《Reincarnation After the End》 Intertwined lives Well¡­ how do I say this without it sounding terrible? I guess there¡¯s no pretty way to put it. I was a serial killer, a psychopath without restraint who killed purely for pleasure and excitement. The blood, the exposed organs¡­ all of it gave me a visceral, sickening satisfaction. I was fully aware of my actions. I knew they were wrong. But the urge never went away. Until, well, I had to run. I managed to evade the police for quite a while, until I made a mistake. A woman I brought back to my room noticed the stench lingering in the air. Her instincts screamed that something was wrong, and she tried to escape. I tried to stop her, but I didn¡¯t expect a single blow from a wax lamp to be enough to bring me down. She ran out screaming, alerting the entire neighborhood about the "psychopath" trying to kill her. I ran. My mind racing, searching for an exit, a temporary refuge. I ended up in a cabin in the woods, but the food didn¡¯t last long. I tried to resupply, hiding my face as much as I could. It was no use. When I walked into the convenience store, my face greeted me from dozens of "WANTED" posters. The man behind the counter recognized me immediately, even with the hood and sunglasses. Damn busybody. And then, my life became a relentless chase. I measured every move, every possible hiding spot, but the city had turned into a cage. Any misstep would give me away. So, I made a decision. The riskiest one of all. To flee the country. I couldn¡¯t use my bank account without the police tracking me, so I withdrew cash. I ran to the airport as if hell itself were at my heels. I bought a ticket, any ticket. I just needed to get out of there. By the time I boarded and took my seat, my heart was pounding so hard it hurt. An hour later, the plane took off. And then, fate decided my escape wouldn¡¯t be so simple. Turbulence hit without warning, violently shaking the plane. The screams started. The flight attendants tried to calm the passengers, but no one listened. From my window, I watched the engine catch fire. And yet, I didn¡¯t feel fear. Just a strange, almost absurd calm. That¡¯s when my mind decided to replay the disaster that had been my life. My parents. Men hardened by war, who believed discipline came with beatings and confinement. If I cried, they threw me in the closet. If I did something wrong, they left me without food for days. When they died, I didn¡¯t celebrate. I felt empty. I still saw them as heroes, even though their teachings only left me scarred. I was fourteen when I was left alone. Two jobs to pay the bills, grades that didn¡¯t reflect my intelligence, and a spiral of self-destruction where alcohol was my only comfort. Until I discovered the one thing that truly excited me: killing. It wasn¡¯t normal, I knew that. But the pleasure of having a lifeless body beside me, of possessing it even in death¡­ was intoxicating. I tried human flesh, but it didn¡¯t taste good. Maybe, deep down, I was one step short of becoming the ultimate monster. It doesn¡¯t matter now. I¡¯m about to die. The plane is breaking apart. Passengers are being sucked into the void. And then, a light falls from the sky, devouring those in front of me. For the first time, I feel fear. But there¡¯s no time for that. This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. The ground rushes up in a blink. I have no family. No one to say goodbye to. And then, I die.
I thought I¡¯d wake up in some place surrounded by angels, some deity reaching out to drag me to heaven. Or to hell. But there was none of that. Just darkness. I had no body. No senses. I didn¡¯t even have thoughts in the strictest sense of the word. I just¡­ existed. Or something like it. Then, a gray smoke appeared before me, vibrating with a spectral glow. It twisted, contorting, until shapes began to form. ¡ªI told you not to touch¡­! My mother. Her face twisted in rage. Her hands descending on me with the force of a punishment I was supposed to learn from. The smoke shifted. ¡ªDo you not understand, you little¡­!? My father, swinging a bat against my back. I¡¯d overheard him talking to someone, something I wasn¡¯t supposed to hear. So, the lesson came in blows. Again, the smoke changed. ¡ªSniff¡­ Sniff¡­ I saw myself, curled up in a corner, surrounded by the absolute darkness of a closet. A month. All because I¡¯d hit a kid in kindergarten. An overreaction, even for them. The smoke kept twisting. ¡ªRelax, this is my first time too¡­ Ah, this. The night I lost my virginity. And the night I claimed my first victim. I remember the panic, the confusion, the adrenaline. But above all¡­ the pleasure. How disgusting. The memories kept unfolding. All of them. Without exception. None of them good. None of them worth remembering. Why? The smoke began to concentrate, forming a structure that felt familiar: an arched door. I stepped through it. Darkness. Again. ¡ªHaha... ughh...! A sound. ¡ªDamn it, he¡¯s bleeding out! Call Lady Floiyo right away, the baby¡¯s coming out backwards! What¡­? ¡ªCome on, Erika, hold on! Lady Floiyo is on her way! Voices. Distant. Confused. Then, a blinding light. ¡ªWaaah! Waaah! A piercing sound vibrated in my chest. Was I¡­ crying? The shadows dissipated, the world took shape. ¡ªUff¡­ Uff¡­ I thought we were going to lose him¡­ A man. ¡ªCongratulations, it¡¯s a beautiful baby. And the twins were born, though with complications! A pair of arms held me firmly. Warm. Maternal. ...What the hell just happened? ¡ªHello, little one. The voice came from a man in front of me. He seemed¡­ like a good guy. Dark hair, gray eyes. Gray eyes? Wait, what the hell is with that perfectly chiseled physique? Aren¡¯t we a bit too elegant for a delivery room? Just kidding¡­ I think. ¡ªI¡¯m your daddy. His hands rested on my stomach, warm and firm. "Daddy," huh? The term floated in my mind, devoid of meaning. I didn¡¯t have time to dwell on it before my body shifted, and a new figure came into view. A woman. Unreal beauty. Her golden blonde hair shimmered under the dim light, and she smelled surprisingly good despite the sweat covering her. Her brown eyes met mine, and in that instant¡­ it all clicked. I¡¯ve just been reborn. Damn. How am I supposed to react to this? ¡ªHello, my beautiful little one. If I¡¯ve been reborn, that means this man and this woman are my new parents. She leaned in and rubbed her nose against mine. It was strange. Warm. A sense of calm spread through my tiny body before I could stop it. Something inside me reacted instinctively to her affection. ¡ªMy little twins¡­ What? I didn¡¯t have time to process it before I was moved again. They placed me on my mother¡¯s lap, and that¡¯s when I saw her. Another baby. Blonde hair, gray eyes. The perfect combination of our¡­ parents. Something clicked in my brain when our eyes met. Unusual. Strange. She reached her tiny hand toward me, and without thinking, I did the same. Our fingers touched. Protection? Sibling instinct? ¡ªIt seems these two are going to be very close ¡ªcommented a new voice. We both turned at the same time. An elderly woman. Her attire was elegant, too elegant for what I¡¯d expect in a modern setting. In fact, now that I thought about it, everyone¡¯s clothing in the room seemed like it belonged to a period far removed from the 21st century. ¡ªYes, it seems so ¡ªmy mother laughed, her tone filled with tenderness¡ª. Though I¡¯m even more surprised that both of them have our traits. Lucius has El¨ªas¡¯s hair but my eyes, and Isolde has my hair but El¨ªas¡¯s eyes. What? Oh, come on. Did they just spoil my new appearance for me? Couldn¡¯t I have figured it out on