡± Lina continues, ¡°but the amount of Mana a person can store is determined at birth. While training can refine and strengthen one¡¯s control over Mana, the total capacity can never exceed its natural limit.¡±


    So¡­ your magical potential is decided by genetics.


    Great. Even in a fantasy world, life isn¡¯t fair.


    The book details the various types of magic¡ªelemental spells, healing magic, summoning arts¡­ But what really hooks me is how magic is activated.


    There are only two methods to cast spells:


    Incantations ¨C Reciting prayers to the gods, invoking their power.


    Magic Circles ¨C A technique discovered after years of alchemical research, allowing spells to be triggered without spoken words.


    Magic circles?


    Lina flips to a page filled with intricate geometric patterns, each one composed of delicate lines and runes woven together in mesmerizing formations.


    ¡°These are mathematical equations,¡± she explains, tracing a fingertip over the symbols. ¡°Every pattern follows a formula. Each straight line, each symbol¡ªit all has a purpose.¡±


    ¡°So¡­ you can activate magic just by charging these circles with Mana?¡± I ask, my curiosity spiking.


    Lina nods. ¡°Yes! Your grandfather, Gwyn Lachius, was actually one of the pioneers of this field. Thanks to his research, people no longer need to rely solely on prayers to cast spells.¡±


    I stare at the page, my thoughts racing.


    So my grandfather wasn¡¯t just a noble¡ªhe was a revolutionary in magic research?


    That changes things.


    This world just became a lot more interesting.


    However, magic circles never became mainstream.


    Despite their potential, they¡¯re notoriously difficult to create¡ªtoo complex for the average person to use. Only scholars from magic academies and a few obsessive alchemists bother with them. The rest of the world? They stick to incantations. Praying to the gods is easier than memorizing complex equations, after all.


    I frown slightly. That seems like a waste. Why rely on faith when you could have certainty?


    A new curiosity ignites in my mind. "Lina, where does magic come from?"


    She blinks, caught off guard by the question. Most children my age probably just accept magic as a fact of life. They wouldn¡¯t question it. But I¡¯m not most children.


    Still, she humors me. "Well¡­ there are many theories, but none are proven." She pauses, tilting her head in thought before continuing, "The most widely accepted belief is the religious one. They say that magic is a gift from the Primordial God¡ªa sign of his love for humanity."


    I hum thoughtfully. Makes sense. When people can¡¯t explain something, they create stories. That¡¯s how myths and religions are born¡ªto give structure to the unknown.


    Lina closes the book and stretches. "That¡¯s enough reading for today, young master. It¡¯s almost dinnertime."


    But I¡¯m not done yet. I need more. If I want to understand this world¡ªif I want to get ahead¡ªI need more knowledge.


    I turn to Lina, putting on the most innocent, wide-eyed expression I can muster. I clasp my hands together, lower my head slightly, and add just the right amount of pout.


    ¡°Linaaa¡­ next time, can you bring me more books? Pretty please?¡±


    Her lips part, and I see the exact moment her resolve crumbles.


    She sighs, shaking her head with an exasperated smile. "Alright, alright¡­ I¡¯ll try. But there aren¡¯t many books for children your age."


    Victory.


    I grin, satisfied. ¡°Thank you, Lina!¡±


    She ruffles my hair, laughing softly. "You¡¯re too smart for your own good, young master."


    I smirk to myself as she tidies up the room, humming a tune.


    Good. I¡¯ll need all the knowledge I can get.

 Natural Order

    Six months have passed since I first convinced Lina to bring me books. In that time, my days have been filled with study¡ªnot just about magic and history, but also about something far more frustrating.


    Language.


    If I had to rank the worst things about being reincarnated, relearning how to read would definitely be in the top three. This world¡¯s written language is full of runes and archaic symbols, far more intricate than the alphabets of my old life. Each character carries layers of meaning, and the sentence structure twists in ways that make my head hurt.


    Lina has been tutoring me patiently¡ªwell, mostly patiently. I suspect she finds my eagerness amusing, considering most children my age struggle with even the basics. But after months of practice, I can now read and write at a decent level. Enough to start reading real books, anyway.


    Unfortunately, most of the books suitable for children are fairy tales.


    Not exactly the vast academic knowledge I was hoping for, but I suppose even legendary scholars had to start somewhere.


    One book in particular caught my attention: ¡°The Trial of the Swordsman.¡±


    At first glance, it¡¯s just another hero¡¯s tale¡ªthe kind that noble families read to their children to fill their heads with ideals of justice and righteousness. But the more I read, the more it reminded me of something eerily familiar.


    The story follows a young prince who discovers a sword named Cocytus, a blade imbued with the power of ice. According to legend, Cocytus had the ability to freeze the wicked¡ªanyone with an impure heart who dared touch it would be encased in eternal frost. With this blade in hand, the prince guided his kingdom to victory in the Great War, becoming a hero for generations to come.


    It doesn¡¯t take a genius to see the similarities to the King Arthur myth from my old world. The legendary sword with a special ability, the destined ruler who wields it¡ªit¡¯s practically Excalibur with an ice affinity.


    I set the book down, staring at the golden embroidery of its cover.


    A weapon that judges the hearts of men¡­


    Something about it lingers in my mind. Maybe it¡¯s just the familiarity of the story, or maybe¡­ something else.


    I shake off the thought. It¡¯s just a children¡¯s tale, after all.


    For now, my focus is on reality. And in reality, there¡¯s still so much about this world I don¡¯t understand.


    That¡¯s why I need to learn more.


    And what better way to do that than by studying the creatures that roam this land?


    I picked up another book from my bedside table, a special one I ordered. It''s called Compendium of Monsters


    I flip the page, expecting more of the same¡ªwolves, boars, the usual bestiary filler¡ªbut then my eyes catch something that makes me pause.


    Unique Monsters.


    Huh. That¡¯s interesting.


    Apparently, these creatures are like the final boss versions of their respective species. Each monster race has exactly one unique counterpart, a pinnacle of evolution that surpasses all the rest. If a unique monster is killed, another eventually emerges, almost like nature refuses to leave the throne vacant.


    It¡¯s like some divine force said, ¡°Yeah, you thought you wiped out all the Dire Wolves? Joke¡¯s on you, here¡¯s Direfang the Abyssal Howler. Have fun.¡±


    Honestly? Kind of terrifying.


    I scan through the list of unique monsters recorded in history¡ªsome ridiculously powerful wolves, a giant boar that could level a forest, and even a talking crow that was worshiped as a god before some hero offed it. But before I can get too deep into how screwed the average adventurer must be, something else catches my attention.


    Slimes.


    Now, that¡¯s unexpected.


    I frown, flipping back a page just to make sure I¡¯m reading this right. Yeah, slimes. The weakest of the weak. The tutorial enemies of every RPG ever.


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    According to this book, they¡¯re everywhere, bouncing around open fields and plains¡ªjust like the ones surrounding the Lachius estate. That means I might be able to see one in person soon.


    Unlike wolves and boars, slimes don¡¯t rely on speed or strength. Instead, they have gelatinous bodies that make them highly resistant to physical attacks. A sword slash? They¡¯ll wobble. A blunt strike? They¡¯ll jiggle. But actually killing them? That¡¯s where things get tricky.


    But what really gets my attention is their diet.


    Unlike normal creatures that eat meat or plants, slimes feed on Fluxicles¡ªthe microscopic energy cells that allow magic to exist. Most of the time, they survive by absorbing magic from the air or simply basking in sunlight like weird, squishy plants.


    But when food gets scarce?


    That¡¯s when things get ugly.


    The book notes that some slimes have been known to attack livestock, draining them dry of their magical energy. And in rare cases? They¡¯ve even attacked humans.


    So¡­ basically, slimes are adorable little mana vampires.


    I glance out the nearby window, my mind already wandering. If they¡¯re as common as this book says, there must be dozens of them out there, bouncing around in the fields beyond the estate.


    The thought of seeing one up close makes me a little excited.


    But what about unique slimes?


    I scan the pages, looking for any records, but there¡¯s nothing. Not a single mention of a unique slime.


    Now that¡¯s odd. Every other monster species has at least one recorded case, but slimes? Nothing.


    Does that mean they don¡¯t exist? Or has no one ever survived meeting one?


    I shut the book, tapping my fingers against the cover.


    The world keeps getting more interesting. And if slimes are really as harmless as people think¡­ Maybe I should test that theory myself.


    I close the book with a soft thud, my mind racing. Slimes, huh? They¡¯re common in the plains¡­ and the plains are just outside the mansion.


    An idea takes root in my brain. A stupid, reckless, brilliant idea.


    I need to see one.


    But there¡¯s a problem. I can¡¯t exactly waltz outside on my own. I need an accomplice. Someone gullible enough to fall for my natural-born charm.


    Which means¡­ I need to find Lina.


    I hop off my bed and waddle into the hallway, my little legs carrying me forward with determination. The mansion¡¯s corridors are long and elegant, lined with polished wooden floors and tall windows that flood the space with golden sunlight.


    And there¡ªjackpot.


    Lina stands in the middle of the corridor, mop in hand, humming softly as she cleans. Her blonde, drill-shaped pigtails bounce slightly as she sways with the rhythm of her work. Unlike Mara, who always carries herself with refined grace, Lina has a bubbly, almost clumsy charm.


    I take a deep breath. Time to activate maximum cuteness.


    I dash toward her, throwing myself dramatically against her leg. "Linaaa!"


    She jumps, nearly dropping the mop. "Young master?! Where did you come from?"


    I look up at her, eyes wide, voice laced with innocence. "I wanna go outside."


    Lina frowns immediately. "Outside? Why?"


    I clutch the book tighter against my chest. "Slimes."


    She blinks. "Slimes?"


    I nod, dead serious. "I read about them. They live in the plains. I wanna see one."


    Lina sighs, rubbing her forehead. "Young master, the outside is dangerous. Your father¡ª"


    I grip her sleeve, tugging lightly. "Pleeease, Lina?" My voice is soft, pleading. "You¡¯re the best maid ever¡­ and my favorite¡­"


    Lina stares at me, visibly conflicted. Her lips press into a thin line. I can see the gears in her head turning, battling between responsibility and the fact that she¡¯s weak to my puppy-eyed attacks.


    She groans. "You¡¯re going to be the death of me, young master."


    I grin. "So that¡¯s a yes?"


    She sighs in defeat. "Fine. But only for a little while. And if we see anything dangerous, we¡¯re coming back immediately."


    I pump my tiny fist in victory. Success!


    The moment we step outside, the scent of fresh grass and wildflowers fills my nose. The plains stretch endlessly, golden waves of tall grass swaying under the afternoon sun. A soft breeze rustles my hair, and for a second, I just take it all in.


    It feels¡­ different.


    Unlike the suffocating walls of the mansion, this feels open, free.


    But I don¡¯t have time to get lost in the scenery. We have a mission.


    And then¡ªI spot them.


    Three slimes bounce lazily near a patch of wildflowers, their gelatinous bodies wobbling with each movement. One is light green, the second is blue, and the third is semi-transparent, almost like liquid glass.


    I gasp dramatically. "Lina! Look! Slimes!"


    Lina chuckles, watching my excitement. "Yes, young master, I see them."


    I waste no time approaching, crouching down in front of the green one. It wiggles slightly, as if noticing me.


    I must poke it.


    Slowly, I extend a finger and press into its squishy surface.


    Squish.


    It jiggles.


    Oh, this is amazing.


    I poke it again. Squish. Jiggle.


    Then a thought crosses my mind.


    What if¡­ they¡¯re reincarnated like me?


    I stare at the slime, narrowing my eyes. I mean, it¡¯s possible, right? A reincarnated person could totally end up as a slime. And if that¡¯s the case, I should probably make friends with them now before they awaken some godlike power and become my enemy.


    I shudder at the thought. I¡¯d hate to fight a super-powerful slime.


    Lina giggles. "Young master, what are you thinking?"


    I look up at her, completely serious. "Nothing."


    She doesn¡¯t buy it. "You were making a weird face."


    I ignore her and turn back to the slime, watching it wobble. Then, curiosity gets the best of me.


    I lean in close and whisper, "Hey¡­ Can you talk?"


    The slime jigs.


    I gasp.


    "Lina. It responded."


    Lina bursts into laughter, clutching her stomach. "It¡¯s not responding! Slimes just move like that!"


    That¡¯s exactly what a reincarnated slime would want you to think.


    She shakes her head, still giggling. "Oh, young master¡­"


    Despite her amusement, I continue poking the slimes, fascinated by their bouncy, jelly-like nature. They¡¯re so simple yet mesmerizing.


    For the first time in a long while, I feel like a kid. A real kid.


    And honestly?


    I don¡¯t hate it.

 The Book Thief

    Another dull morning. Another dull day.


    It¡¯s been three years since I was reincarnated into this world, and honestly, I¡¯ve gotten used to the routine. Life as a noble isn¡¯t bad¡ªgood food, luxurious surroundings, and personal maids who cater to my every need. But for all the comfort, it¡¯s also suffocating.


    I wake up, eat breakfast, listen to Lina¡¯s constant chattering, read whatever books she sneaks me, have lunch, explore the halls, get scolded for trying to enter restricted areas, eat dinner, and then sleep. Every. Single. Day.


    I want to see the world outside these damn walls. Eryndor, the capital city of Garthram, is not far from here, but I¡¯ve never set foot in it. I know it exists because I¡¯ve read about it, but books can only take me so far.


    Unfortunately, the life of a noble child isn¡¯t one of adventure¡ªat least, not yet. Lucian keeps me locked in this mansion like a rare collector¡¯s item, and Grilda, as sweet as she is, never questions his authority. Mara and Lina? They enforce the rules, of course. No matter how much I beg, they won¡¯t let me leave.


    But today¡­ today is different.


    I can hear Mara¡¯s voice from the library.


    ¡°Lina, stop slacking off and help me with the dusting,¡± she says, her tone crisp and commanding.


    Lina groans dramatically. ¡°Maraaa, it¡¯s so boring! Who even reads half these books?¡±


    Mara sighs. ¡°That¡¯s why we clean them. If they¡¯re forgotten, dust will ruin them.¡±


    I freeze mid-step.


    Mara¡¯s cleaning the library today?


    This only happens once every few months. She removes all the books from the shelves to dust and polish them, which means the forbidden magic books¡ªusually kept on the highest shelves¡ªare now stacked on the floor.


    This is my chance.


    I tiptoe down the corridor, glancing around for potential threats. The coast is clear. I slip into the library, my heart pounding in anticipation.


    The moment I step inside, the scent of old parchment and polished wood fills my nose. Dust swirls in the golden light streaming through the tall windows. Stacks of books cover the floor, some opened, their ancient pages whispering secrets of the past.


    I move fast, scanning the titles. Most are boring historical records or books on noble etiquette. No, no, no¡­ There!


    A book titled "Imagination and Realization: Mana Control for Beginners."


    Jackpot.


    I snatch it up and bolt out of the library before Mara or Lina notice. I don¡¯t stop until I¡¯m safely back in my room, door shut behind me.


    Taking a deep breath, I sit on my bed and flip open the book.


    The first chapter is straightforward. Mana is an energy that exists within every living being. To perform magic, a mage must direct this energy through their body and release it as a spell.


    Simple enough.


    The book says that to activate a spell, I need to visualize mana as if it were flowing through my veins, like blood. Then, I must focus it into a specific point¡ªlike my palm¡ªbefore activating the spell.


    ¡°Imagine it like breathing,¡± the book explains. ¡°Natural, instinctive, and ever-present.¡±


    I nod to myself. ¡°Alright. Let¡¯s test this.¡±


    The next page introduces a beginner spell: Lumius.


    ¡°Light of the heavens, heed my call, and banish the dark¡ªLumius!¡±


    I raise my hand and focus.


    For the past three years, I¡¯ve felt something strange within me, like a second pulse beneath my skin. Could that be my mana?


    I close my eyes and concentrate.


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    I picture tiny streams of energy running through my body, flowing like an invisible current. I imagine directing it toward my palm, shaping it into light.


    Then, I speak the incantation:


    ¡°Light of the heavens, heed my call, and banish the dark¡ªLumius!¡±


    For a moment, nothing happens.


    I frown. Did I get it wrong? Was that supposed to be dramatic, and the spell is actually just a scam?


    But then¡ª


    A small, flickering orb of golden light appears in my hand.


    I stare at it, stunned.


    It¡¯s real.


    I just used magic.


    A slow grin spreads across my face.


    This is incredible! The light flickers slightly, like a weak candle flame, but it¡¯s mine.


    I focus harder, and the light grows brighter. When I lessen my focus, it dims.


    So¡­ mana flow determines the strength of the spell?


    I spend the next hour experimenting, increasing and decreasing the mana flow, watching as the light in my hand shifts from a soft glow to a radiant flare.


    The sun starts to set outside, but I barely notice. It wasn''t long before night fell.


    Night had fallen, and the mansion was wrapped in its usual, eerie silence. The only sound was the occasional gust of wind rattling against the windows.


    I sat cross-legged on my bed, still marveling at the tiny flickering orb of light hovering over my palm. Even after hours of practice, I couldn¡¯t get enough of it.


    Magic.


    I could actually use magic.


    But just as I was about to try extinguishing and reigniting the light, my bedroom door slammed open.


    "Young Master!"


    I nearly jumped out of my skin.


    Standing in the doorway, eyes narrowed and glasses gleaming menacingly, was Mara. Her posture was stiff with barely restrained irritation, and in her hand was a long sheet of parchment.


    Oh no.


    "I counted every book that was removed for cleaning today," she said, stepping into my room with all the grace of a debt collector about to ruin someone¡¯s life. "And do you know what I discovered?"


    I swallowed. "Uh¡­ That math is your passion?"


    Mara¡¯s glare could have incinerated me on the spot.


    "I discovered that we are missing exactly one book. A book that was neither returned nor accounted for." She pointed a gloved finger directly at me. "And I don¡¯t suppose you, Young Master, have any idea where it might be?"


    I glanced at the book lying wide open beside me.


    Yeah, I was caught.


    In my defense, Mara is terrifyingly good at numbers. This isn¡¯t the first time I¡¯ve stolen¡ªborrowed¡ªa book, but how does she always know? I swear, she must count books the same way a dragon counts its gold.


    I sighed. "Alright, alright. I took it. But in my defense, it was for the sake of learning!"


    Mara¡¯s eye twitched. "You mean you snuck into the library, took a book you knew was off-limits, and didn¡¯t think there would be consequences?"


    "Well, when you put it like that, it sounds bad."


    "It is bad, Young Master!" She crossed her arms. "If Master Lucian finds out¡ª"


    But before she could continue, I raised my hand.


    "Mara, look!"


    In an attempt to defend my honor, I summoned my magic.


    A small, golden orb of light appeared in my palm¡ªcompletely on its own.


    Mara froze.


    Her mouth, which had been in full scolding mode, stopped mid-sentence.


    I tilted my head. "Uh¡­ Mara?"


    Her gaze flickered between my face and the glowing sphere. "Young Master¡­ what spell is this?"


    "Lumius."


    "¡­Where is the incantation?"


    I blinked. "Huh?"


    Mara marched over and snatched my wrist, lifting my hand higher, studying the glowing sphere like it had just announced its intention to overthrow the kingdom.


    "You didn¡¯t say the incantation," she murmured, more to herself than to me.


    I shrugged. "I just¡­ thought about it. And it happened."


    Her fingers tightened slightly around my wrist.


    Oh. That¡¯s not normal, is it?


    Mara didn¡¯t say anything for a long moment. Then, abruptly, she sighed and let go of my wrist.


    "We¡¯ll discuss this later," she said, sounding unusually tense. "Come. It¡¯s time for dinner."


    I didn¡¯t argue. Mostly because her expression was unreadable, and that was a little terrifying.


    Dinner was usually a quiet, painfully formal affair.


    Lucian sat at the head of the table, cold and unreadable as always. Grilda sat across from me, her smile soft as she cut her food into tiny pieces before taking delicate bites.


    I focused on eating as silently as possible.


    But then¡ª


    Mara cleared her throat.


    "Master Lucian, Lady Grilda," she said, loud and clear, her voice ringing through the dining hall. "I must report something important about Young Master Castiel."


    I froze.


    Oh, no.


    I could feel Lucian¡¯s piercing gaze shift to me instantly. Grilda, on the other hand, simply raised an eyebrow.


    Mara continued, "While retrieving a book that Young Master had taken from the library, I discovered something remarkable."


    Please don¡¯t say it. Please don¡¯t say it.


    "Castiel was able to perform Lumius without an incantation."


    The room fell into absolute silence.


    I felt my stomach drop. I slowly turned my head toward Lucian, bracing myself for the worst.


    Was I about to get banished? Locked up? Disowned?


    But Lucian didn¡¯t react at all.


    He simply nodded once.


    "¡­Understood."


    Wait, that¡¯s it?


    Grilda, however, broke into the warmest smile I had ever seen from her.


    "My little boy is already learning magic," she said softly, her violet eyes shimmering with pride. "How wonderful."


    Lucian set his fork down. "Lina. Mara."


    Both maids straightened instantly at the sound of his voice.


    "From now on," he said smoothly, "you will begin training Castiel in magic."


    My eyes widened. Wait, really? Just like that?


    Mara bowed slightly. "As you command, Master Lucian."


    Lina, who had been oddly silent this whole time, suddenly grinned and gave me a playful wink.


    "Looks like you¡¯re getting a head start, huh, Young Master?"


    I swallowed.


    Well¡­ that could have gone worse.


    Still, as I continued eating, my mind raced.


    This wasn¡¯t normal. The way Mara reacted, the way Lucian immediately ordered training without hesitation¡ªit all pointed to one thing.


    This is rare.


    And in a world where the strong rule, being rare could be both a blessing and a curse.


    For now, though, I¡¯d take what I could get.


    I could use magic. And starting tomorrow, I was going to learn how to wield it properly.

 Noble Festival

    I¡¯m five years old now.


    Five years since I was reincarnated into this world. Five years of adjusting to a life of nobility.


    In that time, two things have remained constant in my routine:


    Mana control lessons with Lina. Thanks to her guidance, I¡¯ve learned how to circulate my mana efficiently and cast simple spells like Lumius with ease. My control is far from perfect, but I¡¯ve made progress.


    Noble etiquette lessons with Mara. And by lessons, I mean grueling hours of learning how to walk, talk, and eat without embarrassing myself in front of other nobles. Mara has made it very clear that a noble¡¯s image is everything¡ªone wrong move, and I could tarnish the reputation of the Lachius family.


    And today, all of that is about to be tested.


    Because tonight, we¡¯re attending the birthday celebration of Princess Jeanne Aikahn at the royal palace of Garthram¡ªan event where all of the empire¡¯s nobility will gather. A true showcase of power and influence.


    Lina stood in front of me, fussing over my outfit like a mother dressing her child for the first day of school.


    ¡°Hold still, young master!¡± she huffed, straightening the dark wool sweater I was wearing.


    I sighed but complied, resisting the urge to roll my eyes.


    Although I¡¯ve had small birthday celebrations at home before, this was different. This wasn¡¯t just some simple cake baked by the maids¡ªthis was a royal event. The clothes I was wearing reflected that: a white button-down shirt, a dark sweater, tailored brown shorts, and polished leather shoes.


    I glanced at my reflection in the mirror. My black hair was neatly combed, and my violet eyes stared back at me, sharp and focused.


    ¡°There! You look so cute~¡± Lina beamed, stepping back proudly.


    I groaned. ¡°Lina¡­ I¡¯m not cute.¡±


    She ignored me, clasping her hands together. ¡°Shall we go? The carriage is waiting!¡±


    ***


    Outside, the night sky stretched endlessly, a vast canvas speckled with countless stars. The air was cool and crisp, carrying the faint scent of flowers drifting from the garden.


    Waiting at the entrance was our carriage¡ªa sleek black vehicle, its polished surface gleaming under the starlight. Silver inlaid serpent patterns coiled along its frame, the unmistakable crest of the Lachius family.


    Standing beside it, reins in hand, was Mara. As always, she carried herself with perfect composure, her blonde hair neatly tied in a bun, not a single strand out of place. The thin-rimmed glasses perched on her nose caught the glow of the stars, briefly obscuring the sharp blue eyes beneath.


    I hesitated for a moment, my gaze shifting to the horses at the front, already harnessed and waiting.


    ¡°¡­We¡¯ve had a carriage this whole time?¡± I asked, raising an eyebrow.


    Mara adjusted her glasses, her tone calm and measured. ¡°Yes, young master. The horses are kept in the stables behind the mansion. The carriage is only prepared for official business.¡±


    Ah. So that¡¯s why I never saw it before. It wasn¡¯t some extravagant display of wealth¡ªit was simply reserved for necessity.


    Without another word, Lucian stepped in first, followed by Grilda, and then me. Mara secured the door behind us before climbing onto the driver¡¯s seat. With a flick of the reins, the horses let out sharp exhales, hooves striking against the cobblestone as the carriage rolled forward.


    We were on our way to Eryndor.


    ***


    The road to the capital was long and uneven, the wheels of the carriage clattering against the stone-paved path. The swaying motion wasn¡¯t exactly pleasant, but after some time riding in one, I had gotten used to it.


    Through the small glass window, I watched as the scenery changed.


    At first, it was endless plains, stretching beneath the starry sky. But soon, farmhouses and villages came into view, their windows glowing with warm candlelight. The further we traveled, the busier the roads became, filled with other noble carriages, merchant wagons, and travelers on horseback.


    And then, I saw it.


    Eryndor¡ªthe grand capital of the Garthram Empire.


    A massive stone wall towered in the distance, stretching across the horizon. It was fortified with iron reinforcements and lined with watchtowers, their torches flickering against the night. At the gates, soldiers clad in crimson capes and polished armor stood vigilant, overseeing the steady flow of carriages and citizens entering the city.


    As we passed through, my eyes widened.


    The streets were alive with movement.


    People walked along the cobblestone roads, illuminated by oil lamps mounted on stone pillars. Market stalls lined the streets, their vendors selling everything from exotic fabrics to freshly baked bread. Noblemen and women dressed in extravagant garments strode with pride, while commoners bustled about with purpose.


    But what truly caught my attention was the sheer variety of people.


    Back at the mansion, I was used to seeing the same muted hair colors¡ªblack, white, blonde. But here?


    People had brilliant hues¡ªemerald green, sapphire blue, fiery crimson. Some even had golden streaks or silver highlights running through their locks. Their eyes shimmered with unnatural colors, further setting them apart.


    In my past life, I was just another faceless nobody in the crowd.


    Here? I was the strange one.


    ***


    The carriage finally slowed to a halt, and I felt a tightness in my chest as I realized we had arrived.


    Through the window, I saw it¡ªthe royal palace of Garthram.


    It was a structure beyond anything I had ever imagined.


    Built from pristine white marble, the palace walls gleamed under the moonlight, each spire reaching toward the heavens. Banners of the golden lion sigil hung proudly, swaying with the night breeze.


    At the entrance, ornate golden doors stood tall, carved with intricate images of dragons and celestial beings. The entire scene radiated power and majesty.


    Standing in perfect formation, rows of guards in silver armor lined the entrance, their faces unreadable as they watched the incoming guests.


    My hands clenched slightly.


    This was it.


    The heart of noble society, where alliances were made, trust was rare, and mistakes could cost everything.


    I took a deep breath, preparing myself for what lay ahead.


    ***


    The grand golden doors of the palace swung open, revealing an interior that made even the extravagant Lachius mansion look modest.


    The ballroom was a cathedral of luxury, stretching high with gold-trimmed pillars and ornate chandeliers that bathed the room in a warm, ethereal glow. The polished marble floor gleamed under the candlelight, reflecting the hundreds of nobles elegantly dressed in flowing gowns and ceremonial coats embroidered with family sigils.


    For a moment, I almost forgot to breathe.


    So this is the pinnacle of noble society¡­


    My eyes flickered around, taking in the sheer opulence of it all. Every corner of the ballroom radiated wealth and power, from the intricate stained-glass windows depicting legends of old to the musicians playing a gentle melody with their string instruments.


    We hadn¡¯t even been here five minutes before a familiar deep voice greeted us.


    ¡°Lucian! It¡¯s been too long!¡±


    A towering figure strode toward us, his presence impossible to ignore.


    Gurstag Dundragon.


    The man was built like a warrior straight out of legend¡ªtall, broad-shouldered, and covered in a thick layer of muscle. His crimson-red hair and beard were immaculately groomed, and his sharp red eyes gleamed with authority. Though he was dressed in the formal attire of a noble, the sheer force of his presence made it obvious¡ªthis man was a soldier first, noble second.


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    Beside him, a much softer presence followed.


    Alessa Dundragon, his wife.


    She was the opposite of her husband¡ªgraceful, refined, with long, golden locks cascading down her back and serene blue eyes that carried warmth. Compared to Gurstag¡¯s commanding presence, Alessa felt like a gentle breeze in a storm.


    As the two approached, Gurstag¡¯s gaze landed on me. His eyes narrowed for a moment before his lips curled into a smirk.


    ¡°So this is the infamous Castiel Lachius, huh?¡± He crossed his arms, inspecting me like he was assessing a recruit. ¡°Kid looks just like you, Lucian.¡±


    I blinked.


    Did I just get compared to that guy?


    Lucian remained composed, nodding slightly. ¡°He carries the Lachius name well.¡±


    Alessa stepped forward with a warm smile, kneeling slightly so we were at eye level. ¡°It¡¯s lovely to meet you, Castiel. I hope you¡¯re enjoying the festival.¡±


    I immediately straightened my posture, channeling every lesson Mara had drilled into me about proper noble etiquette.


    I placed my right hand over my chest, giving a flawless noble bow. ¡°It¡¯s an honor to make your acquaintance, Lady Alessa, Lord Gurstag.¡±


    Alessa¡¯s eyes twinkled with amusement. ¡°Such a well-mannered boy.¡±


    Gurstag chuckled. ¡°Hah! The kid¡¯s got composure, I¡¯ll give him that.¡± He turned to Lucian. ¡°You raising him to be just like you?¡±


    Lucian didn¡¯t answer, only offering a noncommittal nod.


    ¡°Speaking of important matters,¡± Gurstag¡¯s tone shifted, his easygoing demeanor replaced with something more serious. ¡°Lucian, we need to talk.¡±


    Lucian¡¯s expression barely changed, but I could tell from the slight shift in his posture that he already knew what this was about.


    Grilda turned to me, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. ¡°Castiel, why don¡¯t you take this opportunity to get along with the other children?¡±


    I hesitated, but I could tell from her tone that this wasn¡¯t a request.


    ¡°¡­Understood, Mother.¡±


    As Lucian and Gurstag walked away, I found myself alone in a sea of unfamiliar faces.


    I sighed, feeling slightly out of place. A child among wolves.


    But before I could dwell on it¡ª


    The room suddenly fell silent.


    The golden doors at the far end of the ballroom opened once more, and a presence unlike any other stepped through.


    Martin Aikahn¡ªthe King of Garthram.


    The crown on his head was a testament to his power. The man exuded power, authority, and unwavering confidence.


    He was tall, strong, and imposing, with long silver-gray hair flowing past his shoulders and piercing green eyes that could command a battlefield with a single glance. His regal coat, embroidered with the royal lion sigil, only reinforced his image as the most powerful man in the empire.


    But my gaze soon shifted to the small girl holding his hand.


    Jeanne Aikahn¡ªthe princess of Garthram.


    She had vivid purple hair tied into twin tails and brilliant green eyes, mirroring her father¡¯s intensity but with an innocent playfulness beneath them.


    As they walked forward, the king¡¯s voice boomed through the ballroom, filled with authority.


    ¡°Today is a day of celebration! My beloved daughter, Jeanne, has grown another year, and I am honored to share this moment with all of you.¡±


    There was a round of applause, and I saw Jeanne smile shyly as she held onto her father¡¯s hand.


    Martin continued.


    ¡°May this festival be a joyous occasion for all noble families. Let this be a reminder of the strength of our unity, the prosperity of our kingdom, and the future we build together.¡±


    With that, he raised his goblet, signaling the beginning of the true festivities.


    The nobles cheered, the music resumed, and the grand feast officially began.


    <h3 style="text-align: center">***


    I wasn¡¯t exactly in the mood to socialize, so I found myself drifting toward a quieter corner of the ballroom, watching the nobility enjoy their extravagant meals.


    That was when I heard it.


    ¡°Hey, you there.¡±


    I turned my head, only to see a boy¡ªabout my age¡ªstanding a few feet away.


    He had short blond hair, piercing blue eyes, and a small mole beneath his left eye.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± I asked, crossing my arms.


    The boy grinned proudly, puffing out his chest. ¡°I¡¯m Arthur Dundragon! Son of Gurstag Dundragon, the general of the kingdom¡¯s army!¡±


    Oh.


    So this was the Dundragon heir.


    I straightened slightly. ¡°Castiel Lachius.¡±


    Arthur tilted his head. ¡°Huh. Never seen you around before.¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t get out much.¡±


    Arthur smirked. ¡°Then let¡¯s fix that! Wanna go play in the palace gardens?¡±


    I hesitated. ¡°I don¡¯t know if that¡¯s¡ª¡±


    ¡°Oh, come on!¡± Arthur grinned. ¡°King Martin lets us play there on Jeanne¡¯s birthday! He¡¯s scary, but fair.¡±


    I glanced at the adults, who were too busy drinking and discussing politics to care.


    ¡°¡­Fine.¡±


    Arthur beamed and immediately led the way.


    <h3 style="text-align: center">***


    The royal gardens were vast¡ªa paradise of lush greenery, blooming flowers, and fountains that sparkled under the moonlight. Other noble children were already running around, laughing and playing.


    Arthur turned to me with an excited grin. ¡°Alright, time for a sword duel!¡±


    I blinked. Violent games? How noble.


    Before I could protest, Arthur picked up two sticks from the ground.


    ¡°Forte Espada!¡±


    A faint glow surrounded the sticks, and before my eyes, they transformed into polished wooden swords.


    I stared. ¡°Was that¡­ magic?¡±


    Arthur laughed. ¡°Nope! It¡¯s my blessing!¡±


    I recalled the books I had read about blessings¡ªrare gifts granted to certain individuals at birth.


    Arthur tossed me one of the swords, a confident smirk on his face.


    ¡°Come on, Castiel! Let¡¯s duel!¡±


    Around us, the other children gathered, eager to see how this would unfold.


    I sighed, gripping the wooden sword.


    So this was my first noble¡¯s duel, huh?


    Well, no turning back now.


    Arthur twirled his wooden sword in his hand, his stance exuding an excitement I didn¡¯t quite share. Around us, the other noble children had already formed a circle, eager to witness the so-called ¡°duel.¡±


    ¡°The rules are simple,¡± Arthur announced. ¡°Whoever lands a hit on the other¡¯s body first wins!¡±


    Straightforward enough.


    I sighed internally. This isn¡¯t even a real duel. It¡¯s just kids playing with sticks.


    I tightened my grip around the wooden sword Arthur had given me. I had no real desire to hurt him, and frankly, this felt more like a game than an actual competition. My plan was simple¡ªdefend, dodge, and wait for an opportunity to end this without making him look bad.


    No need to humiliate the general¡¯s son, after all.


    But then¡ª


    Arthur lunged.


    CRACK.


    The moment our swords clashed, a sharp impact echoed throughout the garden, and a powerful vibration ran through my arms.


    I staggered back.


    What the hell?


    My hands felt like they had just smacked into solid steel. My muscles tensed from the shock of the blow, my fingers momentarily numbing.


    Arthur grinned. ¡°Not bad! But you look surprised.¡±


    I gritted my teeth, steadying my stance.


    He¡¯s five years old. How the hell is he this strong?


    I adjusted my grip, bracing myself as Arthur lunged again.


    The air buzzed with excitement as the children cheered.


    Arthur swung.


    I dodged.


    He swung again.


    I blocked.


    Clack! Clack! Clack!


    His strikes were heavy¡ªhe had raw strength on his side. But there was one glaring flaw: he was slow.


    Each time he raised his sword, there was a long delay before the next strike. I could see the movement of his shoulders, the slight shift in his weight¡ªtelegraphing his every move.


    I narrowed my eyes.


    I could use this.


    I steadied my stance, shifting from evasion to defense. My grip tightened around the wooden hilt, and I began parrying his blows efficiently, redirecting them rather than absorbing them.


    Arthur frowned, his brows knitting in focus.


    ¡°You¡¯re good,¡± he admitted.


    I almost smirked. This was easier than I thought.


    After all, I just needed to imitate the swordsmen I¡¯d seen in anime.


    The calculated blocks, the footwork, the rhythm¡ª


    And then¡ª


    I got hit.


    Arthur suddenly twisted his wrist, switching the angle of his attack mid-swing.


    I barely had time to react.


    SMACK.


    The wooden sword tapped lightly against my forehead.


    The crowd of children gasped, then erupted into cheers.


    ¡°¡­Eh?¡±


    Did I just¡­ lose?


    I blinked in disbelief.


    Did I seriously just get beaten by a five-year-old?


    No, I am also five years old.


    But still!


    Arthur grinned widely. ¡°That was awesome! You¡¯re the first person who¡¯s actually managed to defend against me!¡±


    I wasn¡¯t listening. My mind was still racing.


    Forte Espada.


    That was the name of his blessing. Strong Sword.


    It had to mean something.


    The moment he activated it, the stick in his hand transformed into a wooden sword. But was that all? If his blessing was truly just about ¡°creating¡± swords, that wouldn¡¯t explain the sheer weight and force behind his strikes.


    No¡ªthere was more to it.


    If I had to guess, Forte Espada didn¡¯t just change the shape of an object into a sword¡ªit fortified it.


    Strengthened it. Made it hit harder.


    That would explain how Arthur, a five-year-old, was swinging with enough force to shake my bones.


    I exhaled slowly. Yeah¡­ this kid is going to be dangerous one day.


    Arthur held out a hand. ¡°Let¡¯s be friends, Castiel!¡±


    I stared at him, my pride still aching from the loss.


    ¡­But looking at his excited expression, I couldn¡¯t find it in me to refuse.


    I sighed, reaching out and shaking his hand.


    ¡°Fine. But next time, I¡¯m winning.¡±


    Arthur laughed. ¡°We¡¯ll see about that!¡±


    And just like that, I had made my first real friend in this world.

 The Weight of a Name

    As the last echoes of cheering faded and the noble children scattered, the energy of the duel settled into the air like the remnants of a storm. I was still gripping the wooden sword, my fingers slightly numb from the impact of our clashes. Arthur, still smiling, wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve.


    That was¡­ fun. More fun than I expected.


    I hadn¡¯t realized how much I missed the thrill of a real fight¡ªnot the kind from my past life¡¯s fantasy novels, but an actual physical exchange, one where I had to react, adapt, and think on my feet. Arthur was strong. He wasn¡¯t just some spoiled noble¡¯s son swinging a sword like a toy; he had real talent.


    A few meters away, standing just beyond the garden path, two familiar figures were watching. Grilda and Alessa.


    Their expressions were soft, filled with something I wasn¡¯t entirely used to¡ªpride.


    Alessa was the first to react, walking over with quick strides before pulling Arthur into a tight hug. The boy barely had time to register the motion before being smothered by his mother¡¯s embrace.


    "You did so well, Arthur!" Alessa cooed, ruffling his golden hair as he squirmed in embarrassment.


    "Mother, please!" Arthur groaned, attempting to pry himself away.


    Meanwhile, Grilda knelt before me, her violet eyes glistening with warmth. Without warning, she wrapped her arms around me, nuzzling her cheek against my hair.


    "You were amazing, Castiel," she whispered. "I¡¯m so proud of you."


    A strange feeling settled in my chest.


    I didn¡¯t hate it.


    It was warm, comforting¡ªsoothing in a way I hadn¡¯t felt in a long time. And yet¡­ it didn¡¯t feel entirely real.


    She¡¯s kind. She¡¯s caring. And in this life, she¡¯s my mother.


    But deep down, I can¡¯t see her as one.


    Not completely.


    No matter how much time passes, the memories of my old life still linger. I remember my mother from before. Her face, her voice, her laugh¡ªeven if they¡¯re fading, they¡¯re still there.


    Grilda¡¯s affection stirs something in me, but there¡¯s always that distant disconnect. Like I¡¯m playing a role I can¡¯t fully commit to.


    I hug her back, though. Just for a moment.


    After the duel, we were led to a grand banquet hall within the palace. The sheer size of it was overwhelming¡ªtall, gilded ceilings with chandeliers glowing like captured stars, walls adorned with lavish tapestries, and rows upon rows of dining tables draped in silk. The scent of roasted meats, fresh bread, and exotic spices filled the air.


    For a five-year-old, this was paradise.


    I ate as much as my tiny body allowed, which, in the grand scheme of things, wasn¡¯t much. But compared to my usual meals at home, this was a feast fit for a king.


    Music played softly in the background, nobles engaged in quiet discussions, and for the first time, I felt like I was truly experiencing the world outside of the Lachius mansion.


    But like all good things, it eventually came to an end.


    ***


    The journey back was a stark contrast to the lively banquet.


    The carriage rattled along the stone-paved roads, the night air cool against the glass windows. The moon hung high, casting a silver glow over the landscape as we moved through the dimly lit streets of Eryndor.


    Inside, Lucian sat by the window, his sharp blue eyes staring at the passing scenery, lost in thought.


    Silence stretched between us, until¡ª


    "You must be proud, Lucian," Grilda suddenly spoke.


    Lucian barely glanced at her. "Of what?"


    "Of Castiel," she said, a hint of amusement in her voice. "Did you see him? He held his ground against Gurstag¡¯s son."


    For a brief second, Lucian¡¯s eyes widened.


    It was quick¡ªalmost imperceptible¡ªbut I caught it. A flicker of surprise, as if the idea of me holding my own in a fight had never even crossed his mind.


    Then, just as quickly, he composed himself.


    "Hmph. It seems Castiel has more than just a talent for magic," he said coolly, closing his eyes. "I¡¯ll have Mara refine that talent in the art of the sword."


    I blinked.


    Wait. Mara?


    Mara¡ªthe woman who spends her days polishing floors and scolding me for taking books? That Mara?


    I almost laughed.


    There was no way. No way she was some secret combat instructor.


    But Lucian wasn¡¯t joking.


    "She¡¯s an expert in weapons and hand-to-hand combat," he continued. "While Lina has a natural affinity for magic, Mara is her counterpart¡ªmore than capable of handling your training."


    I stared at him, dumbfounded.


    I had a hard time imagining it. Sure, Mara was tall, elegant, and always carried herself with poise, but a combat expert? She barely looked like she broke a sweat doing housework.


    This had to be some kind of joke.


    Still, if Lucian was ordering it, then it was happening.


    That night, as we arrived at the mansion, I was more exhausted than I realized. The moment I climbed into bed, sleep dragged me under like a tidal wave.


    At least¡­ until thirst woke me up.


    Groggily, I stumbled out of bed, rubbing my eyes as I padded barefoot through the dimly lit halls. The mansion was eerily silent, the usual warmth replaced with the cool stillness of the late hour.


    I made my way to the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with water using the Aquapura spell¡ªwhich I had already mastered thanks to training with Lina and was able to use without enchantment. The first sip cooled my throat, but just as I was about to head back to my room¡ª


    Voices.


    Muffled but urgent.


    I froze, my ears picking up the hushed tones coming from Lucian and Grilda¡¯s bedroom.


    Curiosity got the better of me. Quietly, I crept closer, pressing my ear against the heavy wooden door.


    "The nobles are suspicious, Grilda." Lucian¡¯s voice was low, sharp. "They think we¡¯re hiding something from the crown."


    A pause.


    Grilda sighed. "They¡¯ve always been wary of us, Lucian. It¡¯s nothing new."


    "This time it¡¯s different," Lucian countered. "Gurstag told me himself¡ªthe rumors are spreading faster than before."


    Rumors?


    I frowned, straining to hear.


    "They believe we¡¯re planning a coup."


    My breath caught in my throat.


    Grilda let out a quiet, bitter laugh. "A coup? That¡¯s absurd."


    "Is it?" Lucian¡¯s tone was ice-cold. "They see us as a threat, Grilda. We possess knowledge no other noble family has, and because we refuse to share it, they assume we¡¯re plotting something."


    Silence.


    I felt my heart beat against my ribs.


    A coup? The Lachius family being suspected of treason?


    I had read enough history books to know where accusations like this led. Paranoia. Betrayals. Executions.


    I stepped back from the door.


    This was bad.


    And something told me it was only the beginning.


    ***


    A sharp impact jolted me back to reality.


    Pain flared in my right arm as the wooden sword struck, the sting running up to my shoulder. I hissed through my teeth, instinctively tightening my grip on my own sword.


    "You¡¯re distracted," Arthur said, stepping back. "Are you okay?"


    Before I could respond, a familiar firm voice cut through the air.


    "Young master, what are you thinking? Focus on your opponent."


    I turned to see Mara, her arms crossed, her sharp blue eyes locked onto me with disapproval. She stood tall, her blonde hair pulled into its usual immaculate bun, the only sign of exertion being the slight adjustment of her glasses.


    I exhaled slowly, shaking off the daze in my head.


    Right. I was in the middle of a sparring session with Arthur.


    The vast plains near the mansion stretched endlessly around us, the grass swaying gently under the weight of an overcast sky. The sun was hidden behind a sea of thick gray clouds, casting the world in a dull, muted light.


    It had been several days since my training with Mara began, and I had quickly learned one thing: she wasn¡¯t just good at combat¡ªshe was terrifyingly skilled.


    At first, I thought Lucian was joking when he said she was an expert. How could the same woman who scolded me for tracking mud into the house also be capable of breaking bones with precise strikes?


    But after just one lesson, my entire body was sore.


    And it only got worse from there.


    My training had been intense¡ªtoo intense for a five-year-old, honestly. But thanks to a partnership between Lucian and Gurstag, I was given another challenge alongside my training with Mara: sparring matches against Arthur.


    Which brought me to this moment.