my own? Ugh. Fine, I¡¯ll let it slide because it was my mother who said it. While the adults kept talking, I focused on my sister. Is she Isolde? And I¡¯m Lucius? Uncommon names. Definitely not Korean. Suddenly, our heads flopped backward. ¡­ What? I tried to move, but my body didn¡¯t respond. No way¡­ So this is what they mean when they say you have to support a baby¡¯s head because they can¡¯t control their neck yet. But I knew how to do it. In my past life, I could do it without a problem. Damn these limitations. Prisoners of the cradle Six months have passed since my birth. Complicated. To sum it up, I¡¯ve been reborn. But not just anywhere or as some animal, like some theories suggest, but as a baby. What are the odds of someone being reborn as a newborn? Zero, right? Damn. This situation might have its downsides, but I have to admit it¡¯s not so bad. Though there¡¯s one small inconvenience: a blonde baby clings to me like gum. Isolde. She¡¯s¡­ nice. Especially when she climbs on top of me while we sleep, turning us into a little baby hill, or when she follows me everywhere no matter where I go. I recently learned to crawl. So did she. Now I can move around with some freedom. Or rather, I could move freely if it weren¡¯t for the ridiculously tall wooden crib that keeps us locked up like luxury prisoners. The world around me is¡­ strange. Or maybe the right word is new. There are no computers, no decent phones. In fact, they don¡¯t even call them phones¡ªthey¡¯re electrophones. This is definitely the Victorian era. I confirmed it after inspecting every room. Come on, no one in the modern era uses rooms with actual Victorian decor unless they have an insane obsession with gothic romanticism. Plus, there¡¯s my father¡¯s suits and my mother¡¯s dresses. They don¡¯t look comfortable¡­ or so I thought, until they dressed me in linen and cotton pajamas. Comfortable, yes. But way too loose. I crawl across the floor while Isolde sticks to me, as always. It¡¯s annoying. And at the same time, it¡¯s not. When we¡¯re separated for too long, we both end up crying in unison, as if our bodies are programmed to stay together. Is that normal for twins? I guess so. My parents, Erika and El¨ªas, are¡­ good parents. They carry us, feed us. When mother breastfeeds us, she does it for both of us at the same time. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. Isolde clings to her chest as if it¡¯s her last meal in years. I don¡¯t mind. I thought that, with my memories of my past life intact, I¡¯d reject the idea of being breastfed. But I didn¡¯t. In fact, I accepted it surprisingly well. I¡¯ve just confirmed that this is definitely not my era. There are things I¡¯m still struggling to process. Our first outing with mother was eye-opening. She carried both of us in baby carriers: me on her back and Isolde on her front. We were going shopping. Something routine. Or so I thought until I saw it. I¡¯ve been reborn into a world of magic and swords. But not in a medieval era like the novels and anime suggest, but smack in the middle of the Victorian era. I confirmed it when I saw people shooting fire from their hands, wielding swords, using magically enhanced revolvers, and even applying healing. A mother healed her child¡¯s scraped knee with a simple touch. Fascinating. Hypnotic, even. Isolde shared my amazement. I saw her stretch her tiny hands toward a man making a sphere of water float. Without thinking, I did the same. Instinctive.
At night, mother would tell us stories of heroes. I didn¡¯t listen. As soon as they put me to bed, I fell asleep. Not out of boredom, but because expending energy leaves me exhausted. Though that doesn¡¯t stop Isolde from waking me up. When I¡¯m about to sleep, she climbs on top of me. Without fail. I don¡¯t hear stories of heroes, but Isolde and I have developed a particular fondness for reading. We¡¯re not fluent yet, but we¡¯re learning fast. The books on the shelf are mostly boring. Except for two. "Guide to Magic and Combat" and "The Scriptures of Paradox." The first one is thin, barely 200 pages. The second one¡­ Ridiculously thick. I¡¯m not exaggerating. That book easily equals four volumes of 1000 pages each. And yes, it was heavy. It almost crushed us when we pulled it off the shelf. Luckily, it only grazed us before falling to our side. The Guide to Magic and Combat was covered in dust. I tried to blow on it to clean it¡­ but I just ended up spitting a bunch of drool on Isolde. I laughed. She, demonstrating superiority, blew the dust back into my face. She laughed. I have to admit it: I deserved it. We opened the book. And well¡­ the expected: letters. What else was supposed to be there? Fairy tales? Recipes? Please. The guide contained basic information about magic and combat. Nothing surprising. But The Scriptures of Paradox¡­ That was another story. It didn¡¯t just contain information about this world, but also combat techniques. Techniques that were all too familiar. Karate and its variations. Kung Fu and all its styles. Jiujitsu. Taekwondo. Fencing. Boxing. Judo. Muay Thai. I recognized it all. Why the hell does a book from this world document disciplines from my past life with such absurd detail? Isolde tilted her head as she tried to understand the movements described. I did the same. Flexibility. Speed. Strength. Ingenuity. There¡¯s no way to say this will be easy. Mana, Magic and More Three years have passed. I can now walk without any issues and explore the house as I please. And if I think about it, I could also wander around the kingdom. Well, not the entire kingdom. It would be weird to see two kids roaming around alleys infested with thieves. Though the idea is still intriguing. What we can do is stay at home, studying the Guide to Magic and Combat and The Scriptures of Paradox. ¡ªAre you sure this is how it¡¯s done? ¡ªI asked, while trying to generate a small gust of wind. Isolde, with her eternal expression of concentration, tilted her head and turned the book in her hands, as if looking at it from another angle would make the magic work by¡­ well, magic. ¡ªYes, I¡¯m completely sure. But¡­ why isn¡¯t it working? Good question. According to the book, magic requires mana. Mana exists in all living organisms. It¡¯s an energy inherent to existence itself. But to use it, you have to manipulate the mana within your own body. Like spitting. You need to control your saliva to expel it. With mana, it¡¯s the same. But that¡¯s not enough. You also need concentration. And that¡¯s the problem. Isolde insists that, to create a gust of wind, I need to feel the wind inside me, as if it¡¯s part of my being, and then expel it. ¡ªIs that really what I¡¯m supposed to do? ¡ªYes! Come check it yourself! I sat next to her and went over the words in the book. Technically, she was right. But how the hell do I properly control mana? There was no way to launch a gust of wind just by believing it. ¡ªDo you think the Paradox book has a better explanation? ¡ªI asked, turning around and stretching my arm to pull the massive tome. I opened it and searched through its pages. And there it was. ¡ªThis says something completely different, Issy. "Issy." A nickname for Isolde. I started using it when she decided to call me¡­ This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡ªLucy, are you sure you¡¯re not reading a different page? ¡ªHmm¡­ ¡ªI scratched my head¡ª. Here. Tell me what I¡¯m supposed to do. ¡ªI handed her the Paradox book, pointing to the page with the conflicting information. Isolde read it silently, then spoke: ¡ªAlright. Focus the energy in your body. Think of any element, and then be that element. As she spoke, I followed her instructions. ¡ªUse that energy¡­ and release! A small gust of wind shot out from my hand. Just enough to move an empty glass. But it worked. For the first time, it worked. Then, Isolde read the last line of text. ¡ªWhen you¡¯re done, you may have experienced the Syrix. ¡­ Wait, what?