    Mara let out a quiet sigh, finally lowering her arms. "We¡¯ll take a short break," she declared, stepping back. "Don¡¯t waste it."


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Without another word, she turned and walked toward the mansion, likely to fetch water¡ªor maybe to give me a moment to gather my thoughts.


    I sighed, tossing my wooden sword onto the grass before flopping down next to it. My limbs felt like lead.


    Arthur sat beside me, setting his sword down neatly before leaning back on his hands.


    For a moment, we just breathed.


    The distant sound of wind rustling through the plains filled the silence, a stark contrast to the constant pressure building inside my mind.


    This was too much.


    I was five years old.


    And yet here I was, training like a soldier, learning magic, swordsmanship, etiquette, and politics all at once.


    It was insane. Even by Garthram¡¯s standards, a nation that worshiped strength, this was pushing it.


    Not to mention¡­


    My thoughts drifted to that conversation I overheard in the middle of the night.


    The nobles suspect the Lachius family of plotting a coup.


    It was absurd. But absurd rumors had toppled dynasties before.


    If they decided we were a threat, it wouldn¡¯t matter whether the rumors were true or not.


    I stared up at the dull gray sky, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on me.


    Was this how my second life was going to be?


    Constant training. Constant expectations. Constant paranoia.


    Arthur¡¯s voice pulled me from my thoughts.


    "You know," he said, running a hand through the grass, "you kinda remind me of your father."


    I turned my head toward him, raising an eyebrow. "Lucian?"


    Arthur nodded. "Yeah. You¡¯ve got his talent."


    I frowned. "I don¡¯t even know what he¡¯s talented at."


    Arthur chuckled. "You really don¡¯t know?"


    I shook my head.


    Arthur plucked a blade of grass and twirled it between his fingers. "When my mother was pregnant with me, she got really sick. It was bad. The healers couldn¡¯t do anything for her, and my father¡ªhe¡¯s a great warrior, but he¡¯s not a doctor. Everyone thought she was going to lose me."


    I blinked. I hadn¡¯t expected that.


    Arthur¡¯s gaze lifted toward the sky. "But then Lucian showed up."


    I sat up slightly, curiosity piqued.


    "He made this medicine, some alchemical thing no one else could replicate. My father said it worked almost instantly. My mother got better, and well¡­" He gestured to himself. "Here I am."


    I stared at him.


    I never knew that.


    Lucian had always been distant, cold¡ªpractically indifferent toward me. I never really thought of him as someone who saved lives.


    Arthur turned back to me, grinning. "So yeah, if you¡¯re even a little bit like him, you¡¯re gonna be someone really strong someday."


    I snorted. "I don¡¯t know if that¡¯s a good thing."


    Arthur gave me a puzzled look. "What do you mean?"


    I sighed, looking away. "Never mind."


    There was no point in explaining my complicated relationship with Lucian.


    Arthur chuckled, nudging me with his elbow. "Well, I think you¡¯re cool. And you can do magic without chanting. You have no idea how rare that is. Even grown-ups struggle with that, and most kids our age can barely control their Mana."


    I blinked. "You too?"


    Arthur nodded. "Yeah. I have to chant just to make my blessing work properly. But you? You just think and magic happens. That¡¯s¡­ really cool."


    He shifted slightly, plucking another blade of grass. "I bet you¡¯ll be one of the strongest nobles when we grow up."


    I stared at him.


    There was no jealousy in his voice¡ªonly genuine admiration.


    Arthur looked at me like I was someone worth looking up to.


    The weight pressing down on me eased¡ªjust a little.


    I reached over and ruffled his hair, making him yelp.


    "Thanks," I said, a small smirk tugging at my lips.


    Arthur pouted, fixing his now-messy hair. "You¡¯re the worst."


    But he was smiling.


    ***


    The afternoon air was thick with the weight of exhaustion as I stepped into the mansion, the faint ache in my limbs a constant reminder of my training session with Arthur. Mara had pushed me hard these past few days, and now, with the added sparring, my body was starting to understand the true meaning of fatigue.


    I let out a quiet sigh, rolling my shoulder as I made my way toward the grand staircase. A bath and a good book¡ªthat was all I needed to reset my brain.


    After a moment of aimless wandering through the library, I found something that piqued my interest. "Noble Families and Their Origins."


    A thick, leather-bound tome with gold lettering etched onto the spine.


    I traced my fingers over the title, curiosity sparking in my chest.


    Maybe if I read this, I¡¯d get a better grasp on the political landscape of Garthram. Understanding how these nobles operated might help me navigate this world¡¯s power struggles more effectively.


    Tucking the book under my arm, I turned on my heel and started heading back to my room.


    But as I passed by the hallway leading to my parents'' chambers, something caught my attention.


    The door was ajar.


    And inside, I saw Grilda.


    She sat on the edge of her bed, her normally flawless white hair disheveled, strands sticking to the sweat on her forehead. She held a cloth pressed to her mouth, her shoulders trembling as she coughed violently into it.


    Then, as she pulled the cloth away¡ª


    Red.


    The once-pristine fabric was now stained with fresh blood.


    I froze.


    For a moment, the world around me seemed to blur, the distant chatter of maids and the creak of floorboards fading into the background.


    This¡­ wasn¡¯t the first time.


    I had noticed it before. The way Grilda stayed in bed longer. The way her already pale skin looked almost ghostly some mornings. The dark circles under her eyes.


    I had even asked her about it once.


    "Mother, are you feeling well?"


    She had smiled, as she always did, and waved me off.


    "Everything is fine, dear. Don¡¯t worry yourself."


    A lie.


    And like an idiot, I believed her.


    I gritted my teeth, forcing my legs to move before she could notice me lingering in the hallway.


    I couldn¡¯t deal with this right now.


    I needed a distraction.


    Clutching the book tighter, I hurried back to my room.


    I flopped onto my bed, flipping open "Noble Families and Their Origins" in an attempt to drown out the image of Grilda¡¯s blood-stained cloth from my mind.


    The pages were filled with detailed histories of Garthram¡¯s noble houses, each one wielding influence over different aspects of the empire.


    The Lachius family was among the most revered, known for revolutionizing studies in magic and herbology. A lineage of scholars, alchemists, and researchers who spent centuries unraveling the secrets of mana. Their reserved nature had made them a target of suspicion, but their contributions were undeniable.


    I skimmed through it quickly¡ªI already knew all that.


    The Dundragon family, on the other hand, had no noble blood. They had earned their status through generations of unwavering loyalty to the royal family. Unlike the Lachius, who preferred solitude, the Dundragons were deeply embedded within the military and politics of the empire.


    I smirked.


    They reminded me of the ass-kissing employees back at my old job.


    The kind of people who never really stood out, never really contributed anything groundbreaking¡ªbut always knew exactly which strings to pull to stay in the boss¡¯s good graces.


    It made sense why Gurstag and his family were trusted by the king. They weren¡¯t a threat. They didn¡¯t hoard knowledge, didn¡¯t isolate themselves from the other nobles.


    They were the perfect subordinates.


    But then, as I turned the next page, something new caught my attention.


    The Sylvaine family.


    My eyes lingered on the name, an odd sense of unease creeping up my spine.


    The passage detailed their unique characteristics¡ªwhite hair, pale skin, and an immense mana reserve unmatched by any other noble lineage.


    However, their arrogance became their downfall.


    The Sylvaines viewed themselves as the purest bloodline, refusing to mix with other families. Their obsession with maintaining their so-called ¡®purity¡¯ led to a long history of inbreeding, which utterly destroyed their genetics.


    Over the years, their once-mighty bloodline began to deteriorate.


    Many were born sickly and weak, and a terrible affliction spread among them¡ªa genetic disease, passed down through generations, one that slowly drained their bodies until they withered away.


    I sat up straight.


    A hereditary disease¡­ that slowly kills its victims?


    My fingers tightened on the book¡¯s edges.


    I had seen Grilda coughing up blood.


    She had white hair. Pale skin.


    My heartbeat quickened.


    Was this¡­ the same disease?


    I swallowed hard, my mind racing.


    If this was genetic, then it meant¡­


    I shut the book.


    I didn¡¯t want to think about it.


    But deep down, I already knew.


    Grilda was dying.


    And there was nothing I could do to stop it.


    I couldn¡¯t ignore this. No matter how much I tried to push it to the back of my mind, the truth was suffocating. I sat there, gripping the book so tightly that my knuckles turned white, my breath coming in short, uneven bursts.


    A memory forced itself to the surface.


    It was Frigora, the coldest season of the year. Snow blanketed the plains outside the mansion, and the windows were glazed with ice. I had fallen ill with the flu, my small body racked with fever. Lina and Mara had been more than capable of taking care of me, but instead¡ª


    Grilda volunteered.


    I remembered her soft hands brushing against my forehead, her voice gentle as she whispered words of comfort. She had wrapped me in warm blankets, cradling me close as if I were something fragile.


    ¡°Drink this, dear.¡± She had pressed a cup of warm milk with honey into my tiny hands. ¡°It¡¯ll help you feel better.¡±


    Her violet eyes¡ªso kind, so full of love¡ªhad watched over me the entire night.


    Even though I couldn¡¯t see her fully as my mother, she had been there when I needed her. She always was.


    And now, I owed her.


    I couldn¡¯t sit back and do nothing.


    Lucian had to know.


    I stood, clutching the book to my chest as I made my way through the dimly lit hallways. Each step felt heavier than the last.


    Soon, I was standing before a large wooden door near the end of the hallway. The initials L.L. gleamed in gold on its surface¡ªLucian Lachius.


    I raised my fist and knocked once.


    Silence.


    Then, Lucian¡¯s voice, calm but cold.


    ¡°Who is it?¡±


    I didn¡¯t answer. Instead, I knocked again.


    A pause. Then, footsteps.


    The door swung open, revealing Lucian standing there in his usual black attire, his piercing blue eyes narrowing the moment he saw me.


    ¡°What are you doing here?¡± His tone was sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade. ¡°You aren¡¯t supposed to be in this part of the mansion.¡±


    I felt a wave of frustration rise in my chest.


    Ignoring his warning, I held up the book, flipping it open to the page about the Sylvaines.


    "Did you know that?" I demanded, my voice trembling with anger. "While you sit in your office all day, my mother is dying!"


    Lucian¡¯s expression darkened. His gaze flickered to the book, then back to me, and for the first time¡ªI saw something other than indifference in his eyes.


    It was brief. A flicker.


    But I recognized it instantly.


    Guilt.


    Then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by pure fury.


    ¡°You think I don¡¯t know that?¡± His voice was low, dangerous. ¡°You think I¡¯m just sitting here, ignoring it?¡±


    I clenched my fists. "You''re supposed to be the head of this family. How can you just¡ª"


    The slap came out of nowhere.


    A sharp, burning pain exploded across my cheek, and before I knew it, I was on the floor, my book slipping from my grasp and landing with a dull thud beside me.


    I barely registered the pain.


    All I could do was stare up at him, my heart pounding in my chest.


    Lucian towered over me, his usually composed expression cracked, his hands trembling at his sides.


    ¡°You are a foolish child,¡± he muttered, his voice quieter now, but no less intense.


    He looked away, running a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply as if trying to steady himself.


    Then, his next words shattered me.


    ¡°I already know about this,¡± he said, his voice hoarse. ¡°That¡¯s why I stay in this office all day.¡±


    I felt the blood drain from my face.


    Lucian turned to his desk, his shoulders tensed, his back to me now.


    ¡°I have spent years searching for a cure,¡± he murmured, almost to himself. ¡°Reading every alchemical text, experimenting with formulas, consulting every resource available.¡±


    His fists clenched against the desk.


    ¡°There is none.¡±


    Silence.


    Cold, suffocating silence.


    The weight of his words settled over me like lead.


    I had never seen Lucian like this before. He always carried himself with absolute control, always kept his emotions in check.


    But now, standing in his office surrounded by books filled with empty answers, he looked defeated.


    He turned back to me, his gaze sharp once more, his mask of cold authority snapping back into place.


    ¡°I don¡¯t need a child lecturing me,¡± he said, voice hard as steel. ¡°Stay out of things you don¡¯t understand.¡±


    Then, without another word, he reached for the door¡ª


    And shoved me out.


    The door slammed shut, leaving me standing there, my cheek still stinging, my mind spinning.


    Lucian wasn¡¯t heartless.


    He was desperate.


    But even with all his intelligence, all his resources¡ªhe was powerless.


    And so was I.

 Memorable Anniversary

    Four months have passed.


    So much has changed since then.


    Lucian, of all people, apologized to me. It was strange¡ªhe didn¡¯t say much, just that he was wrong to hit me, but for him, that was practically an emotional outburst. Since then, he¡¯s been trying to be¡­ better. More present. More like an actual father.


    Most importantly, he found a cure for Grilda¡¯s illness. A mix of rare medicinal herbs and alchemical refinement¡ªit¡¯s not a miracle cure, but it¡¯s working. Grilda¡¯s health has stabilized, and she no longer spends entire days confined to bed. It¡¯s a relief, even if a small part of me still feels uneasy about it.


    Lucian has also been working to strengthen ties with the Garthram Empire, improving the Lachius family''s standing with the crown. He doesn¡¯t say much about it, but I¡¯ve overheard Mara and Lina talking¡ªapparently, rumors of our family plotting against the king are starting to die down.


    And then, before I knew it, today arrived.


    My birthday.


    I don¡¯t expect much¡ªafter all, for the past five years, my birthdays have been simple. Just a small cake, a pat on the head from Grilda, and maybe an extra cookie from Lina if I¡¯m lucky. That¡¯s it.


    And that¡¯s fine. It¡¯s not like I¡¯m expecting a grand noble celebration.


    So when I head downstairs toward the kitchen, my mind still fogged from afternoon reading, the last thing I expect is¡ª


    ¡°HAPPY BIRTHDAY!¡±


    The sudden chorus of voices shakes me awake.


    I stop in my tracks, my brain struggling to process the scene in front of me.


    Gurstag, Alessa, Arthur, Mara, Lina¡­ and of course, Lucian and Grilda.


    They¡¯re all here.


    For me.


    What?


    ¡°W-what¡¯s this?¡± I ask, blinking in confusion.


    Lina grins, her drill-shaped pigtails bouncing as she clasps her hands together. ¡°It¡¯s your birthday, silly! We couldn¡¯t hold back and decided to surprise you.¡±


    The others nod in agreement, their smiles warm and genuine.


    For a second, I just¡­ stare.


    But we¡¯re a noble family. We have so many more important things to do, and¡ª


    ¡°Castiel.¡±


    Lucian¡¯s voice snaps me out of my thoughts. His sharp blue eyes meet mine as he steps forward, placing a firm hand on my shoulder.


    ¡°None of that matters today,¡± he says, his tone softer than usual. ¡°A lot of good things have happened these past few months. Of course, we have responsibilities, but for today, we celebrate.¡±


    ...I don¡¯t know what¡¯s more surprising. The fact that they¡¯re throwing a party for me, or the fact that Lucian is the one saying this.


    Before I can process it, Mara steps forward, carrying an elaborate three-tiered cake.


    It¡¯s massive.


    The creamy white icing glistens under the kitchen¡¯s golden candlelight, decorated with sliced strawberries and¡ªof course¡ªsix tiny candles on top.


    Lina steps up, extending a hand.


    ¡°O great lords of the eternal flame, hear my call. Let your divine wrath ignite the air, and may your sacred fire consume all in its path, Incendium.¡±


    A small flame flickers to life at her fingertips, and with a playful smile, she waves her hand over the cake, lighting each candle in an instant.


    She winks at me. ¡°Go on, birthday boy. Make a wish.¡±


    I hesitate.


    A wish?


    I¡­ don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever seriously thought about it. Not since I arrived in this world.


    But if I had to choose...


    I don¡¯t want power. I don¡¯t want glory. I just...


    I want friends. A purpose. Maybe even¡­ Love.


    Something meaningful.


    I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and blow out the candles.


    A round of applause erupts.


    Mara, ever the perfectionist, immediately starts cutting slices of cake with precision, distributing them onto delicate porcelain plates.


    I take my first bite, and the rich, creamy texture melts in my mouth.


    ¡­This is actually amazing.


    Maybe being spoiled isn¡¯t so bad.


    After everyone has had their fill, Grilda suddenly claps her hands together.


    ¡°But that¡¯s not all!¡± she says, her violet eyes twinkling. ¡°Lucian, give him his present.¡±


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    A present?


    That¡¯s new. I¡¯ve never received an actual gift before¡ªjust a cake, maybe a new pair of shoes if I was lucky.


    Lucian disappears down the hall and returns moments later, carrying something almost as tall as me.


    A twisted wooden staff, its deep brown surface coiling like vines, topped with a gleaming purple orb.


    He hands it to me, his expression neutral¡ªbut there¡¯s a hint of something beneath it. Pride, maybe? Excitement?


    ¡°This is Velmora¡¯s Staff,¡± he explains. ¡°Made of twisted magic oak and an abyssal oyster pearl.¡±


    I grip it carefully, feeling the weight in my small hands. It¡¯s beautiful.


    ¡°Velmora?¡± I ask, tilting my head. The name rings a bell.


    ¡°It¡¯s from an old tale,¡± Grilda says, smiling softly. ¡°A man who searched the depths of the ocean to retrieve a rare pearl for his beloved Velmora¡­ only to be swallowed whole by the abyssal oyster that guarded it.¡±


    Ah. Right.


    I remember reading something similar in a book of short stories. A tragic love story.


    A staff like this isn¡¯t something you can just buy off a shelf. It¡¯s expensive. Custom-made. A mage without a catalyst can only cast simple spells, which is why my magic lessons with Lina have felt¡­ stagnant.


    With this, I can actually start making real progress.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± I say, looking at my parents. ¡°Really.¡±


    Lucian simply nods, but Grilda¡¯s warm smile is enough.


    Before I can bask in the moment, a deep booming laugh fills the kitchen.


    ¡°Magic is nice and all¡­¡± Gurstag¡¯s voice echoes.


    I turn to see him grinning, his arms crossed over his massive chest. His red beard shakes as he chuckles, and from his waistband, he pulls¡ª


    A sheathed sword.


    A real one.


    Not a wooden practice sword.


    He hands it to me, and I immediately struggle under its weight.


    ¡°You¡¯ll grow into it,¡± Gurstag says with a grin. ¡°That¡¯s a real sword used by the Garthram army¡ªour gift to you.¡±


    Before I can say anything, his massive hand lands on my head, ruffling my hair with excessive force.


    I squirm under his grip. ¡°T-thanks¡­¡±


    Arthur, standing beside him, grins and pumps his fist. ¡°Now we can practice for real!¡±


    I glance at the sword in one hand, and the staff in the other.


    Magic. Swordsmanship.


    Two completely different paths.


    A strange feeling stirs in my chest.


    I feel like I¡¯m standing at a crossroads.


    The warmth of the celebration still lingered in the air, the taste of cake fresh on my tongue as I held my new staff, Velmora, in my hands. Everyone was in high spirits¡ªwell, as high as they could be considering Lucian¡¯s usual stone-faced demeanor.


    Then, Lina suddenly clapped her hands together, a mischievous grin stretching across her face.


    ¡°Well, young master,¡± she said, placing her hands on her hips, ¡°since you¡¯ve got yourself a fancy new staff, how about we put it to the test?¡±


    I blinked. ¡°Put it to the test?¡±


    ¡°A little magic duel,¡± she said playfully. ¡°Nothing dangerous, of course. Just a simple Lumius Challenge.¡±


    Mara sighed, already pinching the bridge of her nose. ¡°Lina, he just got the staff.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s exactly why this is the perfect time!¡± Lina argued, turning back to me. ¡°What do you say, birthday boy? Think you can beat me?¡±


    I frowned, gripping my staff a little tighter. A duel with Lina? That sounded¡­ unfair. She was leagues ahead of me in terms of magic. But at the same time, I wasn¡¯t about to back down.


    I shrugged, putting on my best cocky smirk. ¡°I mean, you¡¯re kind of old for a magic duel, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    Lina gasped, her hands flying to her chest in mock offense. ¡°Old?! How rude! Now I have to put you in your place.¡±


    Gurstag let out a hearty laugh. ¡°Now this, I want to see.¡±


    Even Lucian looked vaguely interested, which was practically the equivalent of throwing a parade in his name.


    And so, the entire group made their way outside to the plains near the mansion. The night air was crisp, the sky a blanket of endless stars. The plains stretched far, a perfect open space with only the occasional lantern from the mansion casting a soft glow over the grass.


    Lina tapped her foot impatiently as I took my position a few meters away from her. Everyone else stood around us, watching with anticipation.


    She spun her finger in the air. ¡°Alright, here are the rules! We both cast Lumius. The first one whose light flickers loses. No touching each other, no physical interference¡ªjust pure concentration. Got it?¡±


    I nodded. ¡°Got it.¡±


    ¡°Then let¡¯s begin.¡±


    I exhaled slowly, adjusting my grip on Velmora.


    Alright, Castiel. You¡¯ve got this. It¡¯s just Lumius. The first spell you ever learned. No big deal.


    I took a deep breath, feeling the mana flow through me, focusing on the image in my mind.


    Light of the heavens, heed my call, and banish the dark¡ªLumius.


    A bright, steady orb of white light flickered to life above my palm. At the same time, Lina¡¯s own Lumius appeared, glowing just as brightly.


    For a few seconds, there was silence.


    Then, Lina grinned.


    And I knew I was in trouble.


    Wind.


    A sudden breeze picked up, sweeping through the plains.


    At first, I thought it was natural. But no. That was definitely Lina. She wasn¡¯t touching me, but she was using the environment to break my concentration.


    Oh, so we¡¯re playing dirty?


    Fine. Two can play at that game.


    I focused, channeling more mana into my Lumius, making it shine even brighter, enough to momentarily disrupt her vision.


    Lina flinched, shielding her eyes.


    ¡°H-Hey! That¡¯s cheating!¡±


    ¡°Says the one messing with the wind?¡± I shot back.


    She huffed but didn¡¯t deny it. Instead, she adjusted her stance, her lips curving into a smirk.


    That was a mistake.


    Because then, she started humming.


    At first, it seemed harmless. Just a little melody. But the longer it went on, the more irritatingly distracting it became.


    My eye twitched.


    Oh, for the love of¡ª


    Then she started dancing.


    Not just any dance. A ridiculous, over-the-top twirl, her maid dress fluttering dramatically in the night breeze.


    But that wasn¡¯t what caught my attention.


    No. It was the bouncing.


    ¡­Oh.


    I blinked.


    Then blinked again.


    Lina¡¯s, uh¡­ assets moved a lot.


    Way more than they should.


    Wait. Was that even normal? Physics shouldn¡¯t allow that, right?


    My brain completely derailed.


    What kind of unfair distraction technique is this?!


    And just like that¡ª


    My Lumius flickered.


    ¡°AH-HA!¡± Lina shouted, pointing at my light. ¡°I WIN!¡±


    I scowled. ¡°That wasn¡¯t fair! You were¡ª¡±


    ¡°Entertaining you?¡± she grinned.


    Damn it.