"Syrix." According to the Book of Paradox, Syrix is a special type of magic that only a race called the Nurukaido and certain gods can use. It¡¯s similar to mana, but with one crucial difference: it¡¯s not present in all living organisms. At first glance, it seems like a closed, exclusive system. Except I just used it. Syrix also has an overwhelming advantage in terms of power. It¡¯s more efficient, stronger, more refined. But, as with everything in life, there¡¯s a catch. They call it Ultra Instinct. A state where the body moves on its own, without conscious intervention. Basically, you become a puppet to your own reflexes. In exchange, your seven senses sharpen to the extreme: sight, taste, touch, hearing, smell, vestibular sense, and proprioception. Interesting. But, if I think about it¡­ it makes no sense that only the Nurukaido and gods can use it. I used it. And¡­ ¡ªI did it! That took 50 tries! ¡ªIsolde shouted, exultant as she jumped up and down. I took a deep breath. ¡ªBravo ¡ªI said, clapping half-heartedly. I had hoped that, at the very least, having Syrix would give me an edge over my sister. But no. Apparently, she can use it too. On top of mana. Damn it. I can¡¯t use mana. ¡ªCome on, Lucy. Can¡¯t you be a little prouder of me? ¡ªIsolde joked, with that teasing smile that¡¯s becoming all too familiar. But her tone softened when she noticed my frustration¡ª. Come on, Lucy, I know you¡¯ll be able to use mana in a few days too. I appreciate her optimism. I wish I could share it. I glanced at the Book of Paradox. Nothing new. It was the same information about mana that appeared in the Guide to Magic and Combat. No additional details. I sighed and stood up. ¡ªI¡¯m going to try again. ¡ªHehe. Alright. I¡¯ll guide you. ¡ªFine. I stretched out my arm, closed my eyes, imagined the air inside me, tried to shape it in the palm of my hand, and¡­ Nothing. ¡ªKeep trying, I know you can do it ¡ªIsolde encouraged. Why the hell is it so hard for me? I tried again. Nothing. Though this time, I felt a tingling in the palm of my hand. A hint of something, but it wasn¡¯t enough. I lowered my arm, frustrated. ¡ªAre you giving up? ¡ªIsolde asked. ¡ªI¡¯ll just try again later. I feel exhausted. ¡ªAh¡­ I¡¯m tired too. She has a valid reason. Using mana drains energy. Me, on the other hand¡­ I have no idea why I feel this way. I didn¡¯t even manage to use magic. Except with Syrix. Maybe that¡¯s why? Maybe my reserves are so ridiculously low that I can¡¯t even use it more than a few times before getting exhausted? I don¡¯t have answers. ¡ªAre you going to sleep now? ¡ªI asked. ¡ªNo. I want to keep learning! Now I want to learn about healing magic, so I can heal your wounds when you get hurt, Lucy. Her voice was full of excitement as she raised her hand in a determined gesture. I smiled a little. It¡¯s nice having a sister; I didn¡¯t have one in my past life. And thank God for that. If I had, my parents would¡¯ve probably treated her the same way they treated me. Just thinking about it sends shivers down my spine. I shook my head and returned to the present. ¡ªAlright. Let¡¯s see what¡¯s in here about healing magic. Isolde flipped through the pages of the Guide to Magic and Combat until she reached the corresponding section, and as soon as I saw the content, a weight settled on my shoulders. ¡ªHealing magic is divided into biological branches¡­ ¡ªThe words came out of my mouth heavily. I knew what that meant, and I also knew how difficult it was going to be to learn. The dark goose I was lying on my bed, with Isolde by my side. As soon as we saw the overwhelming amount of text in the healing magic section, we closed the book without hesitation. Don¡¯t judge us; we¡¯re still too young to digest such a massive volume of information. It was absurd. The length of that section easily doubled that of the other branches of magic, as if the author had decided to compensate for their lack of moderation with sheer quantity. I only read a part of it, enough to get a general idea: molecular healing magic. An approach that operated at the molecular and protein level, manipulating the body¡¯s chemical processes to repair cellular damage and prevent diseases at their root. In theory, it allowed for the restoration of damaged DNA, preventing mutations or genetic diseases. It also made it possible to regenerate essential proteins to halt premature aging and eliminate toxins and free radicals through magical transmutation. And that was just the tip of the iceberg. It wasn¡¯t hard to conclude that learning such a discipline would be a nightmare. I decided to postpone it. Better to leave it for when my age and patience are more suited for such a task.
It¡¯s been six years since my¡­ peculiar birth. Over the past two months, I¡¯ve started my training in magic and swordsmanship. There were no teachers to instruct me, just the guides, Isolde, and my own intuition. Hiring a tutor would have been a reasonable option, but I doubt anyone in this kingdom knows the martial arts described in the Paradox Scriptures. I also considered the academy. I asked Mother about it, but it turns out that admissions start at age twelve, and the training lasts until eighteen. A fact that hit me harder than it should have. But there¡¯s not much I can do about it. For now, I¡¯m content with books and Isolde¡¯s company. ¡°I don¡¯t understand anything about Jiujitsu,¡± she complained, trying to perform a Tsuri Goshi with a corn sack. ¡°It¡¯s going to be more complicated than it seems¡­¡± I said while attempting a hook kick. Our flexibility, agility, and patience left much to be desired. We¡¯d been training for two months and had only mastered ten techniques from different martial arts. It sounds impressive until you remember that the Paradox Scriptures compile around eight thousand. Eight thousand. An absurd number, though each technique is documented with almost obsessive precision. At least the text provides shortcuts to make learning easier. For example, the Wave Evasion & Counter from Systema. Its fundamental principle: using relaxation and wave-like motion to dodge a strike, redirect it with your torso or forearm, unbalance the opponent, and counter with an explosive, fluid strike. Thanks to that guidance, Isolde and I mastered the technique in a reasonable amount of time. But as we progress, it¡¯s becoming clear that each new technique is harder to learn than the last. ¡°Lucius, Isolde, it¡¯s time to eat,¡± Mother called from the door of our room. Yes, from the door. I don¡¯t like the idea of going out. We could walk through the streets of the kingdom or train on some hill, but the truth is, the idea of being outside doesn¡¯t particularly appeal to me. I prefer the tranquility of my room, with a book in hand and Isolde¡¯s company. Still, if she decides she wants to go out and socialize with the other children, I wouldn¡¯t mind accompanying her. Either way¡­ We left the room and hurried down the stairs. The food was waiting to be devoured. Father wasn¡¯t with us during lunch. He¡­ well, he was rarely home, and when he was, it was usually at night. We were only allowed to see him on weekends, when his schedule aligned with ours and we hadn¡¯t yet succumbed to sleep. His job was¡­ interesting, to say the least. Not everyone can boast about being the personal guard of the monarch of the entire kingdom of Millford. And since I mentioned it, I think it¡¯s time to talk about the kingdom of Millford. It¡¯s the place where I was born. Compared to other kingdoms on the continent, it¡¯s enormous, almost excessive. Its structures are in line with the Victorian era we live in, with markets and parks¡ªthe only places I¡¯ve visited so far¡ªadopting a Gothic style that gives the city an air of solemnity that some might mistake for majesty. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. But there¡¯s something about this world that I must highlight. The sun and the moon are one and the same. Yes, I know. It sounds ridiculous. The moon regulates tides and stabilizes the Earth¡¯s axis, so its absence should cause chaos. However, according to the Paradox Scriptures, this role falls to the King Kraken, the absolute monarch of the seas. A colossal creature with endless tentacles. Fortunately, it¡¯s peaceful¡­ most of the time. If someone threatens its waters, it won¡¯t hesitate to sink ships, cities, or any civilization that dares to challenge it. It¡¯s the guardian of balance, the reason this world continues to function despite its alarming lack of a moon. And that leads us to the obvious question: what does night look like? Simple. The sun turns red and dims its light, behaving like the moon. An efficient concept, though unsettling. ¡°Issy, Lucy, why don¡¯t you go out and explore for a while?¡± Mother said as she washed some dishes and glasses. I took a sip of my soup to avoid answering. But¡­ ¡°Yes! That¡¯s a great idea!¡± Isolde shouted enthusiastically, raising her spoon and splashing me with drops of soup. ¡­ Come on¡­ I just took a bath. I sighed and wiped myself with a cloth. Isolde smiled nervously, but I smiled back warmly. I found her behavior amusing. I didn¡¯t want to go out. Though, thinking about it, going out now might be an interesting opportunity. When Mother took us to buy some things, I saw something that caught my attention: an imposing structure, almost like a cathedral. I wanted to examine it more closely, but I postponed the idea until I felt the urge to do so. It seems that moment has arrived, courtesy of Isolde. ¡°Thanks for the food,¡± I said, putting down my spoon. I got down from my chair and walked over to my sister. ¡°Thanks for the food, Mom!¡± Isolde repeated enthusiastically. I helped her down, and we stood in front of Mother. She knelt, took our hands, and closed her eyes while chanting an incantation. A glow ran across the tops of our hands before fading away. Watcher¡¯s magic. A spell described in the Paradox Scriptures. It¡¯s used by mid-level guards to track prisoners and ensure they don¡¯t escape. In our case, Mother used it as a preventive measure in case someone decided to kidnap us. If that were to happen, she would come for us. Alone. She didn¡¯t need Father¡¯s help. She was a high-level guardian. ¡°Be careful,¡± she said, smiling and kissing us on the forehead. We left the house. Out there, maybe an adventure awaited us. Or maybe, just boredom. Once outside, Isolde grabbed my arm and dragged me through the streets, running with seemingly endless energy. Let me describe the scene. The soles of my shoes echoed against the worn cobblestones. The houses, some aligned in perfect symmetry and others separated by alleys connecting to other streets, stood with a monotonous elegance. People everywhere. Kids playing, adults chatting, merchants shouting their offers with an eloquence that bordered on desperation. We passed the intersection where carriages came and went in a constant flow. There, the Kingdom¡¯s Sentinels maintained order, ensuring that traffic didn¡¯t descend into chaos. Their presence was a reminder that even daily routines were regulated with precision. Our destination turned out to be a park. A social space where, unlike other places, the child population far outnumbered the adults. And before anyone questions it, no, it¡¯s not dangerous. In fact, it¡¯s absurdly safe. There are Veil Masters patrolling at all times, and even the Sentinels have a presence here, though their only purpose is to ensure trash ends up in its proper place. Now, I think it¡¯s time to clarify something. I¡¯ve mentioned different levels of knighthood, but I haven¡¯t stopped to explain them. It would be understandable if someone got confused by the terms. Let¡¯s fix that. The first level, the highest, belongs to the General Sergeants. They are the elite of the cavalry, the war strategists, the architects of great military campaigns. Their work isn¡¯t limited to battle; they also advise the monarch and nobility on matters of defense and military policy. Their loyalty is unshakable. Perhaps even stronger than their own intelligence. Do you catch my drift? The second level corresponds to the Ether Guardians, like my parents. My father, in fact, could have been a General Sergeant, but the king decided his place was by his side as a personal guard. Ether Guardians lead divisions, serve as assistants to the General Sergeants, and oversee the kingdom¡¯s protective magical rituals. They are key pieces in the military machinery. Then there are the Veil Masters. Their role is more subtle but no less crucial. They are the guardians of order, the invisible overseers who watch every corner of the kingdom. They use stealth magic and mental manipulation to monitor nobles and commoners alike. Basically, if someone tries to destabilize the kingdom, they are the first to know. And the first to act. Finally, there are the Kingdom Sentinels. They are the most visible force, the ones patrolling the streets and ensuring everything runs smoothly. They aren¡¯t the strongest or the most strategic, but that doesn¡¯t mean they¡¯re weak. Their hand-to-hand combat skills easily surpass those of any untrained civilian, and their knowledge of healing magic is something I honestly envy. I¡¯ve tried to understand it, but so far, my progress has been¡­ limited. ¡°Lucy! Look, look! It¡¯s a dark goose!¡± Isolde exclaimed, pointing enthusiastically toward the central lake. There it was. A dark goose, gliding across the water with that aura of calm indifference that made them so irritating. The first time I saw one, I was two years old. I remember one tried to bite my foot. I cried. Isolde, in response, threw her bottle at it as if defending my honor in a duel. I guess aggression is her way of showing affection. ¡°You¡¯re not going to hit it with a bottle again, are you, Issy?¡± ¡°What? Of course not! That time I did it to protect you,¡± she said, smiling proudly, as if it had been some great feat. ¡°Wait! Lucy, what are you doing?!¡± I dragged her toward the lake and manipulated a bit of water with mana to splash her. ¡°Agh!¡± But Isolde reacted faster than expected, redirecting the water toward my face. I ducked to avoid it, but a few drops hit my hair. ¡°Issy!¡± The goose looked at us with what I swear was disdain. Night crash Isolde struck me in the stomach with a firm punch, leaving no room for hesitation before following up with a direct hook to my jaw. I activated wind magic at the last second, dissipating some of the impact¡¯s force and avoiding unnecessary pain. It worked. I slid my body to the left, jumped, and launched an upward kick. She stopped it with her bare hand. Of course she stopped it. Without wasting a second, she channeled mana and blasted me with a gust of wind, sending me headfirst into some bushes. ¡°Agh!¡± The impact hurt, but it was part of the training. Some call it ¡°pain tolerance.