    Gurstag burst into laughter. Even Grilda covered her mouth to suppress a chuckle.


    Mara sighed. ¡°Honestly, Lina¡­¡±


    Lucian, as usual, didn¡¯t react much¡ªbut I could see a slight nod of approval.


    I sighed, dropping Lumius and rubbing my temple.


    I really need to work on my focus¡­

 Nightmare

    A sharp clang slices through the silence of the night.


    My eyes snap open. My heart beats sluggishly in my chest, my mind still fogged with sleep. For a moment, I stare at the dark ceiling, wondering if I imagined it.


    Then, I hear it again. Clashing metal. Followed by shouts.


    I push myself up, blinking against the dim light filtering through my window. My limbs feel heavy, my mind sluggish. What the hell is going on?


    The noise is coming from downstairs. I slide out of bed, my bare feet hitting the cold floor, and move toward the door. My fingers hesitate on the handle. Something about this feels wrong.


    I crack the door open and peer down the hallway. Nothing but empty silence. But the moment I step into the corridor, I hear it clearly.


    Shouts. Grunts of pain. A crash.


    My stomach twists, and before I can stop myself, I run.


    My small legs carry me down the hall, past the tall windows where moonlight spills onto the polished floor. The moment I reach the grand staircase, my breath catches.


    Lucian. Lina. Mara.


    They''re fighting.


    Dark figures in black cloaks and skull masks move like shadows, their daggers flashing in the dim candlelight. Assassins.


    Lina¡¯s hands blaze with fire, her usual playful demeanor replaced with deadly focus. Mara wields a halberd, spinning it with precision, keeping enemies at bay. And Lucian¡ªhis sword cuts through the air with terrifying accuracy, his face a mask of cold fury.


    The sight sends a cold shiver down my spine.


    This isn¡¯t a burglary. They¡¯re here to kill us.


    My grip tightens at my sides. I have to help. Maybe if I¡ª


    "Castiel!"


    Lucian''s voice snaps like a whip, his gaze locking onto mine. "Go protect your mother! Now!"


    A dagger slashes toward him. He blocks it just in time, parrying the attack with a sharp, metallic clang.


    I hesitate, my breath catching in my throat. I want to stay. I want to help.


    But then it hits me¡ªGrilda is alone.


    I turn and run.


    I dash through the corridors, my mind racing. Who are those men? Mercenaries? Why are they attacking us?


    I don¡¯t have answers. I don¡¯t care.


    All I care about is getting to Grilda.


    I burst into my room and grab Velmora¡¯s staff. The twisted wood is cool against my palms, the purple gemstone catching the faint glow of moonlight. I hold it tightly and sprint toward my parents'' room.


    I reach the door. My fingers tremble as I push it open¡ª


    And my world collapses.


    Grilda sits on the bed, still. Silent.


    Moonlight washes over her pale skin, her long white hair cascading over her shoulders. Her violet eyes¡ªonce so full of warmth¡ªare open but lifeless.


    And buried in her chest is a dagger.


    My breath stops.


    I drop Velmora¡¯s staff. It clatters against the floor, but I don¡¯t hear it. I can¡¯t hear anything.


    My body moves on its own, my legs stumbling forward. My shaking hands reach out, pressing against her shoulders.


    "Mom?"


    She doesn¡¯t move.


    I press harder. ¡°Mom, wake up.¡±


    Nothing.


    My fingers trail up to her cheek. Her skin is cold.


    A broken noise escapes my throat, something raw and unbearable. My knees hit the floor beside the bed, my chest heaving.


    No. No, no, no.


    She was fine yesterday. She was laughing, smiling¡ª


    I squeeze my eyes shut. This isn¡¯t real.


    But when I open them, she¡¯s still there.


    Still dead.


    Tears blur my vision, hot streaks rolling down my face and dripping onto the bloodied fabric of her nightgown. Why? Why does it feel like my entire world is shattering?


    She wasn¡¯t even my real mother.


    So why does it hurt so much?


    My breath comes in ragged gasps, my throat tightening.


    I want to see her open her eyes.


    I need to see her open her eyes.


    Then¡ªfootsteps.


    I freeze.


    Slowly, I turn my head.


    Two figures stand in the doorway, black skull masks obscuring their faces.


    One of them tilts his head. His voice is eerily calm.


    "The heir of Lachius crying like a baby... What a shame."


    Something inside me snaps.


    "I¡¯ll kill you!"


    The words rip from my throat, raw and filled with venom. I lunge for the staff on the floor and grip it with both hands. My breath is ragged, my small frame trembling, but I don¡¯t care.


    The assassins raise their daggers.


    I don¡¯t care.


    I¡¯ll burn them alive.


    I channel my mana, forcing it to ignite. No words. Just pure intent.


    Incendium.


    A spark flickers at the tip of Velmora¡¯s staff, but it¡¯s too slow.


    The assassin moves.


    His dagger glints in the moonlight, already slashing toward my throat.


    Too fast.


    And then¡ª


    A violent, unnatural force erupts from within me.


    A wave of purple fire explodes outward, swallowing the room in an eerie glow. The assassin closest to me is blasted backward, crashing into the wall with a sickening crunch.


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    I collapse.


    A sharp pain ignites in my chest, burning. My stomach twists violently, my head spinning. It feels like something else is inside me.


    Something cold. Powerful. Ancient.


    I choke, gagging on the sheer weight of it. My hands dig into the floor, my vision swimming.


    Did I do that?


    The assassins¡ªthey¡¯re shaking.


    But not at me.


    Their terrified eyes are fixed behind me.


    I turn, my body trembling¡ª


    And freeze.


    Something sits where Grilda¡¯s body should be.


    A creature.


    Long raven-black hair, streaked with silver. Eyes as white as freshly fallen snow¡ªempty, yet piercing. Skin like polished porcelain, but etched with golden runes.


    Loose chains hang from her wrists and ankles, rattling softly as she moves.


    I feel my stomach churn.


    The assassins stumble backward.


    Then¡ªthe creature strikes.


    Chains lash out, wrapping around one of the assassin¡¯s throats. He doesn¡¯t even have time to scream. His head is ripped clean off.


    The second assassin turns to flee.


    He doesn¡¯t make it.


    The creature moves in a blur, her fingers slicing into his flesh like a blade. Blood splatters across the walls¡ª


    And across my face.


    I can¡¯t move.


    I can¡¯t breathe.


    My entire body is frozen.


    I stare at the thing before me, my mind unable to comprehend what just happened.


    The chains rattle softly. The creature¡¯s pure-white eyes meet mine.


    And I finally understand.


    That thing...


    That monster...


    Is my mother.


    ***


    The house is silent.


    No voices. No clashing steel. No screams.


    Just silence.


    It¡¯s wrong.


    A suffocating stillness clings to the air, so heavy it feels like I¡¯m drowning in it. My grip on Velmora¡¯s staff tightens as I force myself forward. Every step is agony. My vision blurs at the edges, the burning inside me still raging, twisting my insides like molten iron.


    The staircase looms before me. My legs feel like lead, my breath shallow, my chest tight. My head pounds, my body sways, and for a moment, I almost collapse. I clutch the wooden railing, fingers digging into the smooth surface.


    Just keep moving.


    One step. Then another.


    I descend.


    And then I see it.


    I freeze.


    My lungs forget how to breathe.


    The entrance hall stretches before me, bathed in the dim glow of the lanterns. And lying motionless in the center of it all¡ª


    Lucian.


    Lina.


    Mara.


    No.


    A cold dread claws its way up my spine, squeezing my heart in an unrelenting grip. I take a step forward, my hands trembling.


    They¡¯re dead.


    Lucian¡¯s sword lies discarded beside him, his dark robes soaked in red. The proud, untouchable man¡ªreduced to nothing more than a corpse.


    Lina, the maid who always teased me, who always had a bright smile¡ªher golden curls are matted with blood. Her blue eyes, once full of mischief, now stare blankly at the ceiling.


    Mara, always composed, always meticulous. Her glasses are missing, shattered somewhere across the hall. A dagger is buried deep in her chest.


    A choked sound escapes me.


    I take another step¡ª


    My foot slips.


    A wet, sticky squelch.


    I stagger, glancing down.


    Blood.


    Pooling beneath them. Dark. Thick. Endless.


    My stomach twists violently.


    I barely make it two steps before I drop to my knees and retch. Vomit spills onto the cold marble floor, bile burning my throat, my body convulsing with dry heaves long after there¡¯s nothing left inside me.


    The air reeks of iron, of death, of something so horribly wrong that my mind refuses to process it.


    This¡ªthis can¡¯t be real.


    It has to be a nightmare. Any second now, I¡¯ll wake up in my bed. I¡¯ll hear Lina¡¯s teasing voice, Mara¡¯s sighs, Lucian¡¯s stern orders¡ª


    I¡¯ll see Grilda¡¯s smile.


    I¡¯ll wake up.


    I¡¯ll wake up.


    I¡¯ll¡ª


    A sob wracks through me before I can stop it. My nails dig into my palms, the sharp sting grounding me in reality.


    No.


    This isn¡¯t a dream.


    They¡¯re gone.


    All of them.


    And then¡ª


    A sound.


    A low, trembling whimper.


    I snap my head up.


    Three figures remain.


    Three assassins.


    They stand near the entrance, cloaked in black, their daggers still dripping red. Their masks¡ªblack skulls¡ªhide their faces.


    But they aren¡¯t attacking.


    They aren¡¯t moving at all.


    They¡¯re kneeling.


    One of them drops his dagger with a clatter. His shoulders tremble. "P-Please," he stammers, voice weak, desperate.


    Another assassin presses his forehead to the bloodstained floor. "We¡­ we didn¡¯t know¡ª"


    Their bodies shake.


    Not with anger. Not with resolve.


    With fear.


    I don¡¯t understand.


    What are they so afraid of?


    And then¡ª


    Chains rattle behind me.


    A presence looms. Cold. Silent. Wrong.


    I don¡¯t turn around.


    I don¡¯t have to.


    The assassins do, though.


    Their masked faces tilt upward, their bodies stiff with terror.


    One assassin lets out a strangled scream.


    He turns to run.


    It doesn¡¯t matter.


    She moves.


    A blur of black and white.


    The rattle of chains.


    A sickening crack.


    The assassin¡¯s body jerks unnaturally. His head¡ªsevered clean from his shoulders¡ªrolls across the bloodied floor.


    The other two assassins barely have time to react before she¡¯s on them.


    Screams. Blood. Wet, tearing flesh.


    A massacre.


    And then¡ªsilence.


    The air is thick with the scent of death.


    I stand there, gripping my staff so tightly my fingers go numb. My breathing is ragged, shallow, my body still trembling from the nausea, the horror.


    I force myself to look.


    And there she is.


    The thing that was once my mother.


    Her porcelain-white skin is splattered with red. The golden runes carved into her body pulse faintly in the dim light. Chains coil loosely around her wrists, rattling softly. Her empty, white eyes meet mine.


    No warmth. No recognition.


    Just void.


    My breath hitches.


    This¡­ this isn¡¯t Grilda.


    This thing is not my mother.


    Trying to escape of this madness I open the front door of the mansion.


    The night air is cold against my skin as I stagger out of the mansion, my breath ragged, my legs barely carrying me forward. The wind howls across the empty plains, but it¡¯s nothing compared to the chaos I just left behind. Blood. Corpses. That thing. My hands are trembling as I clutch Velmora¡¯s staff, my knuckles white from the force of my grip. My mind is a storm, thoughts crashing into one another, screaming over each other, demanding answers I don¡¯t have.


    I don¡¯t want to think. I don¡¯t want to feel.


    I just want this nightmare to end.


    Slowly, I turn back toward the mansion. The once-grand estate of the Lachius family stands in eerie silence, its walls soaked in the horrors that took place inside. The light of the moon casts long shadows over the entrance. Everything looks the same, yet nothing is. This place isn¡¯t a home anymore¡ªit¡¯s a tomb. A graveyard for the people I once knew.


    A graveyard for my family.


    I swallow, my throat dry and aching. My hands move on their own, magic flowing instinctively from within me as I raise my staff. There¡¯s nothing left here but death, so I¡¯ll let fire claim it all.


    I cast the spell Incendium.


    Flames bloom to life at the tip of my staff, bright and hungry, crackling as they stretch toward the mansion. The fire latches onto the wooden beams, the curtains, the walls, devouring everything in its path. It spreads like a living beast, climbing higher and higher, painting the dark sky in a sickening glow of orange and red. Smoke billows into the air, thick and suffocating, carrying the stench of burning flesh.


    And yet, through the dancing flames, I see it.


    Standing motionless amidst the inferno, watching me from the doorway.


    The thing that was once my mother.


    Its blank, white eyes remain locked onto mine, unreadable, emotionless. Chains rattle softly around its wrists and ankles, swaying as if whispering secrets only the dead can hear. It doesn¡¯t move. It doesn¡¯t try to escape the flames. It just stands there, a silent witness to the destruction.


    I should feel relief.


    Instead, all I feel is a sickness twisting deep inside me.


    I tear my gaze away and run.


    The grass beneath my feet is damp with dew, soft compared to the harsh marble floors of the mansion. My bare feet pound against the earth, each step carrying me farther from the flames, farther from the blood, farther from everything I¡¯ve lost. The wind roars past me, chilling my sweat-soaked skin, but I don¡¯t stop. I can¡¯t.


    I don¡¯t know where I¡¯m going.


    I just know I need to get away.


    The plains stretch endlessly before me, the vast expanse of darkness swallowing the last remnants of civilization. Above, the stars shine cold and distant, indifferent to my suffering. My body screams for rest, my lungs burn with every breath, but I push forward, blinded by grief, by rage, by the sheer refusal to accept what has happened.


    Then, suddenly, my strength gives out.


    My legs buckle, and the world tilts. I hit the ground, my fingers digging into the dirt, but I barely feel it. My vision swims, darkness creeping at the edges, swallowing the sky, the stars, everything. My breathing slows, my body heavy, my consciousness slipping.

 The Wanderer

    A scent.


    It was faint at first, a delicate whisper against the cold void of unconsciousness. Then it grew, weaving itself into my senses, dragging me back from the abyss.


    The crisp, clean scent of fresh leaves. The soft sweetness of wildflowers. Damp earth, kissed by morning dew. The faint, distant murmur of running water.


    I inhale sharply, my lungs stinging as they remember how to breathe. My fingers twitch against something soft¡ªgrass. Slowly, my body stirs. My eyelids flutter open, greeted by the blinding embrace of the sun.


    I wince. The light stabs through the haze in my mind, and for a moment, I forget where I am.


    Then reality settles in.


    The towering trees, their thick roots sprawling across the ground like ancient veins. The sunlight filtering through the canopy, casting dappled golden hues onto the forest floor. The vibrant blue and red wildflowers that dot the lush green carpet of grass.


    The sound of birds, their songs distant yet rhythmic, filling the silence between the rustling leaves. The faint hum of insects hidden beneath the foliage.


    A deep ache pulses through my body, my limbs stiff and heavy. My throat is dry, my lips cracked. I try to sit up, and pain flares in my ribs.


    ¡°¡­Where am I?¡± I mutter hoarsely, my voice barely above a whisper.


    I blink rapidly, rubbing my bleary eyes with the back of my trembling hand. Everything around me is unfamiliar. This isn''t the Lachius mansion. This isn¡¯t home.


    Home.


    Memories surge back in a brutal wave.


    The assassins. The blood. Grilda¡ªdead in her bed. Lucian, Lina, Mara¡ªslaughtered in the entrance hall. That thing wearing my mother¡¯s face, tearing through the intruders like a beast from hell.


    My stomach twists violently.


    A cold shiver runs down my spine. I feel my breath hitch, coming in short, uneven gasps. My fingers dig into the dirt beneath me.


    No. No. No.


    I press my forehead against my knees, squeezing my eyes shut. The images won¡¯t leave me. The scent of iron, the heat of the fire, the screams¡ª


    ¡°So, you¡¯ve woken up.¡±


    The voice is soft, smooth¡ªyet distant, detached.


    My head jerks up instantly, my body tensing despite the soreness wracking my muscles.


    I scan my surroundings, eyes darting between the trees. There¡¯s no one. Only shadows stretching between the trunks.


    I grit my teeth. ¡°Who¡¯s there?¡± My voice is rough, hoarse, but I try to sound firm.


    A figure steps forward.


    From between the tall trees, she emerges¡ªgraceful, unhurried, as if she has all the time in the world.


    A girl.


    Long green hair cascades down her back, her forelocks framing a pale face. Piercing red eyes, distant and unreadable. She¡¯s slender, tall for a girl her age, with long legs and a composed posture. Her black dress fits loosely, a golden cross adorning the center of her chest.


    She stares at me, unblinking.


    ¡°Humans are so alarmed by the unknown,¡± she murmurs, a small sigh escaping her lips. ¡°You should be grateful. After all, I saved your life.¡±


    I narrow my eyes. ¡°Saved me?¡±


    She tilts her head slightly, as if my confusion is unexpected. ¡°You were lying unconscious in the plains near that burning mansion. I brought you here.¡±


    A jolt runs through my chest.


    The burning mansion.


    I had set fire to the Lachius estate, watched the flames consume the place I once called home. The pain rushes back, a dull ache settling deep in my bones.


    ¡°So?¡± Her voice cuts through my thoughts. ¡°What happened? Why were you lying there like a corpse?¡±


    I clench my fists. The words catch in my throat.


    I don¡¯t want to say it.


    I don¡¯t want to relive it.


    As if sensing my hesitation, the girl steps forward, her red eyes settling on mine. ¡°Valtheria.¡±


    I blink. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°My name. It¡¯s Valtheria,¡± she says, watching me intently. ¡°And yours?¡±


    ¡°¡­Castiel,¡± I mutter, my voice hollow. ¡°Castiel Lachius.¡±


    Valtheria nods slowly, as if committing my name to memory. ¡°I see.¡±


    Silence lingers between us.


    After a moment, she glances down, her gaze settling on something beside me.


    ¡°You¡¯re a mage, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    I follow her gaze and realize she¡¯s looking at Velmora¡¯s staff, lying beside me in the grass.


    I hadn¡¯t even noticed it. My fingers twitch at the sight of it.


    ¡°That¡¯s a very expensive staff,¡± Valtheria muses. ¡°It¡¯s worthy of a high-ranking wizard.¡±


    ¡°¡­It was a gift.¡± My voice is quieter this time. ¡°From my parents.¡±


    Her eyes flicker slightly, almost imperceptibly. ¡°I see.¡±


    Another beat of silence. Then, with another sigh, she gestures toward the woods. ¡°If you have enough strength to sit and talk, you have enough to walk. Come with me.¡±


    I hesitate.


    She doesn¡¯t seem hostile, but that doesn¡¯t mean she¡¯s trustworthy.


    Still¡­ if she wanted to hurt me, she could¡¯ve done it while I was unconscious.


    I press my palm against the ground and push myself up, using my staff as support. My body protests, but I grit my teeth and endure it.


    ¡°¡­Where are we going?¡± I ask.


    ¡°To find food.¡±


    At the mention of food, my stomach twists. I hadn¡¯t realized how empty it was until now.


    She glances at me again. ¡°There are rabbits deeper in the forest. They¡¯ll be enough for a meal.¡±


    I nod slowly.


    Without another word, we start walking.


    The silence between us is thick. The only sounds are the rustling leaves and the occasional chirp of distant birds.


    I clear my throat. ¡°So¡­ you live out here?¡±


    ¡°In a sense.¡±


    ¡°¡­What does that mean?¡±


    ¡°I go where I want.¡±


    That¡¯s not an answer.


    I frown slightly but don¡¯t press further. There¡¯s something about her¡ªa quiet detachment, as if she exists apart from the world around her.


    She doesn¡¯t ask any more questions about my past. I¡¯m grateful for that.


    After what feels like an eternity, we find a small river. The water is impossibly clear, reflecting the golden light of the sun.


    Valtheria kneels beside it, cupping water in her hands and drinking.


    I raise an eyebrow. ¡°You don¡¯t even know if it¡¯s safe to drink.¡±


    She tilts her head. ¡°If it wasn¡¯t, I would¡¯ve noticed by now.¡±


    That¡¯s not how that works, but I don¡¯t argue. I crouch beside the river and take a sip. The cold liquid soothes my parched throat.


    Then¡ª


    A rustling sound.


    My head jerks up.


    Between the bushes, two small creatures emerge, their white fur pristine under the moonlight. Their red eyes flick between me and Valtheria, twitching in caution.


    ¡°There¡¯s our meal,¡± Valtheria murmurs.


    I grip my staff, steadying my breath.


    The rabbits tense, their long ears flicking back as if sensing danger.


    I don¡¯t give them time to react.


    I cast Ventocaptura, a basic spell. A vortex of wind swirls around them, catching them in its invisible grasp. They squirm, their small bodies twitching against the force¡ªuntil they don¡¯t.


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    Their movements slow. Their breaths shorten. Their bodies fall limp.


    And then¡ªnothing.


    Just like that, they¡¯re dead.


    I exhale, lowering my staff. I shouldn¡¯t feel guilty. This is survival.


    Valtheria steps forward, pulling a dagger from the folds of her dress. She kneels beside the rabbits, her expression unreadable as she grips the first one by the scruff. With practiced ease, she presses the blade to its skin, ready to cut¡ª


    And then, I see it.


    A small, glowing purple orb hovering above their lifeless bodies.


    My breath catches.


    I blink. Once. Twice.


    The orbs don¡¯t disappear.


    They just¡­ linger, flickering faintly like dying embers.


    I glance at Valtheria. She doesn¡¯t react. She doesn¡¯t even seem to notice them.


    I reach out, hesitant, my fingers brushing against the strange glow¡ª


    And the rabbit¡¯s dead body twitches.


    I kneel down by the rabbit, my hands trembling, my breath coming in short, shallow bursts. The air is thick with the stench of death, and suddenly, I feel the weight of my own power pressing down on me like a physical force. My mind races, but my body is still. It¡¯s as if I¡¯m frozen, paralyzed by the aftermath of what just happened.


    The little creature I¡¯ve just brought back to life¡ªits body now moving unnaturally¡ªshakes its head. It stands, its fur now black instead of white, and those once-curious red eyes are now glowing a sinister purple. It twitches, then slowly turns to face me. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as my stomach churns violently. I want to scream. I want to run.


    ¡°Did... did I just...?¡± My voice cracks, barely above a whisper, a pit of dread forming deep in my gut. The weight of the past few hours, of everything I¡¯ve seen, suddenly becomes too much. Grilda, the mansion, my family, all dead, and now I¡¯ve just brought something back to life... or worse, turned it into one of those monsters.


    The smell of the blood from before, from my family, assaults my senses once again. The cold, metallic scent seems to cling to everything around me, mixing with the scent of the fresh grass underfoot. It makes my stomach turn. I barely manage to suppress the bile rising in my throat.


    As the rabbit turns to me, those eyes¡ªno longer those of an innocent creature¡ªstare at me. It¡¯s as if it knows what I did. And for a moment, I can¡¯t tell whether it¡¯s the rabbit¡¯s anger or my own reflection in its eyes.


    I stagger back, my mind crashing with fragments of memories. The vision of my family¡¯s corpses, of Grilda¡¯s lifeless body and the carnage¡ªit¡¯s all coming back. I can¡¯t think. My head spins. I¡¯m drowning in it.


    Then¡ªsomething¡ªa feeling, or maybe it¡¯s an instinct, rises in me. Panic. Pure, unfiltered panic.


    ¡°No,¡± I whisper, barely able to form words as the nausea threatens to take over. My breath is ragged, and it¡¯s like I can¡¯t catch it fast enough. I¡¯m hyperventilating. The memories of that night, of death, of the monster Grilda became, flood me all over again.


    I can¡¯t. I can¡¯t deal with this. Not now.


    The rabbit, now standing eerily before me, turns slowly, its head jerking in an unnatural movement, as if it¡¯s being controlled by some unseen force. I feel like I¡¯m suffocating, my chest tight, my heart pounding wildly in my chest.


    ¡°Valtheria...¡± I gasp, my voice broken as I turn towards her, my body trembling uncontrollably. ¡°What¡¯s happening to me? What the hell is this?¡±


    The soft rustle of her dress against the grass is the only sound that breaks through the haze of panic in my head. Her cold, indifferent voice cuts through the chaos in my mind.


    ¡°Calm down,¡± she says, her voice steady and calm, but there¡¯s an underlying note of something almost... comforting. It¡¯s unexpected. She moves toward me, and without warning, she pulls me into a tight embrace.


    I freeze. The sudden contact feels alien. I¡¯m not used to this. I don¡¯t know if I deserve this comfort. But as her warmth surrounds me, her gentle, soothing voice is like a balm over the open wounds in my heart.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± she murmurs, her voice soft, almost tender. ¡°Breathe, Castiel. You¡¯re safe now. You¡¯re not the monster you think you are.¡±


    Her words don¡¯t make sense. How can she say that? How can she see me as anything other than what I am? I just¡ªI just killed something.


    The world spins. I feel my body slump against her as the sobs take over. The tears come without warning, hot and jagged, clawing their way up from some deep place inside me that I don¡¯t even recognize anymore. The shock, the grief, the terror, it all explodes from within.


    ¡°You¡¯re not a monster,¡± she repeats, pulling me closer as I bury my face in her shoulder. The coolness of her voice helps steady my racing pulse, and for a moment¡ªjust a brief moment¡ªI feel... safe. Not entirely, but enough to breathe.


    I still don¡¯t understand what¡¯s happening to me, but in her arms, at least for now, I don¡¯t have to.


    The pain, the loss, the horror¡ªit¡¯s too much. I don¡¯t know how I¡¯m supposed to keep going after all of this. But I have to.


    After a long silence, Valtheria gently pulls away, just enough so I can look at her. Her expression is still unreadable, but there¡¯s a slight shift in her gaze, something soft and knowing. She doesn¡¯t say anything.


    I stand there for a moment, catching my breath, trying to find some sliver of myself within the chaos. I nod slowly, the tears still falling as I whisper, ¡°Thank you...¡±


    ***


    We ran.


    The moment the rabbit twitched back to life¡ªits once white fur turning black, its red eyes shifting to glowing violet¡ªI felt my breath catch in my throat, my heart hammering against my ribs like it was trying to break free.


    It wasn¡¯t supposed to happen. I had only touched it. I didn¡¯t chant a spell. I didn¡¯t will it back.


    It just¡­ happened.


    The weight of my own power crashed over me like a tidal wave. A deep, suffocating sickness crawled up my throat, and before I could process it any further, Valtheria grabbed my wrist.


    ¡°We should go.¡±


    Her tone was calm¡ªtoo calm¡ªbut I could tell she didn¡¯t want to linger.


    I didn¡¯t argue. I didn¡¯t hesitate.


    We left the undead rabbit behind, its eerie, lifeless gaze watching us as we disappeared into the woods.


    Eventually, we made it back to the clearing¡ªthe place where we first met this morning. The sky was darker now, speckled with thousands of stars stretching endlessly above us. The air was crisp and cool, carrying the scent of damp earth and fresh grass.


    And there, in the center of the clearing, Valtheria built a fire.


    She had gathered sturdy branches earlier in the forest and used them to construct a simple makeshift spit, propping it over the flames. One of the flufftail rabbits we caught¡ªthe one I hadn¡¯t revived¡ªwas skewered on it, slowly roasting over the embers.


    I sat a few feet away, arms wrapped around my knees, watching the flames flicker.


    My stomach was empty, but I wasn¡¯t hungry.


    Not after what I had done.


    Not after realizing that something inside me could twist the dead into something unnatural.


    The silence stretched between us, save for the occasional pop of burning wood. The warmth of the fire kissed my skin, a contrast to the cold sinking into my bones.


    I wasn¡¯t shivering from the night air.


    I was shivering because I knew.


    Knew that something in me had changed. Knew that something had awakened.


    ¡°¡­You¡¯re quiet,¡± Valtheria murmured.


    I flinched slightly at the sound of her voice. It was the same as always¡ªcalm, monotone, unreadable. But now, after everything, it felt different.


    I swallowed hard, forcing my voice out. ¡°Why don¡¯t you find this strange?¡±


    She glanced at me, unimpressed. ¡°Find what strange?¡±


    ¡°This.¡± I gestured vaguely at myself, at the fire, at the world. ¡°Everything.¡±


    She tilted her head slightly, red eyes reflecting the flames.


    ¡°I¡¯m a kid who can cast magic without speaking incantations. That alone should be weird enough,¡± I muttered, my grip tightening around my knees. ¡°But more than that¡­ I brought something back from the dead. I don¡¯t even know how. I didn¡¯t do anything. I just touched it, and suddenly¡ª¡±


    I cut myself off. The image of the rabbit¡¯s empty, glowing eyes burned into my mind.


    My stomach twisted.


    I am a monster.


    Valtheria studied me for a long moment before letting out a slow breath.


    ¡°So?¡±


    I blinked. ¡°What?¡±


    She rested her hands on her lap, her expression unreadable. ¡°You¡¯re acting like this is something to be ashamed of.¡±


    My breath caught in my throat.


    ¡°How the hell am I not supposed to be ashamed?¡± My voice was hoarse, cracking slightly. ¡°I don¡¯t even understand what this power is. I don¡¯t know how it works. What if I lose control? What if next time, I don¡¯t just bring back a rabbit¡ªwhat if it¡¯s something worse? What if I hurt someone?¡±


    Valtheria didn¡¯t flinch. Didn¡¯t react. She simply stared at me, quiet and still.


    Then, she spoke.


    ¡°If it exists, you should use it to your advantage.¡±


    My fingers dug into my arms.


    ¡°You think repressing it will make it disappear?¡± she continued, her voice steady. ¡°If anything, ignoring it will only make it worse. You¡¯re afraid because you don¡¯t understand it.¡±


    I clenched my jaw.


    She wasn¡¯t wrong.


    But she wasn¡¯t right either.


    She said it like it was simple. Like accepting this power¡ªthis curse¡ªwas as easy as breathing.


    Like I could just choose to live with it.


    But I couldn¡¯t.


    A few days ago, I was living in a mansion, training in magic, playing with Arthur, celebrating my birthday with my family.


    Now I was here.


    Alone.


    A deep, bitter exhaustion weighed down on me, and I didn¡¯t have the strength to keep arguing.


    I looked away. ¡°Whatever.¡±


    Valtheria didn¡¯t press further. She turned back to the fire, rotating the spit with practiced ease. The scent of roasted meat filled the air, rich and savory.


    She glanced at me. ¡°These rabbits are called flufftails,¡± she murmured, almost absently. ¡°Their meat is soft. Good for roasting.¡±


    I said nothing.


    She carefully pulled the skewer from the fire, then¡ªwithout hesitation¡ªheld out the roasted rabbit to me.


    ¡°Eat.¡±


    I frowned. ¡°What about you?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need much,¡± she replied. ¡°You need it more.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t eat the whole thing by myself.¡± I shoved it back toward her. ¡°You caught it too.¡±


    Valtheria stared at me for a second. Then, she sighed.


    ¡°You¡¯re just a little boy, Castiel.¡± Her tone was matter-of-fact, like she was stating something as obvious as the sky being blue. ¡°You need to eat properly if you want to grow.¡±


    Something about the way she said it made me pause.


    I huffed softly, shaking my head. ¡°Fine.¡±


    I took the meat from her hands and hesitantly bit into it.


    The flavor spread across my tongue¡ªsimple, a little charred, but warm. Comforting. The warmth traveled down my throat, settling in my stomach like a small, flickering ember.


    Valtheria watched me as I ate.


    By the time I finished, my exhaustion hit me like a crashing wave.


    The fire crackled beside us, casting soft shadows on the grass. The wind rustled the trees, the stars blinked lazily overhead.


    Without a word, Valtheria shifted closer¡ªand pulled me against her.


    My body stiffened instinctively.


    Her warmth seeped into my skin, her steady breathing rising and falling beside me.


    I blinked slowly, my limbs growing heavy.


    What is this?


    I had always been the one reaching for others¡ªgravitating toward Arthur, clinging to Grilda¡¯s warmth. But now¡­ someone else was holding onto me.


    Does Valtheria see me as a little brother? Just like I did with Arthur?


    The thought was strangely comforting.


    I closed my eyes, exhaustion fully taking over.


    And i sleep peacefully in her arms.

 Trial By Moonlight

    Two days had passed.


    Two days since I met Valtheria. Two days since I told her everything¡ªabout the massacre, the assassins, the monster that wore my mother¡¯s face.


    She didn¡¯t flinch. She didn¡¯t pity me. She just listened, as if this kind of tragedy was as normal as the changing seasons.


    And then she said something that unsettled me.


    "This power is yours, Castiel. Whether you like it or not."


    I hated hearing that. But I hated that she was right even more.


    I can still feel the warmth of the fire from that night, the scent of roasted rabbit lingering in the air, but the peace of that moment is shattered as Valtheria speaks again¡ªher red eyes watching me with that same unreadable expression.


    "You don¡¯t want to be dependent¡­ do you?"


    Her words cut through me like a blade.


    "So prove to me you can walk with your own two legs."


    I frown. ¡°What?¡±


    She steps forward, folding her arms. "Survive a full day and night on your own. No help. Nothing. Find food, find shelter, defend yourself."


    I scoff. ¡°You expect a six-year-old to survive alone?¡±


    For the first time since I met her, Valtheria smirks.


    A chill runs down my spine.


    "You¡¯re not just a child, are you?"


    The breath catches in my throat.


    Does she know?


    The thought rattles around in my brain, but before I can ask, Valtheria turns away, stepping back toward the trees.


    "Make it through the night, Castiel," she calls over her shoulder. "Then we¡¯ll talk."


    And with that¡ªshe vanishes into the darkness of the forest, leaving me alone.


    ***


    The moment she¡¯s gone, the silence presses in like a thick fog.


    I exhale slowly, gripping Velmora¡¯s staff tightly.


    Okay. First things first.


    Water. Shelter. Food.


    It¡¯s still early morning, which means I have time before nightfall. I start walking, letting the weight of my staff keep me steady as I navigate through the undergrowth.


    The rustling of leaves fills the air, along with the occasional chirp of unseen birds. The morning light filters through the dense canopy above, casting golden beams onto the forest floor.


    I hear the soft murmur of flowing water.


    I follow the sound and soon find myself standing at the same small river I discovered with Valtheria before. The water glistens under the sun, clear and inviting.


    One thing down.


    I kneel at the riverbank and take a long sip, the cool liquid soothing my dry throat.


    Now for food.


    I scan my surroundings. Among the towering trees, I spot some bushes with clusters of small, dark berries.


    I hesitate.


    They look edible, but I¡¯m not about to test my luck and end up poisoning myself.


    Then I notice them¡ªsmall bluish birds perched on the branches, pecking at the berries.


    If they can eat it, so can I.


    I take off my navy-blue sweater, using the fabric to carefully collect a handful of the berries before placing them near the riverbank.


    Shelter is next.


    I gather a few dry twigs, knowing I¡¯ll need them to start a fire later.


    By the time dusk begins to fall, I¡¯m sitting near the river, feeling¡­ surprisingly calm.


    It wasn¡¯t that hard.


    A bit boring, maybe, but nothing impossible.


    The sky darkens, deep shades of indigo swallowing the last remnants of daylight. Crickets start chirping, their rhythmic calls blending with the distant rustle of the wind.


    I take a deep breath and extend my hand toward the pile of twigs.


    Incendium.


    A flicker of orange flame ignites at the tip of my staff before spreading to the dry branches, crackling softly as it takes hold.


    The firelight casts long shadows against the trees.


    I lean back, staring up at the night sky.


    The trial has only just begun.


    And for some reason¡­ I feel like I¡¯ve walked straight into a trap.


    ***


    The full moon bathed the forest in an eerie glow, casting elongated shadows that swayed with the flickering firelight. The warmth of the flames brushed against my skin, offering a small comfort against the creeping night chill. I chewed on the berries I had gathered earlier, their tart sweetness lingering on my tongue as I stared absentmindedly into the fire.


    A rustle.


    I stiffened. My fingers instinctively curled around Velmora¡¯s staff, my heart thudding against my ribs. The fire crackled, the only sound breaking the silence as I slowly turned toward the bushes. The shadows shifted. Something was moving.


    Then, out of the underbrush, a small fox emerged, its reddish fur glistening in the moonlight. My grip on the staff loosened slightly as I exhaled. Just a fox.


    The little thing stared at me, its nose twitching. A quick meal, if I was lucky enough to catch it. Maybe if I¡ª


    A blur of black. A flash of fangs.


    The fox barely had time to react before something burst from the darkness and snatched it by the throat. A sickening crunch followed, and the fox went limp, its tiny body twitching one last time before going completely still.


    I inhaled sharply, a cold chill crawling up my spine. My eyes darted to the massive black wolf standing just beyond the reach of the firelight.


    It wasn¡¯t just a wolf. This thing was huge. At least twice the size of a normal one, with powerful limbs and sleek, shadowy fur that seemed to meld with the night itself. Blood dripped from its fangs as it released the fox¡¯s mangled remains, its glowing red eyes locking onto mine.


    I didn¡¯t move. I couldn¡¯t.


    The fire crackled between us, its light reflecting in those haunting eyes. The beast sniffed the air, its body tense, assessing. Then, it stepped forward.


    My pulse hammered. I raised my staff slightly, my mind racing through options.


    Incendium? No. The fire would spread to the trees, and I¡¯d be dead long before the wolf burned.


    Wind magic? Maybe. But if I missed¡­


    The wolf lowered its head, muscles coiling. It was going to pounce.


    I had seconds to react.


    I slammed my staff into the ground.


    Ventus Vortex


    A sharp gust of wind blasted forward, kicking up dirt and leaves, disrupting the wolf¡¯s charge. It veered off course, skidding to the side, claws tearing through the soil.


    It recovered instantly.


    Shit.


    This thing was fast. Too fast.


    It growled, lips pulling back into a snarl, revealing teeth made to rip flesh from bone.


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    I backed up slowly, my grip tightening on Velmora¡¯s staff, my brain screaming at me to run, but I knew better. The moment I turned my back, I was dead.


    The wolf lunged again, a black streak cutting through the air.


    I barely dodged, rolling to the side, but my foot slipped on the damp earth.


    A sharp burning pain exploded across my side as the wolf¡¯s claws raked into me.


    I hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the air from my lungs. My vision blurred. My ribs ached.


    I coughed, trying to push myself up, but a massive paw slammed onto my chest, pinning me down.


    I gasped, my ribs creaking under the sheer weight of the beast.


    Its breath was hot, reeking of blood and raw meat as it loomed over me. Its red eyes gleamed with something predatory.


    This wasn¡¯t just an animal.


    It enjoyed this.


    I gritted my teeth. No. I wouldn¡¯t die here.


    I thrust my staff upward, jamming the tip against the wolf¡¯s throat. The beast recoiled slightly, giving me just enough time to kick it off and roll away.


    Pain shot through my body as I scrambled to my feet, my breathing ragged.


    This wasn¡¯t working. My magic was too slow. My body was too weak.


    I needed to end this.


    Now.


    The wolf lunged again. Faster than before.


    I barely raised my staff in time¡ªimpact.


    The force rattled my bones, nearly knocking Velmora¡¯s staff from my grip. The beast snarled, pushing against me with raw strength.


    I dug my heels into the dirt and twisted my body, using the wolf¡¯s own momentum against it.


    It stumbled.


    I didn¡¯t hesitate.


    I swung hard, slamming my staff into the wolf¡¯s skull.


    A sharp crack.


    The beast yelped, staggering. Its red eyes flickered.


    I didn¡¯t give it a chance to recover.


    I raised my staff again and struck.


    And again.


    And again.


    Each blow landed with sickening force, splattering blood against the dirt.


    The wolf let out a weak, gurgling sound before its legs gave out.


    It collapsed.


    Panting, I stepped back, my vision swimming. My arms felt like lead. My entire body throbbed.


    But I had won.


    I had won.


    I swallowed hard, staring down at the motionless beast, its black fur matted with blood. My hands were still shaking.


    Then¡ª


    I saw it.


    A glowing purple orb hovering above the wolf¡¯s corpse.


    I swallowed hard, my breath coming in ragged gasps.


    It was just like before. Just like the rabbits. Just like Grilda.


    The familiar nausea coiled in my stomach. My fingers twitched at my side.


    But I didn¡¯t step back.


    I knew¡ªdeep down¡ªI needed this.


    Like it or not, I wasn¡¯t strong. I wasn¡¯t a skilled warrior or a prodigy mage. I was just a six-year-old kid barely surviving in a world that wanted me dead.


    If I wanted to keep surviving, I had to use everything at my disposal.


    Even this.


    I forced my legs to move. My body protested, aching from the battle, but I ignored it.


    Reaching out, I let my fingers graze the purple light.


    The moment I touched it, a pulse of cold energy surged up my arm. It wasn¡¯t like before¡ªno sudden explosion, no loss of control. This time, I expected it.


    The wolf¡¯s body twitched. Its dark fur rippled as a faint purple aura flickered around it.


    Then¡ª


    It stood.


    The beast that had nearly killed me was now standing before me, eyes glowing with the same eerie purple hue.


    My heart pounded in my chest. My fingers clenched around Velmora¡¯s staff.


    It wasn¡¯t attacking me. It was just¡­ standing there.


    I took a slow breath, forcing down the instinctive urge to run.


    No. This is my power.


    I licked my dry lips, the words forming hesitantly.


    ¡°...Sit.¡±


    The wolf¡¯s ears twitched. Then, it obeyed.


    It sat.


    I exhaled slowly.


    A minute passed. Then another.


    It wasn¡¯t moving unless I told it to.


    I wasn¡¯t just reviving the dead¡ªI was controlling them.


    A necromancer.


    A real one.


    I turned my gaze upward, staring at the full moon hanging heavy in the sky.


    Even a D-rank monster is stronger than me...


    That makes me what? An E-rank?


    I let out a bitter chuckle, shaking my head. It didn¡¯t matter. Ranks didn¡¯t mean shit if you were dead.


    I stumbled backward, my body screaming in exhaustion. Collapsing onto the cool grass, I stared up at the silent, star-streaked sky.


    My limbs felt like lead. My ribs ached. My eyelids drooped.


    I forced myself to speak through the haze of exhaustion.


    ¡°Stay on guard,¡± I murmured to the wolf. ¡°If anything tries to attack¡­ kill it.¡±


    The wolf didn¡¯t react, but I felt it understood.


    Good enough.


    I shut my eyes.


    I didn¡¯t sleep well. How could I? The damn thing could rip my throat out at any second.


    But for now, at least¡­


    I was still breathing.


    ***


    The sun rose slowly, casting golden streaks through the dense canopy of trees. The once eerie forest, filled with dangers lurking in the dark, now felt¡­ calmer.


    I sat on the cool grass, watching the fire crackle in front of me. Three flufftail rabbits roasted on skewers made from broken branches, their delicious scent filling the air.


    The undead wolf sat beside me, its glowing purple eyes focused on the flames, still as a statue. The only sign of life¡ªif you could call it that¡ªwas the occasional flick of its tail.


    It was weird. Just yesterday, this thing had almost torn me apart. Now, it was hunting for me like a trained hound.


    I let out a slow breath, rubbing my sore arms. I was exhausted.


    The battle last night had taken more out of me than I thought. My entire body ached, my mana reserves felt drained, and my head was heavy with exhaustion.


    A rustling from the trees snapped me out of my thoughts.


    The wolf¡¯s ears perked, its muscles tensing into an attack position.


    I reached out, patting its side. ¡°Relax.¡±


    The moment the familiar green-haired figure emerged from the trees, the wolf eased up, lowering its stance.


    ¡°I see you survived,¡± Valtheria mused, stepping into the clearing. Her piercing red eyes briefly flicked to the wolf beside me. ¡°And even made a new friend.¡±


    ¡°Yeah¡­ He¡¯s a handful.¡± I ran a hand through his thick fur, feeling the strange coolness of his undead body. ¡°Though, you know¡­ this little guy almost killed me.¡±


    Valtheria hummed, sitting beside me. She reached for one of the roasted rabbits and tore off a piece of meat, chewing thoughtfully.


    ¡°I must be honest,¡± she admitted. ¡°I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d survive.¡±


    ¡°Well, thanks for the vote of confidence.¡±


    She ignored my sarcasm, eyes narrowing slightly. ¡°Have you managed to understand this power of yours better?¡±


    I sighed, stretching my sore limbs. ¡°Kinda. It seems like I have control over the undead creatures I create¡­ But I also feel strangely tired.¡±


    ¡°Maybe it works like summoning magic,¡± Valtheria mused. ¡°Summoners have their mana drained the longer they keep their summons active.¡±


    I barely listened. I was too focused on devouring the remaining rabbit meat, tearing through it like I hadn¡¯t eaten in days.


    ¡°But still¡­¡± she continued, watching me closely. ¡°If that¡¯s true, it¡¯s odd that you lasted an entire night with that wolf active and are only now feeling the mana drain.¡±


    I swallowed the last of my meal and licked my fingers, already eyeing the final piece of roasted rabbit.


    ¡°So you mean these undead creatures I make are like¡­ summons?¡± I asked, my voice muffled between bites.


    ¡°It¡¯s possible.¡± Valtheria crossed her arms. ¡°Why don¡¯t you try dismissing the wolf?¡±


    I blinked. ¡°I can do that?¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°Doesn¡¯t hurt to try.¡±


    I wiped my hands on my pants, then turned to the wolf, who sat patiently, waiting for my next command.


    I hesitated.


    It was weird, but¡­ I¡¯d grown used to having it there.


    Still, I extended my hand.


    ¡°Your service was great,¡± I murmured. ¡°You can rest now.¡±


    The moment the words left my mouth, a ripple of energy passed through the air.


    The wolf¡¯s body shimmered, dissolving into thick black smoke before disappearing entirely.


    I blinked at the empty spot where it had just been.


    ¡°¡­Huh.¡±


    Even I was surprised it actually worked.