¡± It sounds sophisticated, but in reality, it¡¯s just an excuse to beat each other with full force until our bodies get used to it. Whether it¡¯s effective or just a creative form of self-destruction is a debate I have no interest in settling. ¡°Lucy, are you okay?! Are you hurt?¡± Isolde ran toward me, her voice filled with concern. ¡°Yeah, don¡¯t worry. I¡¯m fine. I think that¡¯s enough for today,¡± I said as I got up and stood beside her. ¡°Yeah! I¡¯m exhausted.¡± Isolde brushed the dust off my face, gently running her hand over my cheek. It¡¯s no exaggeration to say she¡¯s exhausted. We¡¯ve been at this for at least six hours straight. The difference from a few months ago is obvious; back then, we¡¯d tire out after just a few minutes of running. Now, we can keep up the pace. Demanding, but necessary. ¡°Will you come explore with me?¡± I asked, my gaze fixed on a narrow alley that led to a structure that had piqued my curiosity for a while now. It was tall, but the surrounding buildings hid much of its silhouette. Cathedral or castle, I wasn¡¯t sure. All I knew was that I needed to see it up close. ¡°Don¡¯t you think Mom will worry if we¡¯re late?¡± Isolde¡¯s voice dropped, as if we were planning a crime. Probably. But it¡¯ll just be a quick look. ¡°Just a quick glance.¡± Being curious isn¡¯t a crime, right? Observe, analyze, and then head back home without any issues. There was no reason for anything to go wrong. And if we got scolded, I¡¯d take the blame. It was my idea, after all. ¡°Okay! Let¡¯s go!¡± I took her hand, and we headed toward the alley. We paused briefly to let a cart pass, then broke into a run. As we entered, the darkness grew more pronounced. I don¡¯t like the dark. I don¡¯t admit it out loud, but it¡¯s a fact. Spending months locked in a closet with little food and no company leaves its mark. It¡¯s not exactly the kind of experience one looks back on fondly. But my current parents¡­ they¡¯re different. When I accidentally break something, instead of hitting me like the previous ones did, they just talk to me calmly, tell me it¡¯s okay, but to be more careful next time. It¡¯s strange. Pleasant, but unsettling, as if a part of me refuses to accept that this kind of affection can be real. The sound of Isolde¡¯s breathing snapped me out of my thoughts. ¡°Is something wrong?¡± I turned to her, noticing her tense expression. ¡°No, it¡¯s just¡­ this is a little nerve-wracking,¡± she replied, squeezing my hand tighter. Ah. So she¡¯s afraid of the dark too. I hugged her gently. ¡°Sorry. Let¡¯s just go home.¡± I don¡¯t want her to go through this. I don¡¯t want her to feel what I felt. ¡°No¡­ it¡¯s okay, let¡¯s go where you want.¡± ¡°But¡­¡± ¡°Come on, Lucy, I don¡¯t want you to miss out on exploring.¡± I hesitated. Part of me insisted that it was better to turn back, that it wasn¡¯t worth forcing her through this dark place just to satisfy my curiosity. But her insistence wasn¡¯t superficial. She wanted us to keep going. And, deep down, so did I. We made it through the alley successfully, though fear clung to us like a persistent shadow. Isolde didn¡¯t let go of my hand for a second, squeezing it with a strength that seemed determined to ensure I wouldn¡¯t vanish into the darkness. I didn¡¯t complain. I understood. The pain was a small price to pay for her peace of mind. And, well, after navigating that narrow, oppressive passage, the structure that had intrigued me so much finally loomed before us. Massive. Colossal. A monolith of dark stone whose mere presence seemed to alter the atmosphere. Its twin towers rose with unshakable solemnity, piercing the cloudy sky as if defying the gods themselves. Every flying buttress and every gargoyle was carved with impossible precision, as if the builders had been closer to the divine than the human. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. The wooden doors, adorned with intricate reliefs, remained closed, as if mocking any attempt to pass through them. Above them, a stained-glass rosette tinted the scarce sunlight with shades of red and blue, casting ethereal shadows on the blackened stone. The wind whispered among the spires and pinnacles, a distant murmur, a veiled warning. I observed the cathedral in silence. Imposing. Immutable. As if it had been here before the first men walked the earth and would remain long after everything else had vanished. ¡°It¡¯s huge!¡± Isolde exclaimed, tilting her head back as far as her gaze would allow. It would have been more accurate to say that ¡°huge¡± didn¡¯t do it justice. The twin towers had to be around 148 meters tall, perhaps more. The central nave easily reached 58 meters, and the grounds stretched no less than 86 meters. It wasn¡¯t just its size that was imposing, but the feeling that something dwelled within it. Something ancient. Something that watched from the stained-glass windows and hid in the shadows of the columns. From the upper windows, I could make out what seemed to be something hanging from the ceiling, but the distance kept me from confirming it. ¡°Yes, it certainly is,¡± I replied, not looking away. ¡°Do you think it¡¯s wise to go inside?¡± Isolde hesitated. ¡°Mom will definitely scold us if we take too long.¡± I couldn¡¯t argue with that. I turned my head toward the street and searched for the giant clock in the distance. Its structure reminded me of Big Ben, though taller, vaster¡­ more in line with the scale of everything in this place. ¡°Yeah¡­ it¡¯s already night. We should head back and come again tomorrow. Does that sound good?¡± ¡°Yes!¡± she replied with her usual enthusiasm. I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. Was this what people called charisma? Or simply the innocence of a girl who hadn¡¯t yet seen enough of the world? I hoped she wouldn¡¯t change. Her joy was loud but comforting. I took her hand. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s go home.¡± She didn¡¯t resist, but as we headed back into the darkness, her grip tightened. I didn¡¯t stop. I was scared too, but turning back wasn¡¯t an option. ¡°Don¡¯t be afraid, Issy. I¡¯m with you.¡± She looked at me and forced a nervous smile, but she kept walking. It was enough. The alley stretched before us, longer than I remembered. Though, thinking about it, maybe it was just my perception distorted by the size of my body. A child could never match an adult¡¯s speed. For us, every journey felt twice as long. We were about to exit when¡­ ¡°Agh!¡± Something hard hit my forehead, knocking me to the ground and drawing an involuntary groan from me. My hand slipped from Isolde¡¯s. ¡°Lucy! Are you okay?!¡± Her voice was laced with alarm as she crouched to help me. I blinked, bringing my hand to my forehead. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m fine. What did I¡­?¡± My voice trailed off as I felt something in front of me. ¡°Ouch! That hurt!¡± It was a voice. A childlike voice complaining with indignation. I looked up. And I saw her for the first time. ¡°Hey, you! Be more careful when you walk! You could¡¯ve broken my forehead!¡± The voice protesting in front of me belonged to a girl with pink hair and pink eyes, an unusual combination that contrasted with the aggression in her gaze¡­ though there was something else about her, something calm. Beautiful, I admitted silently, though this wasn¡¯t the time to dwell on such things. I didn¡¯t respond immediately. Come on, I couldn¡¯t be blamed for bumping into someone in the dark. If we were assigning blame, I could just as easily say it was her fault for appearing out of nowhere. But I had no intention of starting an argument. ¡°Hey, this is your fault! If you hadn¡¯t appeared out of nowhere, my brother wouldn¡¯t have crashed into you!