    Valtheria hummed, watching me with unreadable eyes. ¡°Castiel, you¡¯re probably the most interesting person I¡¯ve met in my wandering life.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± I smirked, finally lying back onto the grass. ¡°I¡¯m flattered.¡±


    She didn¡¯t respond. Instead, she stared at the fire, the flickering orange glow reflecting in her eyes.


    After a pause, she spoke.


    ¡°I¡¯ll accompany you to the next city, Cradena.¡±


    I turned my head toward her. ¡°Cradena?¡±


    She nodded. ¡°Once we get there, we¡¯ll part ways. You¡¯ll be on your own.¡±


    I frowned. ¡°Wait, Cradena? But that¡¯s a city of the Garthram Empire, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Valtheria confirmed. ¡°But it¡¯s no longer under the empire¡¯s rule.¡±


    She tossed the last bones of her rabbit aside and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.


    ¡°Cradena is a lawless zone. A rotting city where criminals run wild, where murder and theft happen in broad daylight, and no one bats an eye. Even the empire doesn¡¯t bother interfering.¡±


    ¡°¡­Sounds wonderful.¡± I deadpanned.


    Valtheria gave me a sharp look. ¡°It¡¯s dangerous. If you want to survive there, you need to train.¡±


    I tensed at her words.


    Train.


    I clenched my fists, remembering the black skull masks. The daggers. The blood.


    I wasn¡¯t ready.


    Not yet.


    But I would be.


    I had to be.


    ¡°¡­Fine,¡± I muttered, my voice quieter than before.


    Valtheria simply nodded. ¡°Good.¡±


    The fire crackled between us, filling the silence.


    A new goal had been set.


    Next stop¡ª


    Cradena.

 Ozymandias

    Two weeks.


    Two weeks of hell.


    The Black Forest is nothing like the woods near the Lachius mansion. The trees here are tall, gnarled, and suffocating, their canopies so dense that even during the day, the ground remains wrapped in an eerie twilight. The air is damp, thick with the smell of moss, rot, and something feral lurking just beyond sight.


    At night, the real nightmare begins.


    The howls of unseen creatures echo through the darkness, their voices long and hungry. Glowing eyes blink between the trees, watching, waiting. Sleep is a luxury I can¡¯t afford. Every rustle, every snap of a twig, sends my heart into overdrive.


    And then there are the attacks.


    Giant insects with razor-sharp mandibles, snake-like creatures that drop from the trees, wolves that stalk us from the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce. Every time I think we have a moment of peace, something new tries to kill us.


    Valtheria, of course, barely reacts.


    She walks through the forest like it¡¯s just another road, moving with eerie confidence, never flinching when danger approaches. And when she fights? It¡¯s brutal, effortless.


    She doesn¡¯t waste energy on unnecessary movements. A single precise stab, a single swift cut¡ª and the creatures fall.


    Meanwhile, I struggle.


    I can use magic, sure. I can cast spells. But spells need time to charge, and these monsters don¡¯t wait patiently while I cast a spell.


    Valtheria makes that painfully clear.


    ¡°If you rely on magic alone, you¡¯ll die.¡± Her voice is always so flat, so uncaring, as if my survival is just a mild curiosity. ¡°Learn how to fight with your hands.¡±


    I don¡¯t have a choice.


    She forces me to use a dagger, mocking me when I struggle with my grip, laughing when my swings are sloppy. She doesn¡¯t go easy on me. If I lower my guard, she attacks me herself.


    I have bruises to prove it.


    ¡°You were trained with a sword, weren¡¯t you?¡± she remarks one evening, watching me rub my sore wrist.


    I nod. ¡°Mara tried to teach me.¡±


    She exhales sharply, as if the very memory of Mara annoys her. ¡°That maid of yours was an idiot.¡±


    ¡°¡­Excuse me?¡±


    ¡°No child can wield a sword properly. You should¡¯ve been trained with a dagger from the start.¡± She tosses me one of her own knives. ¡°A blade is only useful if you can actually swing it.¡±


    And so, I learn.


    I learn how to hold the dagger properly, how to slash instead of stab, how to predict movements instead of blindly swinging. She teaches me where to cut, where to aim if I want a clean kill.


    And worst of all?


    She forces me to understand my necromancy.


    At first, I avoid using it.


    But when we get surrounded by monsters one night, I don¡¯t have a choice.


    I kill a wolf. A single, clean stab through its throat. And when its body collapses, a purple glow appears above its corpse.


    Valtheria sees me hesitate. ¡°Don¡¯t just stand there. Use it.¡±


    I swallow hard. ¡°Use what?¡±


    She gestures toward the glowing purple orb. ¡°Your power.¡±


    I don¡¯t want to.


    But I touch it.


    And just like before¡ªthe wolf stands up again.


    Its fur is black as the void, its once-red eyes now glowing violet. It moves with the same predatory grace as before, but now¡­ it¡¯s unnatural.


    And it listens to me.


    Valtheria watches with quiet intrigue. ¡°It obeys your will.¡±


    ¡°¡­Yeah.¡±


    That¡¯s when I realize something.


    When I dismiss the wolf later, it doesn¡¯t come back.


    I try to summon it again¡ªbut nothing happens.


    That¡¯s when it clicks.


    I can only keep an undead creature active as long as I continue feeding it my Mana. If I dismiss it? It¡¯s gone. Forever.


    ¡°It¡¯s just like a summoner,¡± Valtheria muses when I explain it to her. ¡°Their creatures drain their Mana the longer they remain active.¡±


    Except this is different. Summoners can resummon their creatures whenever they want.


    I can¡¯t.


    It¡¯s a terrifying realization. Every undead I create is a choice I can¡¯t undo.


    Two weeks of hard lessons, no sleep, and constant life-or-death fights.


    And now¡ªwe finally reach the edge of the forest.


    The first thing I notice is the sky.


    It¡¯s gray, lifeless, and heavy, casting a permanent shadow over the city below.


    The streets are crowded, narrow, and filthy, packed with people who move quickly, avoiding eye contact. The buildings are stacked unevenly, some leaning at odd angles, like they were built without any real planning.


    And the smell. Salt, fish, smoke, and something bitter. Something rotten.


    This place is alive, but in the way a disease festers in a dying body.


    This is Cradena.


    At the forest¡¯s edge, Valtheria stops.


    I turn to look at her.


    She¡¯s standing there, staring at the city with her usual blank expression. But there¡¯s something off. A hesitation.


    That¡¯s when I realize¡ªthis is it.


    We¡¯re parting ways.


    ¡°¡­So this is where we say goodbye, huh?¡± I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.


    Valtheria nods, then pulls out a dagger.


    She flips it in her hand before offering me the hilt.


    ¡°Take it.¡±


    I frown, hesitating before I finally grab it. The blade is sharp, well-crafted. Not fancy¡ªjust practical.


    ¡°You saved me a few times,¡± she says. ¡°This makes us even.¡±


    I raise an eyebrow. ¡°I don¡¯t remember saving you.¡±


    She shrugs. ¡°Take it anyway.¡±


    Then¡ªshe reaches with her hand on her back.


    She pulls out a mask out of nowhere.


    It¡¯s black, smooth, with intricate gold detailing. In the center, right between the eyes, is a small violet gemstone.


    I take it from her hands, turning it over. ¡°What¡¯s this?¡±


    ¡°A second gift.¡±


    Valtheria crosses her arms. ¡°That gemstone in the middle suppresses your Mana trail. No mage¡ªno matter how skilled¡ªwill be able to track you when you wear it.¡±


    I go still.


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ insane.¡±


    ¡°If you want to survive here, you need a new identity. This will help.¡±


    I grip the mask tightly.


    A new identity¡­


    A way to hide. A way to fight without being recognized.


    Valtheria watches me carefully. Then, without warning, she steps forward and hugs me.


    I freeze.


    ¡°¡­I enjoyed our time together,¡± she murmurs.


    I exhale. ¡°¡­Me too.¡±


    We shared fears, struggles, and a strange, unspoken connection.


    I hug her back, squeezing tightly before finally letting go.


    Valtheria steps back, her red eyes unreadable.


    ¡°Find a bar. Get a job. And don¡¯t die,¡± she says before disappearing into the crowd.


    ***


    It feels strange, slipping the mask on. It fits like it was made for me, snug against my face, hiding everything I don¡¯t want the world to see. I take a deep breath, steady myself, and walk into Cradena¡¯s bustling streets. The weight of the mask isn¡¯t uncomfortable, but it¡¯s something I¡¯ve got to get used to. It feels like a second skin now, part of me.


    I look around, scanning the crowded streets. People throw glares at me as I walk by. It''s not unusual, I¡¯ve seen it before. I suppose it¡¯s the mask that bothers them. Or maybe it''s my hair¡ªrare as hell around here. Black hair, the kind you don''t see often in this city full of people from every race imaginable. Human, elf, orc... hell, there are even some lizardfolk hanging out by the corners of the street.


    I keep my head low, trying not to catch too many eyes. I¡¯m not here to make friends. I¡¯ve never been one to talk much, even in my past life. The only thing that comes naturally to me now is keeping to myself.


    I find my way to a bar eventually. It¡¯s not much, just a rickety place with a badly painted sign swinging lazily in the wind. The runes on the sign are scratched and faded, hard to make out, but the noise spilling out from the doors tells me enough. Laughter. Yelling. The smell of booze and saltwater in the air. It¡¯s a place where people come to forget. And that suits me just fine.


    I take a step inside, and the door creaks like it¡¯s about to fall off its hinges. My heart beats a little faster, and I almost want to turn back. But I force myself to stay. I don¡¯t like being around too many people, never have. But I need to start somewhere.


    The place is dark and smells like sweat and old wood. There are men, mostly, scattered around the tables, some slumped over drunk, others arguing over cards. They all pause and glance at me as I make my way through. I don¡¯t care what they think, though. I¡¯m not here to make friends.


    The mask feels heavier now. Not physically, but in a way that settles deep in my gut. I step into the bar, taking in the stench of sweat, booze, and sea salt. It''s not the worst place I''ve been, but it¡¯s close.


    My eyes adjust to the dim lighting as I push through the tables. A few men glance my way, then back to their drinks. They don¡¯t care. No one in this city cares unless you¡¯re worth something.


    I make my way to the counter, where a bald dwarf stands, wiping down a dirty mug with an even dirtier rag. He doesn¡¯t look up right away, focused on his work like the place isn¡¯t falling apart around him.


    ¡°Welcome,¡± he says in a gruff tone. ¡°Name¡¯s Torak. Owner of this fine establishment.¡±


    I don¡¯t waste time. ¡°I need a job.¡±


    Torak finally looks up. His brown eyes scan me, his forehead creasing when he takes in my height. The realization is instant.


    ¡°A job?¡± He snorts. ¡°Kid, I don¡¯t know what kind of place you think this is, but we¡¯re not hiring barmaids¡ª¡±


    ¡°Not at the bar,¡± I cut him off. ¡°Something that pays. And pays well.¡±


    Torak tilts his head, and for a moment, there¡¯s nothing but the sound of low chatter and clinking glasses. He leans forward slightly, lowering his voice.


    ¡°Kid, the kind of work that pays well around here ain¡¯t the kind you walk away from clean.¡±


    I expected that. I nod.


    Torak studies me again, then sighs, jerking a thumb toward the wall behind him. ¡°See for yourself.¡±


    I step closer, scanning the worn-out papers pinned to the wooden wall. The ink is smudged on some, others are barely hanging on by a nail. These aren''t regular job postings. They''re bounties.


    Each one is a death sentence waiting to be signed.


    People looking to have someone silenced. Debtors who owe too much. Betrayers who crossed the wrong people. The kind of jobs that don¡¯t get recorded in official records.


    I swallow hard.


    This is the reality of Cradena. If you want to survive, you have to be useful. And the easiest way to be useful in a city like this is to be willing to stain your hands with blood.


    I should walk away.


    And I almost do¡ªuntil my eyes land on one paper.


    It¡¯s different from the others.


    Most of the bounties are written in blunt, businesslike wording. ¡°Kill this man.¡± ¡°Make this one disappear.¡± Cold and impersonal.


    But this one reads like a desperate plea.


    A father¡¯s plea.


    I scan the words carefully. A missing daughter. A nobleman in Garthram suspected of running an underground trade involving children. The details are scarce, but the pay isn¡¯t¡ª5,000 gold. A fortune.


    Torak must notice me hesitating because he leans in. ¡°That one¡¯s different, huh?¡±


    I don¡¯t respond right away. My fingers tighten around the edge of the paper.


    There¡¯s a weight to this that¡¯s different from the others. Killing someone because they owe money? That¡¯s just business. Killing someone because they prey on children?


    That¡¯s justice.


    I pull the paper from the wall and set it down on the counter.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take this one.¡±


    Torak doesn¡¯t react at first. He just stares at me, then at the paper, then back at me.


    ¡°¡­You¡¯re serious?¡±


    I nod.


    He scoffs, rubbing his face. ¡°Listen, kid, I don¡¯t know what kind of death wish you have, but this? This is big leagues. You understand that, right? This ain¡¯t just some thug in the streets. You go after a nobleman, you¡¯re making enemies in high places.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡±


    Torak shakes his head. ¡°No, I don¡¯t think you do. You mess up a job like this, you don¡¯t just die. You get erased. No burial, no body to find. They make examples of people who go after their own.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care.¡±


    It¡¯s the truth. There¡¯s nothing left to lose.


    Torak watches me for a long time before sighing in frustration. ¡°Fine. What name do I put on the contract?¡±


    I pause.


    A name.


    Not Castiel Lachius. That name belongs to a dead boy.


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Something else.


    My eyes drop to the paper in front of me. The poem of Percy Bysshe Shelley flashes in my mind.


    ¡°¡­Ozymandias.¡±


    Torak raises an eyebrow. ¡°Bit dramatic, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    I shrug. ¡°Does it matter?¡±


    Torak lets out a rough chuckle, shaking his head as he scribbles the name onto the contract.


    ¡°Alright then, Ozymandias,¡± he mutters. ¡°Let¡¯s see if you¡¯ve got what it takes to survive.¡±


    I take the paper and step away from the counter, shoving it inside my pocket.


    First job. First kill.


    No turning back now.


    I step out of the bar, the weight of the bounty notice still heavy in my hand.


    The desperate plea of a father searching for his missing daughter. A high noble involved in child slavery. A reward large enough to change my life overnight.


    It all sounds unreal.


    But this is Cradena, the city of criminals, smugglers, and people who couldn¡¯t care less about anyone but themselves.


    If there¡¯s one place where something this disgusting could happen in broad daylight without anyone batting an eye, it¡¯s here.


    I need information.


    So, I do what any rational person would¡ªstart asking around.


    ¡°Hey, have you noticed anything suspicious around the bay?¡±


    The old man I ask, sitting on the steps of a rundown shack, lets out a dry chuckle, barely looking up from the bottle in his hand. ¡°Kid, this whole damn city is suspicious.¡±


    I try another person. Then another. Then another.


    Same response.


    Cradena is built on corruption and crime. Everything that happens here is suspicious, so nobody really gives a damn about something as small as a few missing kids.


    I click my tongue under my mask, frustration creeping in. I should have expected this. Nobody¡¯s going to hand me a direct answer. If I want to find the bastards responsible, I need to start thinking like them.


    So, I lean against a nearby wall, arms crossed, and watch.


    The docks stretch out before me, lined with ships swaying gently with the tide. Some are pirate vessels, others are merchant ships, and most¡ªat least on the surface¡ªare just simple fishing boats.


    I tap my mask, lost in thought.


    In my past life, I remember reading about the transatlantic slave trade. How people were stuffed into cargo holds, crammed together like livestock, shipped off to foreign lands, never to see home again.


    It was cruel.


    It was efficient.


    And what better place to do the same than here? A city filled with pirates, fishermen, and mercenaries? A city where nobody asks questions?


    I scan the ships, trying to find something¡ªanything¡ªthat looks out of place.


    Problem is, nothing does.


    I can¡¯t just barge onto every ship and demand to see their cargo. And if they really are smuggling people, they¡¯re not going to make it obvious.


    I briefly consider another plan. If they¡¯re targeting orphans and homeless kids, maybe I should act like bait. Play the role of a helpless child wandering the streets alone, let them snatch me up, then strike from the inside.


    But that plan has one big flaw.


    My clothes.


    Even though I look like a street rat right now, my navy blue sweater and black pants are still made of quality fabric. I''d probably be in more danger if they noticed I was Castiel Lachius.


    Damn it.


    I let out a slow breath. If I want answers, I¡¯ll have to find them myself.


    No more talking. No more asking.


    I need to observe. Watch the movements around the bay. See who¡¯s coming and going.


    And if I stay long enough, maybe¡ªjust maybe¡ªsomeone will slip up.


    I leaned against a wooden post, arms crossed, eyes sharp. The thick fog rolling in from the bay clung to the streets like a second skin, turning everything into a hazy blur. The sky overhead was the same dull gray as the sea, a colorless void that made it impossible to tell if it was morning or afternoon.


    Around me, the docks were as alive as ever¡ªfishermen shouting over each other, trying to sell their catch before it spoiled. Dockhands grunted as they hauled crates from ships, their boots sloshing through the damp, uneven planks. The smell of salt, rotting wood, and dead fish hung heavy in the air. It was the kind of place where nobody asked questions. Where everyone minded their own business.


    And yet¡ª


    One ship stood out.


    Or rather, it didn¡¯t.


    No shouting. No selling. No desperate calls for customers.


    It just sat there, half-hidden in the fog.


    And guarding it? A tall, tanned man with a scimitar strapped to his waist. His black hair was tied into a neat ponytail, his stance relaxed but deliberate¡ªlike a predator conserving its energy before the kill. His eyes moved slowly over the crowd, scanning, watching.


    I tapped the edge of my mask. That¡¯s not normal.


    Then things got even weirder.


    A man in a deep red coat, lined with gold trim, walked straight up to the ship. Even through the mist, I could tell¡ªthis guy didn¡¯t belong in a place like this. Boots polished to a shine, slicked-back hair, a clean-shaven face untouched by stress or hardship. Wealth. The kind of wealth that didn¡¯t waste time on fish markets.


    The guard barely hesitated before stepping aside. No questions, no exchange of words¡ªjust a silent nod of respect. Like this man¡¯s presence was expected.


    The noble disappeared onto the ship.


    I frowned.


    A simple fish sale wouldn¡¯t need secrecy. Wouldn¡¯t need a guard with a blade. Wouldn¡¯t involve a noble sneaking aboard like he was making some backroom deal.


    No, this wasn¡¯t business.


    This was something else.


    And I had a feeling I wasn¡¯t gonna like what I found.


    I exhaled through my nose, rubbing my thumb against the hilt of my dagger. It¡¯s pretty obvious this is some shady business, I thought. But the real question is¡ªif it''s so obvious, why the hell isn¡¯t anyone doing anything about it?


    People here weren¡¯t blind. They weren¡¯t stupid. They had to know.


    Which meant there was only one explanation.


    Someone powerful was making sure this ship remained untouchable.


    A big shark in the waters of Cradena. Someone too important, too connected, too dangerous to piss off.


    And judging by that noble¡¯s attitude, he was either the shark himself¡­ or feeding the damn thing.


    I let out a slow breath, watching it curl into the cold air.


    This was deeper than I thought.


    And if I wasn¡¯t careful, I¡¯d drown before I even got close to the truth.


    ***


    The night falls.


    The fog thickens, rolling in from the bay, swallowing the docks in a dense, murky haze. The damp air clings to my skin, and the salty scent of the sea mingles with the stench of rotting fish and wet wood.


    Perfect cover.


    I move silently, my boots barely making a sound against the worn planks of the pier. The ship sits there, unmoving, like a hulking beast lurking in the dark. The guards at the front remain in place¡ªtoo relaxed. They don¡¯t expect anyone.


    Good.


    I keep low, weaving between wooden crates and barrels, inching my way toward the ship. The hull is old, the planks weathered and cracked¡ªperfect for eavesdropping.


    I press my ear against the damp wood.


    Muffled voices.


    Then¡ªwhimpering.


    I freeze.


    A man speaks, his tone calm, almost businesslike.


    "Four girls. Three boys. All between eight and twelve. The buyer will come tomorrow night. Make sure they¡¯re cleaned up¡ªlast time, one of them was covered in bruises. We can¡¯t have that again."


    A second voice chuckles. "What does it matter? They¡¯ll be bruised soon enough."


    Something inside me shatters.


    I knew it. I knew these bastards were dirty. But hearing it¡ªhearing those words, spoken so easily, so casually¡ª


    My hands curl into fists. My nails dig into my palms, hard enough to break the skin.


    There it is. The truth.


    This isn¡¯t just suspicion. These bastards are real.


    And they don¡¯t deserve to live.


    I don¡¯t think. I don¡¯t hesitate.


    I move.


    Like a shadow, I slip through the fog, making my way toward the lone guard stationed near the entrance. He¡¯s tall, muscular, standing there with his scimitar tied at his waist, completely unaware of the fate creeping toward him.


    I draw my dagger.


    One step. Then another. My pulse is steady, my breathing controlled. I¡¯ve killed before¡ªbut this time, it¡¯s different. This time, it¡¯s a man.


    I reach him. He doesn¡¯t even notice.


    The blade slipped across his throat too easily.


    For a moment, I expected something¡ªanything. A struggle, a final gasp, maybe a desperate plea for mercy. But the man simply stumbled, fingers clawing at the open wound as red gushed down his chest.


    His body slumped forward onto the wooden dock, dark blood pooling around his twitching hands.


    I stood there, dagger in hand, feeling the warm liquid drip onto my fingers.


    ¡­I just killed someone.


    It wasn¡¯t like before¡ªwith the wolf. This was different. This was a man, a person.


    My stomach twisted, bile rising up my throat.


    I¡¯m no different from them.


    The assassins who killed my family. The mercenaries who slaughtered without question. The bandits who treated life like it was disposable.


    I just did the same thing.


    My hands shook as I swallowed hard, trying to keep myself from throwing up. My mask felt tight, suffocating. For a second, I thought about running. Just leaving this entire mission behind and getting as far away from this ship as possible.


    But then I saw it.


    The purple glow hovering above the dead man¡¯s body.


    It pulsed softly, drifting above him like a dying ember.


    Necromancy.


    I had a choice.


    I could leave him here to rot, let his death be nothing more than another stain on the already blood-soaked docks of Cradena.


    Or I could give his death meaning.


    I took a breath and brush my fingers on the orb.


    The purple glow sank into the corpse.


    The body twitched.


    A low, guttural snarl rumbled from the newly dead man''s throat as his skin darkened, turning black like the abyss itself. His pupils vanished, leaving only two glowing violet lights in his hollow sockets. The gash in his throat sealed itself, but the scar remained¡ªa twisted reminder of what I had done.


    His scimitar clattered to the dock as he rose to his feet.


    I stared up at him, chest tightening.


    Is this really okay? Am I really okay with this?


    I clenched my fists.


    I don''t have a choice.


    This world doesn¡¯t care about morality. The people who took my family¡¯s lives didn¡¯t hesitate. And the bastards on this ship sure as hell won¡¯t either.


    I pulled my mask tighter over my face and pointed at the ship.


    "Kill them all."


    The undead lurched forward, each step heavier than the last as he moved towards the wooden ramp leading up to the ship.


    At first, there was silence.


    Then, screams.


    Steel clashed against steel. Flesh was torn apart. Panic. Chaos.


    The guards inside had no idea what the hell was happening. One of their own had just turned against them, and it was too late for them to figure out why.


    I took the chance. Moving quickly, I dashed up the ramp, slipping past the carnage as my undead guard slaughtered everything in his path.


    No one even noticed me.


    I slipped inside the ship¡¯s interior, heart pounding.


    It was worse than I expected.


    Cages. Dozens of them. Lining the walls of what should have been the captain¡¯s quarters. Children inside, some barely older than three or four. Some human. Some demi-human. Some elves.


    A few were crying, others just stared blankly, their eyes void of emotion.


    And at the center of it all¡ª


    The nobleman and the slave dealer, standing over a desk piled with documents and gold.


    The captain of the ship, the bastard in charge of all this, drew his cutlass the moment he saw me.


    I had no time to react before he swung at me.


    I barely dodged, the blade missing my head by inches. My heartbeat slammed in my ears as I jumped back, gripping my dagger tight.


    The man lunged again, his movements quick and brutal. His eyes were wild, the kind of man who had killed more times than he could count.


    Shit¡ªhe¡¯s fast!


    I didn¡¯t hesitate. Ventocaptura.


    A gust of wind shot forward, hitting him square in the chest. He stumbled, his balance thrown. That was all I needed.


    I surged forward, jumping onto his back before he could recover. My dagger plunged into his shoulder, but the man roared in rage, throwing his entire weight back against the wooden wall.


    Pain shot through my spine, knocking the breath out of me. I gritted my teeth and twisted the dagger, feeling it cut deeper into flesh.


    The captain let out a choked gasp, his struggles weakening.


    I pulled the dagger out¡ªthen drove it back in.


    Warm blood splattered onto my clothes. Onto my mask. Onto my hands.


    The man finally collapsed, his body twitching before going still.


    The room was dead silent.


    Except for the ragged breathing of the nobleman.


    I turned to him.


    The bastard was trembling, his fine clothes stained with sweat.


    I stepped forward. He flinched.


    "You''re from Eryndor, aren''t you?" My voice was cold.


    The noble shook his head furiously. "I¡ªI don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about¡ª!"


    I grabbed his collar, slamming him against the wooden desk. "Who ordered the attack on the Lachius family?"


    His face drained of color.


    I could see the moment he realized who I was.


    "Pl¡ªplease, I swear, I¡ªI had nothing to do with that¡ª!"


    I pressed the dagger against his throat.


    He choked on his own fear. "The order¡ªit¡ªit came from the crown! From King Martin Aikahn!"


    Something inside me snapped.


    The screams from the ship¡¯s interior had stopped. I knew what that meant. My undead soldier had finished his work.


    This noble¡ªthis disgusting waste of life¡ªwas whimpering like a child.


    I leaned in. "You''re filth. You prey on children. You steal their futures and sell them like cattle. And now you beg for your own worthless life?"


    For a brief second, I felt something¡­ wrong.


    Like a part of me was fading.


    Like I was losing something I could never get back.


    I ignored it.


    With one swift motion, I sliced his throat.


    Blood poured onto the desk, staining the documents that recorded the lives they had stolen.


    I finally turned to the cages.


    Some children were crying. Others were frozen, too terrified to move.


    I took a breath.


    "...You''re free."


    I moved forward, breaking the first cage open.


    Then the next.


    And the next.


    ***


    The children are free.


    I stand there, gripping the bars of the last cage as I watch them scatter. Some run, their bare feet slapping against the wooden deck, desperate to get as far away as possible. Others limp, weak and malnourished, barely able to move.


    I wait.


    The ship is silent now. No more screaming. No more fighting. No more sobbing.


    One by one, the children disappear.


    And then¡ªI am alone.


    The salty sea air does little to mask the overwhelming stench of blood.


    I exhale, my breath shaky.


    Slowly, I turn my gaze back to the bodies lying at my feet.


    The nobleman.


    The slave dealer.


    Both lifeless. Both gone.


    For a moment, I just stare at them. The dim lantern light flickers, casting long shadows over their motionless forms.


    My grip on my dagger tightens.


    I¡¯ve come this far... It¡¯s too late to run.


    I swallow down the bile rising in my throat.


    With a silent whisper of mana, I cast Aquablade¡ªa thin, razor-sharp layer of water coats my dagger¡¯s edge.


    It¡¯s the highest-level spell I¡¯ve ever used. An intermediate spell. More than enough for what I¡¯m about to do.


    I take a step forward and kneel beside the nobleman¡¯s corpse.


    Then¡ªI cut.


    The blade slices through flesh, tendons, and bone with terrifying ease. The wet, sickening sound of it lodges itself into my skull. I force myself not to look away, even as nausea twists my insides into knots.


    The nobleman¡¯s head separates from his shoulders.


    For a moment, I don¡¯t move.


    I just¡­ hold it.


    The weight of it feels heavier than it should. Or maybe that¡¯s just the weight of my actions sinking in.


    Don¡¯t think about it. Don¡¯t think about it. Don¡¯t¡ª


    I swallow hard and stand, forcing my legs to move.


    As I step through the ship¡¯s corridors, the full extent of the carnage unfolds before me.


    Bodies.


    Some slumped against the walls. Others collapsed on the bloodstained floor.


    All dead.


    All because of me.


    I exhale sharply through my nose, shoving the thought aside.


    Then¡ªnear the exit¡ªI see him.


    The undead soldier.


    He stands there, still as a statue, waiting.


    His skin¡ªonce tan¡ªnow black as the abyss. His eyes glow a dim violet, empty of anything resembling humanity.


    For the first time, I really look at him.


    I don¡¯t even know this man¡¯s name... Yet, I made him submit to me.


    A sick feeling claws its way up my throat.


    What kind of monster am I, anyway?


    I lift my hand, palm open. ¡°You can go now.¡±


    The undead soldier¡¯s body dissolves into a thick, swirling black mist¡ªvanishing as though he had never existed.


    And just like that¡ªhe¡¯s gone.


    I step out onto the dock.


    The fog is thicker now, rolling in waves over the water. But despite the late hour, the streets of Cradena aren¡¯t empty.


    A crowd has formed.


    Men, women, even children¡ªall staring.


    Some whisper, others just stand there wide-eyed.


    And I know why.


    A lone figure, stepping off a ship, soaked in blood, holding a severed head.


    A child, masked and cloaked, emerging from a place of slaughter.


    I tighten my grip on the nobleman¡¯s head, forcing myself to move forward.


    Don¡¯t let them see you hesitate.


    I weave through the crowd. People part like the sea, stepping away as I pass.


    The murmur of voices follows me¡ªsoft at first, then growing louder.


    "Who is that?"


    "Is that a kid?"


    "What the fuck happened on that ship?"


    I keep walking.


    Through the damp streets, past the flickering street lamps, the overwhelming stench of fish and smoke thick in the air.


    And finally¡ª


    I push open the door to the bar.


    Laughter, the clinking of glasses, the heavy scent of booze and unwashed bodies¡ªthe usual filth of Cradena.


    But as I step inside¡ª


    Everything stops.


    A few drunken men pause mid-drink, their eyes fixating on the bloody figure standing at the entrance. Others¡ªthe more sober ones¡ªstraighten up, their expressions shifting from amusement to cautious curiosity.


    I step forward.


    My boots echo against the wooden floor as I cross the room. The severed head in my grasp drips onto the floorboards, leaving a crimson trail in my wake.


    I reach the counter.


    Torak is there.


    The dwarf blinks, eyes flickering between me and the bloodstained mess I¡¯ve become.


    A thick, heavy silence fills the room.


    And then¡ªI speak.


    "Listen up."


    My voice cuts through the tension like a guillotine.


    "My name is Ozymandias."


    I let them see me. Small, young¡ªbut standing in a room full of killers without an ounce of fear.


    "Etch it into your fucking skulls. Burn it into your memories. Spread it through this city like wildfire."


    I lift the severed head by the hair, letting it drip onto the floor.


    "This is what happens to those who prey on the weak."


    The room is dead silent.


    The men who were laughing before? Not anymore.


    Some exchange glances, shifting in their seats. Others grip their weapons just a little tighter.


    They understand. They feel it.


    A storm has entered Cradena.


    And his name is Ozymandias.


    I turn back to Torak.


    He stares at me, wide-eyed, his fingers twitching on the counter.


    "Connect me with that girl¡¯s father."


    My fingers press into the wood, knuckles white.


    "I want my five thousand gold. Tonight."

 Punishment

    The light coming through the window stings my eyes, even when they¡¯re closed. I shift, groaning slightly as I blink, my vision adjusting to the dim morning glow.


    Wooden floors. Stone walls. An inn room.


    ¡­What?


    Why am I here?


    My thoughts are sluggish, my body heavy with exhaustion. The lingering haze in my mind makes it hard to piece things together at first, but then¡ª


    I move slightly and end up kicking something on the floor, my eyes following the object. A mask.


    Oh.


    So that was real.


    For a moment I thought that the whole Ozymandias thing was in my head, but now the memories of everything that happened are clear in my mind.


    The ship. The noble. The slavers. The bodies.


    After the massacre, I returned to Torak¡¯s bar and received my payment. The girl¡¯s father had been right¡ªhis daughter was moments away from being sold into slavery. The man had sold everything he had to gather the five-thousand-gold reward, desperate to hire a mercenary. But no one had dared go against the criminals in this city.


    No one but me.


    With that money, I found the best inn in the region and paid for a room¡ªtwo gold pieces per day. A fair deal. The room has a private bath, warm meals, and most importantly, a locked door between me and the outside world.


    I had been too paranoid to sleep properly, so I sat on the floor against the wall, thinking, waiting, listening  in case I was ambushed, I think I ended up passing out from sleep right here...


    My gaze falls on my open hands, they''re clean but deep down I know they''re stained with blood. I don''t know if it was the adrenaline, but the moment I took the lives of those thugs I felt nothing but anger. But now I feel strange, I, with my own hands, ended the existence of two people. No, not two... All those dead guards... the Undead Guard too...


    All that blood is stained on my hands, I didn''t know the names of any of them... But their families do. What if one of those men was actually a family man? What if I actually condemned an innocent child and wife to live alone?


    I hold the mask tightly, staring at its golden details in the dark material, and the jewel between its eyes, like an all-seeing eye.


    ¡°There''s no use regretting it...¡± I mutter unconsciously, as if hoping that the mask understands me.


    This whole circumstance created Ozymandias, that old poem about the fall of a monarch is the origin of the name. Maybe this identity that was created for my own survival can change this world for the better?


    Maybe if people see that there is someone out there who masks himself and fights against the powerful, they can be inspired and find the strength within themselves to fight against an oppressive system.


    For now I must equip myself and prepare for other, worse battles, if I want to survive in Cradena I must be strong.


    ***


    I prepared myself by separating the large amount of gold pieces I had into smaller portions, so that I could carry the money more safely.


    No matter how strong I pretend to be, I¡¯m not invincible. Walking around Cradena with a full bag of gold might as well be a death sentence.


    Even though my body still ached from yesterday¡¯s events, I forced myself to use a simple earth spell¡ªTerraforma. It wasn¡¯t anything flashy, just a basic spell that allowed small-scale manipulation of dirt, stone, and similar materials.


    With a wave of my hand, the wall of my inn room shifted slightly, a small hollow space forming within the stone. I stashed most of my gold inside before sealing it back up. The surface smoothed out, leaving no trace of its presence.


    Taking my mask and putting it on my face, I feel the familiar, cold sensation of becoming Ozymandias again.


    Locking the door behind me, I stepped out onto the streets of Cradena.


    The air was thick with the usual smells¡ªsalt, alcohol, and the distant stench of unwashed bodies. The sky above remained its usual overcast gray, casting a dreary light over the city.


    Now what I need is new equipment and clothes, luckily for me Cradena has all sorts of stores that supply items for assassins and bounty hunters.


    I visited a few stores and did some shopping: First I went shopping for clothes, but I couldn''t find anything that suited me. Apparently there is no equipment or armor for children


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    Tch. Figures.


    The closest thing I found was dwarf equipment, but it was too big to fit my skinny body. So I decided to just buy a black cloak with a fur-lined hood, which will be useful for creating Ozymandias'' visual identity.


    For my next stop I looked for stores selling weapons, there were all kinds of weapons there, swords, bows, spears... But of course I focused on buying something that would suit me.


    I spent a long time checking every option before finally settling on two. The most expensive ones in the shop.


    The first being the Infernal Fang, a dagger made of obsidian and covered in dragon''s blood, it has fiery properties and causes a burning sensation when it cuts someone.


    The other is the Frost Fang, a dagger made from the frozen fang of a Frostwyrm, a legendary ice dragon who lives in high mountains of ice. Thanks to its icy properties, it leaves frostbite where it cuts, slowing enemies.


    Both daggers cause a burning sensation, one burning like fire and the other like ice. I think this works well for Ozymandias because it''s like the old saying, he who plays with fire gets burned.


    I also picked up a set of fine needles in an alchemy shop. Not for medical use, of course. Poison would be a better application. I remembered what Valtheria taught me about certain fruits and plants in the forest, some could paralyze, others could kill. If I could extract those toxins, these needles would become another weapon in my arsenal.


    I spent quite a bit of gold, but the investment was worth it.


    By the time I finished my shopping, my stomach was twisting in hunger.


    The morning had slipped away, and the streets of Cradena were alive with activity.


    I decided to head to Torak¡¯s bar. The old dwarf might be an ass, but he made a decent meal.


    I took a shortcut through one of the narrow alleys, my thoughts already drifting toward what I¡¯d order. Something warm, maybe a¨C


    Pain exploded behind my eyes. Suddenly a shock spreads through my skull.


    What the fuck?


    My body collapsed to the cold, damp ground and my consciousness fades to black.


    ***


    My consciousness slowly returns to its normal state as I wake up from a deep sleep, voices bringing me back to reality.


    ¡°Wake him up, Louise.¡± A harsh voice commands.


    ¡°From the heavens'' grace and earth''s embrace, let pure waters flow, Aquapura.¡±


    With the familiar incantation a torrent of water falls over my face forcing me awake, I open my eyes confusedly looking around me. A dark place, apparently made of rough stone. Only a small chandelier illuminates the place casting shadows on the wall. As soon as my vision returns to normal I see in front of me a a girl with blue hair tied into a high ponytail, she¡¯s wearing a wizard¡¯s cloak, and in her hand¡ªa staff. Polished black wood, with an octagonal blue crystal floating at the top, glowing faintly in the dim room.


    ¡°You can go now, I want to be alone with our guest here.¡±


    The man''s voice echoes firmly like an absolute command, the girl steps aside and exits through the wooden door behind her leaving me alone in this room with the man in front of me..


    The man sits in a wooden chair across from me, legs spread apart like he owns the world. He¡¯s huge. Thick, muscular build. Long black hair, wavy and untamed, draping over his shoulders. A massive black beard. An open white cotton vest exposing his scarred chest. black linen pants. Boots that have seen decades of travel.


    Still confused, I try to move but notice that I''m sitting on a wooden chair with chains holding my wrists behind my back. Even getting up with my legs was difficult as they were also chained.


    ¡°There''s no point in struggling, kid, you''re the fish that fell into my net.¡± The man said, his piercing blue eyes staring into mine as if he were observing beyond the mask on my face.


    He continues. ¡°You gave me a hard time, hm? What''s your motivation in screwing with my slave business?¡±


    Business? Slaves?


    He must have something to do with that mission I did yesterday. ¡°The crew that enslaved innocent children, you mean?¡± I reply in a mocking tone.


    ¡°Hahaha, you really are a comedy, kid.¡± He lets out a hearty laugh. ¡°You really have no idea what you''ve gotten yourself into, do you?¡±


    He gets up and walks over to a table in the corner of the dark room, the equipment I had bought is there.


    ¡°Daggers and needles huh? Is that what you spent the money you made killing my crew on?¡± He runs his finger along the blades of the daggers that look like toothpicks next to his hand. ¡°You turned my little brother''s life into money to buy these?¡±


    ¡°Little brother? Wait, there must be some mistake here. I didn''t kill anyone''s little brother.¡± I say confused, thinking I''ve been mistaken for someone else.


    ¡°I''m pretty sure it was you, Ozymandias...¡± He turns around and stops in front of me. ¡°When you raided that ship, you killed the pirate who was there... Do you even know who he was?¡± He says, his thick voice reverberating as if it carried an imminent death.


    ¡°N-no...¡± I mutter quietly.


    ¡°Garrick Dreadmoor.¡± He replies. ¡°You killed the pirate who was my right-hand man and my blood brother... You thought you could just kill my brother and walk away?¡± He waits for an answer.


    I don''t answer though, staying quiet and swallowing the saliva in my dry throat.


    ¡°Lestor!¡± The man shouted, the wooden door opened again and now a man in a black tunic and black hood entered the dark room. ¡°Make him remember the name Edward Dreadmoor before he dies.¡± With that, he leaves the room.


    The man called Lester seemed to be dressed like an executioner, he seemed excited by something almost bouncing on his foot. ¡°I''m finally going to have some fun after all this time... Aahh, I''m so happy...¡±


    He heads over to the side table where my equipment is spread out. ¡°Hmmm... Let''s see... Daggers that cause burns huh? They look like they''d be great for torture.¡± He gives a bizarre laugh.


    Torture? Is that what these guys have for me?


    I don''t know what to expect from this... The only thing I''m sure of is that I need to find a way out of here.

 Extra Chapter: Pirate Brotherhood

    My name is Edward.


    I was born in Cradena, a bay that now rots under the shadow of piracy. But it wasn¡¯t always this way. Once, this city thrived under the rule of the Garthram Empire, where crime existed but was kept in check by the weight of law.


    That changed when King Nikola Aikahn, father of Prince Martin Aikahn, made a decision that would alter the fate of Cradena forever. We never knew the details, but his reign was troubled, and as desperation took root, the empire loosened its grip. Crime festered like an open wound, spreading until the city crumbled into filth. The once-prosperous bay transformed into a lawless slum of tangled alleys, choking on its own corruption.


    Faced with this decay, the king severed ties. No soldiers. No taxes. No law.


    Cradena became a place where only the strong survived¡ªa refuge for outcasts, exiled nobles, gang lords, and failed revolutionaries. A city of thieves and murderers, where blood paid for everything, and trust was the most expensive currency of all.


    For my brother Garrick and me, life had never been kind, but after that, it became unbearable. I called him my younger brother, though we were the same age¡ªtwins by birth, yet bound by something deeper. I was the stronger one, the one who fought for us both. We were each other¡¯s only family in a world that wanted us dead.


    Our mother, Miranda, worked in one of Cradena¡¯s brothels. A woman with a sharp tongue and a sharper temper, she was not the kind of mother that sang lullabies or whispered words of love. One night, she took in a client¡ªa soldier of the Marine Corps, the empire¡¯s naval force.


    That night changed everything.


    Their affair was brief, forgotten the moment the man left, but it left her with two lives growing inside her. When she sought him out, hoping he¡¯d take responsibility, he vanished without a trace.


    Thrown out of the brothel for her mistake, she took work where she could find it¡ªselling herself from the confines of our home. Garrick and I grew up knowing when to disappear, forced into the streets whenever a stranger came knocking.


    But if there was any peace to be found, it was by the docks, watching the endless tide of ships rolling in and out of the bay. We dreamed there, in the salt-kissed air, whispering the same foolish fantasy over and over again.


    We would join the Marine Corps.


    We wanted to escape this life. To fight for something greater. To prove¡ªto our father, to the world¡ªthat we were more than the dirt we were born in.


    But dreams mean nothing in a city like Cradena.


    ***


    The Marine Corps serves the kingdom it swears loyalty to, its duty unwavering¡ªto protect trade routes, coastal cities, and merchant vessels from pirates, smugglers, and the horrors that lurk beneath the waves.


    To be a Marine meant honor. Strength. Order.


    I never considered myself naive. I understood the world was unfair. I was born the same year as Prince Martin Aikahn, yet our lives could not have been more different. He was raised in luxury, a future carved in gold, while I clawed my way through the filth of Cradena, scraping by on scraps. Fate had gifted him everything and given me nothing.


    But I refused to believe that blood alone determined worth.


    Even when people whispered about me and my brother¡ªabout our black hair, a rarity in a world of vivid colors. To some, it was a mere curiosity. To others, a curse. Superstitious fools muttered that children born with hair as dark as ours were destined to bring misfortune.


    Yet despite everything, Garrick and I clung to our dream. We would become Marines. We would rise above the streets of Cradena and prove ourselves worthy.


    But dreams are fragile things.


    I remember the night our world burned as if it happened just yesterday.


    Dinner that evening was simple¡ªbread and water, a meal so pitiful that others might have called it punishment. For us, it was normal.


    Then the door burst open.


    The stench of salt, sweat, and alcohol poured in before I saw them¡ªpirates, their boots heavy against the wooden floor. They filled the small space like a flood, shoving aside what little we had. Instinct took over. I lunged, fists swinging. I was strong for my age, and I managed to take down two of them before I was overwhelmed.


    Then he walked in.


    Even at fourteen, I could feel it¡ªa presence that swallowed the room whole. He was tall and broad, his skin tanned from years at sea, his long red hair tied back in a loose ponytail. One of his eyes was a striking green, but the other¡ªwhite and scarred¡ªhad long since lost its sight.


    I knew his name before he even spoke it.


    Jack Bloodgrave.


    A legend. A butcher. A pirate whose name alone was enough to turn men pale. He was not the type to steal quietly into the night. When he took, he did it openly, with steel and fire.


    He drew his sword without ceremony and, with a single strike, cut Miranda in half.


    She never had a chance to scream.


    I should have felt horror. I should have mourned her.


    But all I felt was relief.


    Garrick and I didn¡¯t move. Didn¡¯t cry. Didn¡¯t fight back. The source of our misery had been erased in an instant. We had been born into a life with no purpose¡ªperhaps it was only fitting that we would die without one, too.


    But Jack Bloodgrave had other plans.


    Miranda, it turned out, had gambled away more than she could afford. She had built a debt with the Bloodgrave crew that even her life could not pay.


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    And yet, Jack didn¡¯t kill us.


    He had seen something in me, something in the way I fought against his men to protect my brother. I had spilled blood with my bare hands, and at fourteen, I was already taller and stronger than most grown men.


    He turned to his crew, voice like rolling thunder.


    ¡°Take these two as our slaves.¡±


    Garrick and I were taken as slaves by the Bloodgrave crew.


    At first, our purpose was simple: clean the damn ship.


    Scrub the decks. Wash the blood from the wood. Polish the rust from the cannons. Repeat.


    It was mindless, exhausting work, but we learned quickly. In Cradena, hesitation meant weakness, and weakness meant death. We didn¡¯t speak unless spoken to. We didn¡¯t question orders. We survived.


    For months, that was our existence¡ªnameless, beaten, discarded when we weren¡¯t useful.