¡± Isolde shouted before I could mediate. Well, so much for a peaceful resolution. ¡°Excuse me?! If you hadn¡¯t come through here, I wouldn¡¯t have hit my forehead!¡± ¡°Issy¡­¡± I tried to stop my sister, but her determination was impenetrable. ¡°What?! It¡¯s your fault. If you¡¯d brought an oil lamp, you would¡¯ve seen us.¡± She took a step forward, pointing her finger in that provocative gesture she used when she wasn¡¯t willing to back down. However¡­ ¡°And why didn¡¯t you bring an oil lamp?¡± ¡­ Silence. Come on, Issy, are you going to lose that easily? I got up from the ground and offered the girl my hand to help her up. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I didn¡¯t see you.¡± I gave a slight bow, just out of courtesy. ¡°Hmph!¡± She turned her head away disdainfully. Seriously? I already apologized. What more did she want? ¡°Haaa¡­ Well, whatever. I should apologize too. I have to admit it was partly my fault.¡± Oh. That was unexpected. Wasn¡¯t she going to keep up the stubborn act until I gave in? For a moment, I thought she¡¯d be the typical archetype of a troublesome girl who refuses to admit mistakes, but she turned out to be different. Or at least she seemed to be. Maybe the first impression had been misleading. ¡°How can I make it up to you for my rudeness?¡± ¡°What? No, don¡¯t worry about it. It was my fault.¡± ¡°Come on, don¡¯t leave me like this. I¡¯ll feel bad if you don¡¯t accept at least something material as an apology.¡± Seriously? Why was she so insistent? It¡¯s not that I disliked receiving gifts, but accepting something from a stranger under these circumstances didn¡¯t seem very wise. ¡°It¡¯s really not necessary. And, sorry, but we have to go.¡± I took Isolde¡¯s hand, who seemed to be searching for a comeback after her earlier defeat. She didn¡¯t like losing arguments. With me, when she lost in something trivial, she¡¯d get her revenge by bothering me at night, climbing on top of me or throwing small water balls at me. A concerning habit. ¡°What? Wait! Why don¡¯t you want me to give you something?!¡± She kept insisting. How many times would I have to repeat myself? ¡°Lucy, why don¡¯t you accept what that ¡®ugly¡¯ girl wants to give you?¡± The last part was said with obvious provocation. Well, now the other girl looked genuinely annoyed. ¡°Hey! Guuuh¡­! Huum! Forget it! I was trying to be nice, but now I¡¯m mad!¡± Oh, drastic mood swings. Perfect. I take back what I thought earlier. Yes, she¡¯s exactly the type of person I expected. ¡°Let¡¯s go, Issy. Mother will scold us if we¡¯re late.¡± Without further ado, I started running, dragging Isolde along with me. I only turned my head once more to look at the girl. She wasn¡¯t looking at us. Instead, she turned around and walked away. A strange encounter. But there was something about her¡­ a sense of familiarity that was hard to explain. Did I know her from somewhere? Her appearance wasn¡¯t exactly common. Maybe she was the daughter of some influential noble, though I preferred not to jump to conclusions. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you accept what that girl wanted to give you?¡± Isolde asked, running just behind me as we dodged the few people still left on the street. I stopped. It would be better to explain it to her now. Though, of course, with a little lie to make it more believable. No one had taught me this, but it was basic knowledge from my past life. ¡°Father once said that if a stranger offers you something, never accept it, no matter how much they insist. It could be poisoned food¡­ or an attempt to enslave you.¡± ¡°I see¡­ Well, if Father said it, then you did the right thing, Lucy.¡± ¡°Yeah, yeah. Let¡¯s keep going before Mother scolds us for being late.¡± We resumed our run. The day of exploration was over. Maybe tomorrow I¡¯d continue exploring more places, a little faster and with fewer surprises. Cold, Strength and Pouts Two more years passed. I won¡¯t bother recounting how tedious my first eight years in this world were. The monotony is suffocating, and there¡¯s no point in describing it. I¡¯ll just say that, since that encounter with the pink-haired girl, Isolde and I decided to stop going out. It was a resolution made in the intimacy of the night, with the relentless logic of those who understand that, in an unknown world, preparation always precedes exposure. Mother didn¡¯t agree, of course. She insisted that children should explore, play, and socialize. But Isolde¡¯s fake tears were a more effective weapon than any rational argument. In the end, after a small tantrum from my sister, our mother gave in¡­ though reluctantly. Time, then, was spent to our advantage. Our training intensified after a year. In these last two years, we¡¯ve managed to master 120 techniques from The Scriptures of Paradox. An impressive number, yes, but the cost was proportional. Hours of sleep sacrificed, extreme exhaustion, and more than once, the temptation to give up. But in the end, the results were satisfying. If I had to evaluate our physical attributes¡­ our strength increased enough to carry two sacks full of corn without difficulty. As for speed¡­ well, we can run 50 meters in 10 seconds. Mediocre, yes, but every step forward is a step toward something better. Our overall ability improved by 30% compared to the average child in the kingdom, though that comparison is hardly relevant. To strengthen our bodies, we resorted to unconventional methods: doing push-ups with one of us on top of the other and running for four hours straight inside the room. An absurd training regimen for anyone watching, but functional in its own way. And, coincidentally, we had just finished another session. ¡°Ah¡­ ah¡­ I¡¯m¡­ too tired¡­¡± Isolde panted, using magic to condense water from the air and drink it. ¡°Issy¡­ I don¡¯t think¡­ using mana to¡­ create water¡­ is the best way to¡­ hydrate¡­¡± Every word cost me air. My body demanded oxygen with the urgency of someone drowning. Sticky sweat covered my skin, though the winter cold seeping through the window compensated for the discomfort. It was snowing. In my past life, winter was my enemy; a merciless adversary that forced me to take refuge under layers of blankets, far from the snow and icy air. Now, not anymore. And I like that. ¡°You trained for too long, huh? Here, my little ones.¡± Mother entered the room and handed us each a glass of water, with that tender, worried expression she¡¯s been showing more often lately. Probably because she wanted us to go out more. I couldn¡¯t blame her. However, today would be different. Because today is the ¡°Vigil of the Fallen.¡± A celebration that happens only once every ten years. My first time experiencing it. This day honors the knights who died in the war of independence between the continents of Veloria and Aeloria. A war that defined the identity of this kingdom. Veloria, the place where I was born, had been under Aeloria¡¯s rule for generations. However, differences in beliefs, politics, and culture fueled the spark of conflict. Eventually, rebellion broke out, and after countless battles and human losses, Veloria was liberated. Now, every decade, that sacrifice is commemorated with a festival that remembers both the blood spilled and the freedom gained. However, there¡¯s something curious about all this. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. According to The Scriptures of Paradox, both Veloria and Aeloria worship the same god: Paradox. That simple fact left Isolde and me perplexed. For years, these two continents fought, massacred each other, despised each other¡­ all while worshiping the same deity. An uncomfortable discovery. Were their conflicts really about independence, or was it just a war between factions that believed they had divine favor? For now, we prefer to keep it a secret. I don¡¯t want to imagine what the religion would do if they knew we¡¯ve been reading what, apparently, was written by their own god. How unsettling. And how ironic. Mother handed us each a glass of water and then left. She¡¯s been alone, putting up the Christmas decorations. We offered to help, but she rejected the idea with a forced smile. We insisted, and her response was even more resolute: she locked us in our room. Curious. She¡¯s vehemently opposed to the idea of us staying home all the time, but when it comes to preparations, she prefers to do it alone. Hypocritical? Maybe that¡¯s not the exact word, but it¡¯s the first that comes to mind. I got up from the floor and helped Isolde do the same. We finished the water and returned the empty glasses to Mother. ¡°Go take a bath. We¡¯ll have to leave soon. Dad will be waiting for us at the festival,¡± she said, smiling as she walked away with the glasses toward the sink. A bath, huh? From what I remember, in my past life, history books mentioned that during the Victorian era, people didn¡¯t have the habit of bathing frequently. They only did it on special occasions, as if water were a sacred resource reserved for key moments. This world is different. Here, bathing is a daily routine, and if there¡¯s an important event, you take another bath before going out. ¡°Alright¡­¡± I replied, still recovering from the training. ¡°Do you want to go first, or should I?¡± Isolde had already grabbed her towel before I could finish the sentence. ¡°Well, you go first.¡± ¡°What? Aren¡¯t we going to bathe together?¡± Her confusion was genuine. Apparently, she still hadn¡¯t realized that we¡¯re no longer little kids. Bathing together now would be¡­ awkward. ¡°Don¡¯t you think we¡¯re too old for that?¡± I sat on the bed, waiting for her to leave. Her reaction was immediate: she puffed out her cheeks in a childish pout. ¡°Hmm¡­ fine.¡± I smiled as I watched her walk away, annoyed. That habit of hers¡ªpouting and throwing tantrums¡ªmight become a problem in the future. Not everyone will give in to her whims. With the room to myself, I picked up the Book of Paradox. I still hadn¡¯t studied anything about healing magic. Not because I wasn¡¯t interested, but because the sheer complexity of it felt overwhelming. There were too many branches, too much information, too many ways to fail at learning it. Still, today I decided to give it a try. ¡°Let¡¯s see¡­¡± Muttering to myself has become a recent habit. It helps me process information, reinforcing it in my memory. Interestingly, I also retain what Isolde says out loud when she studies magic and combat. Maybe that¡¯s what they call auditory learning. Sounds useful. I wonder if I have visual learning too. That would be even better. Setting aside my musings, I focused on a topic that caught my interest: blood magic. It¡¯s in the healing magic section, which suggests it has applications in regenerating red and white blood cells. Blood Healing Magic: Regulates, purifies, and manipulates blood, improving its quality, eliminating toxins and diseases. It also allows the creation and control of artificial blood for offensive and strategic purposes in combat. Interesting. Creation and control of artificial blood. Does that imply a direct connection to mana and Syrix? Complete detoxification of the blood system: Removes poisons and infectious diseases. Regeneration and control of blood flow: Stops hemorrhages and accelerates the production of red and white blood cells. Creation of artificial blood: Allows the generation of blood from mana, either for transfusions or to replace blood lost in combat. It can also be used for offensive and defensive purposes. This is where it gets really interesting. Offensive and defensive magic with artificial blood: Manipulates created blood to form weapons, projectiles, whips, or traps. It can coagulate to harden into shields on parts of the body. Compressed blood can be fired at high speed, strong enough to pierce objects. Blood can be concentrated at a specific point on the body to enhance physical attacks. Control of clots and blood pressure: Can immobilize or weaken an enemy by altering their blood flow. Increased oxygenation and stamina: Enhances the user¡¯s body, improving reflexes and physical stats for combat. This is definitely too much. The problem isn¡¯t just understanding it, but learning to use it without the theory remaining as mere useless knowledge. However, if I can grasp the relationship between mana, Syrix, and the creation of artificial blood, maybe I can do something with this information. Something tells me that if I master this branch of magic, the possibilities will be endless. And that, definitely, is worth trying. Festival and the Shadow of the Monarch When Isolde finished bathing, it was my turn. The hot water dispelled the cold that had settled in my bones, but only for a moment. After dressing in a dark frock with golden embroidery and adjusting the small hat on my head, I made sure to wrap myself in a scarf before leaving the room. Isolde was already ready, wearing a matching dress with a jacket over it, her own scarf carefully adjusted. She was probably trying to shield herself from the cold outside, though I doubted it would be enough. We looked at ourselves in the mirror. Two figures dressed in black, ready to face the winter night. When we stepped outside, the rain greeted us with its monotonous, fine, and persistent rhythm. The possibility of snow hung in the air, as palpable as the cold biting at exposed skin. From the first step onto the street, the magnitude of the celebration became evident. Every house, brothel, tavern, and inn was adorned with glowing lights and festive garlands. Christmas decorations spread like a fever across the city, imposing their presence in every corner. In the central park, the epicenter of the festival, music floated in the air. Voices sang carols, string and wind instruments mingled in a chaotic symphony, and amidst it all, a circus melody stood out. ¡°It¡¯s too cold¡­¡± Isolde complained, rubbing her hands insistently. ¡°That¡¯s why I told you to bring your gloves,¡± I replied without looking at her. ¡°Haha¡­ Sorry, I didn¡¯t think the cold would be this extreme.¡± I sighed. ¡°We¡¯d better go buy you some, or your hands will end up completely frozen.¡± With that conversation, we headed toward the heart of the festival. Colorful banners fluttered in the wind, circus tents rose like cathedrals among the crowd, and people, dressed in period attire, strolled with feverish energy. Seagulls and crows cut through the night sky, their wings silhouetted against the light of the lanterns. I walked through the crowd, with Mother and Isolde following closely behind. A child ran past me with a paper pinwheel in hand, his childish laughter rising above the noise. Further ahead, a group of musicians played vibrant melodies with violins and accordions, breathing life into the festival. Every street overflowed with attractions: fire-eaters shaping ephemeral creatures in flames, illusionists making pocket watches disappear with a mocking smile, lace-skirted dancers spinning in perfect spirals. I couldn¡¯t help but smile. There was something almost unreal about the atmosphere, a latent magic in the air. The lights from the tents twinkled like stars trapped on earth, promising unparalleled spectacles. An acrobat leaped from a trapeze without a net, the crowd¡¯s gasp hanging in the air just before he twisted in mid-air and landed with impossible grace. Beside him, a lion tamer cracked his whip. The lion watching him didn¡¯t seem particularly impressed. ¡°Lucy, look! It¡¯s a jester!