    Then came the Pirate War.


    Cradena had always been divided. Countless crews operated within its borders, each controlling their own slice of power, each running their own filth-ridden businesses. But two names ruled above all others¡ªBloodgrave and Black Hawks.


    The balance between them was fragile, held together by an unspoken understanding: neither could afford a full-scale war. The smaller crews, desperate for power, were the ones that finally shattered that peace.


    And when the first cannon fired, all of Cradena was thrown into chaos.


    Factions clashed in the streets. Ships turned into floating battlefields, their masts burning against the night sky. It was a war of greed and vengeance, and though many fought for dominance, only two crews truly mattered.


    Bloodgrave vs. Black Hawks.


    For Garrick and me, the war should have meant nothing. We were slaves. Tools to be used. But fate has a cruel sense of humor.


    One night, while cleaning the deck, death came for my brother.


    A Black Hawk assassin had infiltrated our ship, moving like a shadow in the darkness. I heard the whisper of his blade before I saw him¡ªa flash of steel aimed straight for Garrick¡¯s throat.


    I didn¡¯t think. But my body moved on its own.


    I threw my arm up, putting it between the blade and my brother.


    Steel met flesh.


    And shattered.


    The dagger broke against my skin, fragments clattering to the deck. For a moment, there was only stunned silence. Then rage took me.


    I lunged, my fist colliding with the assassin¡¯s ribs. I heard the sickening crunch of bone snapping, felt the warmth of his blood on my knuckles as he crumpled at my feet.


    By morning, word of the attack had reached Jack Bloodgrave.


    I still remember the way he looked at me, his one good eye gleaming with something close to satisfaction.


    ¡°My instincts were right,¡± he muttered, a grin cutting across his face. ¡°That boy is something else.¡±


    That was the moment everything changed for me.


    I was no longer just another slave.


    Jack had seen my worth, and from that day forward, he put me on the front lines.


    They called me a monster¡ªa man who fought without armor, without weapons, without fear.


    The war became my crucible, and I emerged something new. Something feared.


    The Iron Fist.


    The war was long. Brutal.


    Men screamed as they were cut down. Ships burned, their wreckage swallowed by the sea. The streets of Cradena ran slick with blood, the scent of death clinging to the air like a curse. We fought. We killed. We survived.


    And in the end, Bloodgrave won.


    With the Black Hawks crushed, Cradena belonged to us.


    I had risen from nothing¡ªfrom a slave scrubbing filth off the decks¡ªto Jack Bloodgrave¡¯s right hand. And with my rise, I was given something that meant more than gold, more than power.


    A surname.


    Dreadmoor.


    The terror of the seas.


    But time is a tide that spares no man. Jack Bloodgrave¡ªthe legend, the butcher, the unbreakable force¡ªgrew old. His body weakened, his mind dimmed, and the sea that had once been his domain now threatened to pull him under.


    Before death could claim him, he made one final choice.


    He handed his empire to me.


    And just like that, I became Captain Edward Dreadmoor, ruler of Cradena.


    The first thing I did was name Garrick my right-hand man. He had never been a warrior, never thirsted for battle the way I did, but his mind was sharp¡ªsharper than any blade.


    And with that mind, we built something greater.


    Garrick¡¯s ideas turned Cradena into an empire of shadows.


    We became dealers in flesh. The nobles of Garthram¡ªthe same nobles who preached virtue and order¡ªcame to us, cloaked in secrecy, to purchase our merchandise.


    Children.


    We turned a profit from innocence, from stolen futures.


    Bars, stores, the black market...


    Everything in Cradena belonged to me.


    The whispers of my name spread beyond the bay, carried on the wind, etched into the nightmares of men. Blackbeard, they called me¡ªa name spoken in hushed, fearful tones.


    We were untouchable. Unchallenged. Undisputed.


    Or so I thought.


    Then the news came. A whisper first. Then a murmur. Then a truth too horrifying to ignore.


    A boy¡ªone boy, alone¡ªhad decimated an entire ship of my men.


    And among the dead, there was one name I never expected to hear.


    Garrick.


    I felt my stomach turn to iron, my breath shallow, my pulse a hammer in my skull.


    I grit my teeth so hard my jaw ached, my fist clenching until the knuckles turned white.


    ¡°How is that possible?¡± My voice came out low, strained, barely contained.


    Louise, the water mage in my crew, stood before me, shifting nervously. Even she¡ªwho wielded the sea itself¡ªlooked terrified.


    ¡°I... I don¡¯t know, sir,¡± she stammered. ¡°Our informants say he did it all by himself...¡±


    One boy.


    One damn boy.


    I forced my breath steady. Forced my rage to simmer instead of explode.


    ¡°Listen carefully, Louise.¡± My voice was ice now, sharp and deadly. ¡°Tell the crew to start searching for this Ozymandias. I want him alive.¡±


    She swallowed hard and nodded. ¡°O-okay, sir...¡±


    Then she was gone, leaving me alone in the vast silence of my office.


    I had lost many men before. Lost ships. Lost battles. But never Garrick.


    My brother¡ªthe last piece of my past, the only thing that still tied me to the boy I once was¡ªwas gone.


    And for that, Ozymandias will suffer.


    I swear it.

 The Clown and The Fool

    I have no idea how long I¡¯ve been here. Hours? Days? Weeks? Time doesn¡¯t exist in the dark. There¡¯s just pain. Pain and his goddamn laughter.


    I tried to keep count at first, tried to focus on something, anything, but eventually, the agony drowns it all out. My mind¡¯s slipping, unraveling like a thread yanked too hard. I don¡¯t even know if I¡¯m still me anymore. Lestor makes sure of that.


    The bastard keeps me chained up, arms twisted behind my back, ankles locked so tight they feel like they¡¯re on fire. Half the time, my eyes are blindfolded, but honestly? Doesn¡¯t matter. Nothing worth seeing here. No food. No water. They know exactly what they¡¯re doing¡ªkeeping me just starved enough so my fluxicle production slows to a crawl. My mana¡¯s barely trickling, my body struggling to regenerate, and that means every cut lasts longer, every bruise lingers, every wound festers. It¡¯s all part of the plan.


    At first, he takes his time. Fingernails peeled off, one by one, the slow kind of cruelty that makes you beg for anything else. Then the blade comes out, carving into my chest, fire licking up raw nerves as he carves a big, ugly X into my skin like I¡¯m some kind of property.


    And then? Then the real fun starts for him.


    My toes. He doesn¡¯t just cut them off. That¡¯d be too easy. He rips them out. One by one. I don¡¯t know what he¡¯s using¡ªpliers? A knife? His bare hands? Does it even matter? All that matters is the sickening pop, the way my body jerks no matter how much I fight it. The way my stomach turns, the way my vision swims from the pain, like my body¡¯s trying to shut down just to escape it. But it won¡¯t. I¡¯m still here.


    And the worst part? I wanted this.


    Not the torture. Not the suffering. But this world. This life. I spent my first life rotting away in my own apathy, dreaming of adventure, of something more, something bigger. I had chances¡ªchances to change things, to be better. If I had just tried harder, if I had just given a damn, maybe I could¡¯ve climbed the career ladder. Made friends. Found someone. Built a life worth living. But I didn¡¯t. I wasted it. And now, in my second life, I¡¯m wasting away again.


    The irony isn¡¯t lost on me. I wanted magic, adventure, a story worth telling. And now? I¡¯d give anything¡ªanything¡ªjust to make it stop. To escape. To be free. Even if it means becoming something else entirely.


    ***


    It was late at night, and I was just sitting there in my room, swallowed up by darkness. The only light came from my computer screen, casting this eerie glow over the mess on my desk¡ªempty cups of instant ramen, crumpled snack wrappers, the usual. Cooking? Nah, never bothered. Easier to grab junk food from the store and call it a meal.


    Then my phone rang. The sudden buzz startled me, echoing through the silence. I glanced over. Who the hell would be calling me this late?


    I swiped the screen and pressed it to my ear. "Hello?" My voice came out rough, scratchy¡ªno surprise there, I barely used it.


    "_______?" The voice on the other end was bright, full of energy, practically radiating enthusiasm when he said my name. "We¡¯re out drinking with the company staff! Come on, man! It¡¯s been months!"


    That voice¡­ Who was that again?


    Oh. Right. A colleague from work. One of those outgoing, friendly types who made a point of including everyone in their plans. The kind of guy who thrived in a crowd, who made friends easily. The exact opposite of me.


    "I''m not going," I said, then hung up.


    A lot of people thought I was rude, cold, maybe even arrogant. And honestly? Maybe I was. But I didn¡¯t care. I saw no point in fake smiles, forced small talk, or pretending to enjoy company I had zero interest in. People were unreliable. Liars. Self-serving.


    I trusted one person: myself. That was it.


    So I stayed in my room. I wasn¡¯t a full-blown shut-in, but I sure as hell wasn¡¯t going out of my way to interact with people. Even online games were a hassle¡ªI hated having to talk to other players. If I could play solo, I would. Always.


    I was a ghost. Invisible. Nonexistent in other people¡¯s lives.


    Despite that, there were still people who cared about me. Especially my mom. "You can¡¯t live your life shutting everyone out," she used to say.


    Well, turns out she was wrong, wasn¡¯t she? Because I did. I shut everyone out until time caught up with me, and I had no one left.


    But the truth? It wasn¡¯t the world that abandoned me¡ªI did that to myself. My own arrogance, my own stubbornness, my own refusal to let anyone in. And yet, deep down, I always wanted something real. Something genuine.


    Maybe that¡¯s why I let myself believe in those peaceful moments at the mansion. Because, for the first time, I felt like I was loved. Not a fake, polite kind of love, but something real. And I clung to that lie like a dying man gasping for air.


    ***


    A creak.


    Faint, but enough to rip me back from the void.


    The wooden door groans open, the sound dragging me up from the suffocating dark. And with it¡ªslow, deliberate footsteps. Heavy. Unhurried.


    Lestor.


    He¡¯s back. Back to keep playing his sick, twisted little game.


    "Hm?" His voice drips with amusement. "Still breathing, are we?"


    I don¡¯t respond.


    I can¡¯t.


    Pain is everything now. It¡¯s my air, my blood, my whole fucking world. My own name barely feels real anymore.


    He circles me, his boots scraping against the cold stone, slow and methodical, like he¡¯s savoring the moment. Like he¡¯s studying me, enjoying the sight of me falling apart.


    "You know," he muses, stopping just inches away, too close, "you¡¯re not normal, are you?"


    His breath is warm against my skin, sickening.


    "Any other human would¡¯ve died by now. Infection, blood loss, shock¡­ But you?" A chuckle, low and cruel. "You¡¯re still here. Suffering."


    I barely register his words. My body is drowning in agony.


    The chains bite into my wrists, cold and unrelenting. My fingers throb where my nails used to be, a sharp, pulsing pain with every heartbeat. The X-shaped wound carved across my chest burns like fire, raw and open. And my feet¡ªor what¡¯s left of them¡ª


    I feel it.


    Warm, sticky blood pooling beneath me. The horrible absence where my toes used to be. The jagged, nerve-searing pain from every cut, every piece of me that¡¯s been stolen away.


    Time means nothing anymore. Minutes, hours, days¡ªit all blurs together.


    Lestor sighs, feigning disappointment. "Well, I must admit, it¡¯s been delightful taking you apart piece by piece¡­" He trails off, then his tone brightens, too cheerful, too cruel.


    "¡­But everything comes to an end, doesn¡¯t it?"


    A metallic scrape. Iron against iron.


    Sharpening.


    My stomach turns to ice.


    No.


    No, no, no¡ª


    Every nerve in my body screams at me to move, to fight, to run. I try to summon a spell, even a flicker, a spark¡ª


    Nothing.


    My blindfold is soaked with sweat, clinging to my face. My breath turns ragged, chest rising and falling too fast. My fingers twitch uselessly behind my back.


    And then¡ª


    Agony.


    A hot, searing pain explodes through me as steel cuts deep¡ª


    "AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!"


    The sound that tears from my throat doesn¡¯t even sound human.


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Heat. Wetness. Too much. Too fast.


    A sickening, gut-wrenching sensation¡ª


    Flesh ripping apart. Bone snapping. Something wet and wrong hitting the floor with a heavy splatter.


    My left foot.


    Gone.


    Fucking gone.


    The pain is unbearable. Like molten iron poured through my veins, like something is chewing me up from the inside out, shredding every nerve, every fiber of my being.


    I can¡¯t breathe.


    I can¡¯t think.


    The world tilts, spinning wildly, drowning me in a sea of sweat, blood, and agony.


    The blackness swallows me whole.


    ***


    When I come to, the first thing I notice is the nothingness.


    Not the dark, cold void of unconsciousness¡ªno, this is different. This is some real "cosmic horror, drifting-in-the-abyss" type of nothingness. There¡¯s no weight, no sound, no warmth, no sense of up or down. Just me, floating in the void like a speck of dust in an empty universe.


    Then, suddenly, the nothingness decides it¡¯s done being nothing.


    A sky materializes above me¡ªpitch black, littered with stars. A wooden table snaps into existence in front of me, along with two chairs. I¡¯m already sitting in one.


    And across from me?


    Oh, fantastic.


    A clown. Or something pretending to be one.


    He¡¯s wearing a classic jester¡¯s outfit, all red and black, his stupid little hat tipped forward just enough that the golden bells don¡¯t jingle. And his face? A white theater mask, carved into the widest, most unsettling grin I¡¯ve ever seen. But the real kicker? There¡¯s nothing behind it. No flesh, no eyes, just an endless, yawning void.


    Great. Just what I needed. A cryptic nightmare dressed like a circus act.


    The silence stretches, the void pressing in from all sides, before the thing finally leans forward, resting its elbows on the table. When it speaks, its voice is light, playful, but there¡¯s something else lurking underneath¡ªsomething slippery, unreadable.


    ¡°A pleasure to finally meet you, Castiel¡­ or should I say, Ozymandias?¡±


    I don¡¯t even flinch. I just cross my arms and glare. ¡°You gonna tell me where the hell I am, or are we gonna sit here making awkward eye contact all night?¡±


    Jester chuckles, shoulders shaking like I just told the funniest joke in the world. ¡°Ohhh, I like you already. So direct, so feisty.¡± He waves a gloved hand vaguely at the void. ¡°Fine, fine. You¡¯re in a little in-between space, a back alley of the universe, if you will. But let¡¯s not dwell on meaningless details. Let¡¯s talk about you.¡±


    ¡°Pass.¡±


    Another laugh. He sounds delighted. ¡°Oh, but you don¡¯t get a choice, my dear Castiel.¡±


    I glance around at the endless nothingness. Yeah. He¡¯s got me there.


    ¡°¡­Fine.¡± I exhale. ¡°A moment ago, I was dying. Am I dead?¡±


    Jester tilts his head like an owl, voice turning mockingly thoughtful. ¡°Mmm¡­ Dead? Not quite. Alive? Ehh, also not quite.¡± He props his chin on his hand. ¡°Let¡¯s just say you¡¯re in a bit of a¡­ transitional phase.¡±


    Fantastic. Just what I needed. A metaphysical crisis on top of everything else.


    ¡°Alright,¡± I say slowly, rubbing my temples. ¡°Then let¡¯s cut to the chase. What the hell are you?¡±


    Jester gasps, placing a hand over his chest like I¡¯ve mortally wounded him. ¡°Ohhh, humans. Always so obsessed with labels. Good, evil, demon, angel¡ªwhy must you people always put everything into neat little boxes?¡± His mask tilts slightly. ¡°I am neither, dear Castiel. I simply am.¡±


    Ah, great. He¡¯s one of those. A "mysterious entity" that refuses to give straight answers. My favorite.


    I sigh. ¡°Fine. Then how do you know my name?¡±


    He giggles. ¡°Oh, Castiel. I know everything about you.¡±


    My blood turns to ice.


    ¡°You¡¯re a reincarnate,¡± he continues, tapping a gloved finger against the table. ¡°A man from another world, shoved into this one with lingering memories. A man who thinks himself oh-so-clever, yet contradicts himself at every turn.¡±


    My hands curl into fists against my thighs. ¡°How? Was it you who reincarnated me into this world?¡±


    Jester waves a hand. ¡°Knowing is easy. Understanding? That¡¯s the real challenge.¡± He leans in, his mask inches from my face. ¡°Tell me, Castiel¡­ do you understand yourself?¡±


    I grit my teeth. ¡°I swear to god, if you don¡¯t start making sense¡ª¡±


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m making perfect sense,¡± he cuts in cheerfully. ¡°You¡¯re just slow on the uptake.¡±


    I¡¯m about two seconds away from flipping this table.


    Jester hums. ¡°Alright, alright. I¡¯ll throw you a bone. You asked if I reincarnated you?¡± He shakes his head. ¡°No one reincarnated you, Castiel. At least¡­ not intentionally.¡±


    Something sharp twists in my gut. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    His fingers drum against the table in a slow, rhythmic beat. ¡°Souls aren¡¯t disposable. They¡¯re renewable. When someone dies, their soul is taken beyond the universe to the Afterlife, where their memories are slowly wiped before they¡¯re reborn with a fresh start.¡±


    He leans forward, voice dropping to a whisper. ¡°But you¡ª¡± He taps my chest lightly with a single gloved finger. ¡°Your purification process was interrupted. The Valadon Gate snatched you away before you were scrubbed clean and shoved you into the body of a newborn.¡±


    The Valadon Gate.


    My mind reels. That massive stone door I saw before I was reborn¡­


    So I was right. Something went wrong. I wasn¡¯t supposed to keep my memories.


    Jester watches me, waiting, and when I don¡¯t speak, he laughs. ¡°Ahhh, I love that expression. That moment when a person realizes they were never in control to begin with.¡±


    I force my thoughts back on track. ¡°You said I was dying. Then what¡¯s keeping me alive?¡±


    Jester giggles. ¡°Ohhh, you¡¯re gonna love this one.¡± He leans in conspiratorially. ¡°The creature born from Grilda Sylvaine protected you. Again.¡±


    A cold chill runs down my spine. ¡°That¡¯s impossible. I killed it. Burned the entire mansion to the ground.¡±


    Jester claps his hands together. ¡°Ohhh, you sweet summer child. You really don¡¯t get it, do you?¡± His voice dips, turning almost gentle. ¡°A mother¡¯s love can overcome even death.¡±


    I go rigid.


    Jester watches me with something close to pity. ¡°You raised her, Castiel. Not just some puppet. Not just some mindless corpse.¡±


    He taps the table.


    ¡°She has a soul.¡±


    My breath catches.


    Jester hums. ¡°Such a waste, isn¡¯t it? You spent your past life ignoring a mother¡¯s love.¡± His mask tilts slightly. ¡°And now, you¡¯re wasting another one.¡±


    I grip the table, my mind spiraling.


    Jester sighs, stretching. ¡°Welp, since you¡¯re here, let¡¯s have some fun.¡± He snaps his fingers, and a chessboard appears. ¡°Beat me, and I¡¯ll give you advice.¡±


    I stare. ¡°And if I lose?¡±


    He grins. ¡°Then you go back empty-handed.¡±


    I exhale. ¡°Fine.¡±


    I frown, staring at the chessboard. A game of strategy, of patience. I¡¯ve played before, back in my past life. I wasn¡¯t an expert¡ªfar from it¡ªbut I knew how the game worked. Still, something bothers me.


    ¡°You can see the future,¡± I say slowly. ¡°And you can read my thoughts.¡± My gaze sharpens. ¡°What guarantees me that you won¡¯t cheat? That you won¡¯t see my moves before I make them?¡±


    Jester gasps, placing a gloved hand over his chest like I¡¯ve offended him. ¡°Ohhh, you wound me, Castiel! What kind of vile trickster do you take me for?¡±


    I glare.


    Jester snickers. ¡°Alright, alright. Sure, I represent the chaos of humanity, but I¡¯m not a cheater.¡± He places a hand over where his heart would be¡ªif he had one. ¡°I assure you, I won¡¯t use any interference other than my own magnificent, boundless, extraordinary brain.¡±


    He taps his temple. ¡°Not that I have one to begin with.¡±


    I exhale through my nose. ¡°Fine.¡±


    Jester grins. ¡°White or black?¡±


    ¡°Black.¡±


    Jester¡¯s mask tilts slightly. ¡°Ohhh. Choosing to play second? How interesting¡­¡± He shrugs. ¡°Alright then, I¡¯ll begin.¡±


    And so the game starts.


    Jester moves with a flourish, always grinning, always humming. He plays aggressively, pushing his pieces forward with confidence.


    I, on the other hand, am a mess.


    I don¡¯t play with deep strategy. I don¡¯t think ten moves ahead like a master would. Instead, I move randomly, making plays that don¡¯t make sense, disrupting any pattern Jester might be trying to predict.


    It makes him hesitate.


    ¡°What in the¡ª¡± Jester stops mid-move, staring at the board. ¡°That¡­ shouldn¡¯t have worked.¡±


    I smirk under my breath.


    That¡¯s right. You can read the minds of geniuses, of masters of strategy¡ªbut what happens when your opponent is an idiot who barely knows what he¡¯s doing?


    The game drags on, tension building.


    Jester starts fidgeting, his fingers tapping on the table as he studies the board. His confidence is still there, but now there¡¯s annoyance.


    He hates randomness when it¡¯s not his own.


    The board thins out, piece by piece falling. His bishops are gone. His knights are gone. I lost my rooks early on, but that doesn¡¯t matter.


    Because now, I see it.


    A single path forward.


    I move my queen across the board.


    Jester stops.


    I grin. ¡°Check.¡±


    His masked face tilts slightly, his gloved fingers twitching above his remaining pieces. For the first time, he takes longer than usual to move.


    He plays his next move carefully, trying to escape.


    But I already see how this ends.


    Two moves later, I slide my bishop forward.


    ¡°Checkmate.¡±


    Jester stares at the board. Then, slowly, lazily, he leans back in his chair.


    There¡¯s a beat of silence.


    Then¡ª


    Jester bursts into laughter.


    ¡°OHHH, YOU CLEVER LITTLE BASTARD! I CAN¡¯T EVEN BE MAD!¡± He claps his hands together, shaking his head. ¡°No strategy, no plan, no genius-level thinking¡ªjust pure nonsense.¡± He points a gloved finger at me. ¡°And that¡¯s what threw me off! That¡¯s why you won! Ohh, bravo.¡±


    I let out a slow breath, my hands still resting on the edge of the table. My heart is still hammering in my chest.


    Jester exhales dramatically, wiping away imaginary sweat. ¡°Whew! I haven¡¯t had that much fun in ages.¡±


    His mask tilts downward.


    ¡°Well then, Castiel. A deal¡¯s a deal.¡±


    His voice loses its playfulness.


    ¡°Listen closely.¡±


    He leans forward, resting his chin on his palm.


    ¡°The moment you wake up, grab your things, cross the dark forest again and go east from Cradena to the kingdom of Vandal, there you should look for a slave dealer and buy an elf girl.¡±


    I stare at him, my mind whirling.


    Before I can respond¡ª


    He snaps his fingers.


    The void shatters around me.


    And I wake up.