¡± I turned to Isolde, who was enthusiastically pointing at a shooting booth. Small brass figures spun unpredictably on the target, and the current participant had just missed their shot, slumping their shoulders in disappointment. Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! The jester running the booth wore a colorful diamond-patterned suit and a harlequin hat. His smile was sharp, his posture relaxed. ¡°Luck or skill?¡± he asked in a charismatic voice, leaning slightly toward Isolde as he extended two darts in his gloved hand. So he wants to test her, huh? ¡°Mom! Mom! Can I try?¡± Her enthusiasm was palpable. Her eyes sparkled with that childlike excitement that¡¯s hard to contain, and for a moment, she wasn¡¯t the Isolde of every day, but a girl completely captivated by the fair. Mother chuckled under her breath and approached the jester. ¡°How much for a try?¡± I just watched. I had no intention of participating. Let¡¯s call it an act of saving Mother some money¡­ or, to be honest, a simple avoidance of humiliation. My aim was, at best, disastrous. ¡°Two florins for a try.¡± Surprisingly cheap. Well, considering it was only two shots, it made sense. Mother paid, and the jester handed the darts to Isolde, who climbed onto a small stool to better align her shot. Her expression turned serious, her fingers gripped the dart, her breathing synced with the rhythm of the rain. When she felt she was in the right position, she took a breath and¡­ Threw. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be so disappointed about missing two shots, Issy.¡± Well, more than disappointed, she seemed indignant. ¡°Hmph! It¡¯s not fair. I¡¯m completely sure I threw the darts perfectly.¡± She crossed her arms, frowning with an almost endearing stubbornness. I smiled. ¡°You¡¯ll get it next time, you¡¯ll see.¡± I tried to cheer her up, though, to be honest, my words lacked conviction. Because, let¡¯s be real: how many times have you won at a shooting booth that¡¯s clearly designed to make you lose? Exactly, never. These games are rigged. Only someone with superhuman precision or the audacity to use magic could hit the target. And in that case, the entire booth would likely end up in ruins, a victim of some lunatic¡¯s frustration with too much power. But, putting that aside¡­ ¡°Shouldn¡¯t Dad be around?¡± I asked. We were supposed to meet him near the Ferris wheel. And, sure enough, there we were, waiting. ¡°How strange¡­¡± And then I saw him. His imposing figure stood out among the crowd, accompanied by someone else. His cloak nearly brushed the ground, and the embroidery gleamed with golden reflections under the light of the oil lamps. Father, as always, walked with an unshakable elegance, an umbrella in hand, projecting a presence that seemed carved from marble. Wow. Has he always had such a majestic air? A little embarrassing to admit, but yes, his aura is impressive. When they were close enough, Isolde spotted him. ¡°Dad!¡± she shouted, rushing toward him. I wasn¡¯t far behind. I ran alongside her, determined to overtake her. Water splashed under our steps, soaking the hems of our clothes, but it was a minor detail. Too insignificant to worry about. We jumped at the same time, clinging to Father. He laughed, accepting our hug without resistance. ¡°Lucius, Isolde! How have you been? Damn, look at your outfits. You¡¯re soaked.¡± Isolde pressed her face against Father¡¯s, nuzzling him affectionately. Even though eight years had passed since my birth, my parents still looked absurdly young. I guess molecular healing magic has its perks. ¡°Hello, dear,¡± Mother greeted, smiling. Father leaned in to kiss her. I, with my well-developed survival instinct, covered Isolde¡¯s eyes before she had to witness such an embarrassing scene. ¡°Your Majesty, my respects,¡± Mother said, her tone shifting to a more formal one. ¡°No need. Remember, on holidays, I¡¯m just another civilian, with no authority.¡± Your Majesty? Ah. So he¡¯s the monarch. That explains a lot. His bearing, his presence, the way he seemed to dominate the space around him even from a distance. And, of course, that dark hair and those red eyes didn¡¯t help make his image any less intimidating. ¡°Then these must be Lucius and Echidna,¡± the monarch said, observing us with a calculating gaze. ¡°Echidna.¡± Isolde has a middle name that we rarely use. Just like me. My middle name is ¡°Van,¡± but I prefer not to remember it. ¡°Echidna? Dear, I told you we¡¯d call her by her first name,¡± Mother scolded Father with sharp sweetness. ¡°Ah¡­ Haha, sorry, I forgot,¡± he replied, accepting the scolding naturally. Really? He remembered Isolde¡¯s middle name but forgot mine. It sounds more like an excuse to defend himself against Mother than a simple oversight. But I¡¯ll let it slide. For now. A treaty of brothers The king was enjoying the festival with us, his presence wrapped in the warmth of the celebration. As his personal guard, my father had to remain by his side at all times. It didn¡¯t bother me; after all, it was his duty. However, I couldn¡¯t help but think he should spend more time with his own family. If he even had one. I¡¯d overheard¡ªin a conversation that didn¡¯t concern me but that I¡¯d caught anyway¡ªthat the king¡¯s daughter wasn¡¯t in the kingdom and that his wife¡­ well, there the information faded into an uncomfortable void. Still, it seemed logical that a father would want to share moments with his daughter rather than escort another family. But I suppose this is the best for now. If the king needs protection, there¡¯s not much to be done about it. We were on the dance floor, at the heart of the festival. Elders and children moved to the rhythm of melodies played by skilled musicians. Some even sang as they danced, lost in the joy of the celebration. I¡¯ll admit it¡ªthe dances of this world have a singular elegance. A beauty that feels strangely familiar. It¡¯s hard to explain¡­ as if, in my past life, I¡¯d felt a persistent nostalgia for a time I¡¯d never lived, as if this era were the one I was always meant to belong to. It was so peaceful. ¡°H-hi, e-excuse me¡­¡± A trembling voice came from behind me. Hmm? I turned. Oh, a girl. Her face was flushed with embarrassment. ¡°Yes? How can I help you?¡± I asked kindly. Had she gotten lost? If so, Mother or Father could help her. The little girl fidgeted with her fingers, avoiding my gaze. I raised an eyebrow. What¡¯s wrong with her? ¡°I was wondering if¡­ if you¡¯d like to dance with me¡­¡± Oh. What should I do? It¡¯s been a while since I last danced with someone. Besides, modern-era dances were completely different from these. Maybe I should try. It would be the sensible thing to do. It might be a good experience. I glanced around for Mother, but she was no longer by my side. At some point, she¡¯d joined the dance floor with Father without me noticing. When? I guess I have no choice but to accept. I won¡¯t go far anyway. ¡°Well¡ª¡± ¡°Wait a minute!¡± What? Before I could respond, Isolde stepped between us. Her furrowed brow and the firmness of her stance radiated authority. ¡°Lucy, you¡¯re staying with me!¡± she declared with absolute determination, crossing her arms. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. The girl blinked, bewildered. ¡°What? Why?¡± I asked, perplexed. It wasn¡¯t like I was going to disappear in the middle of the festival. ¡°Because¡­¡± Isolde hesitated for a moment before lifting her chin with a defiant expression. ¡°Because I said so. And because Mother told me not to let you out of my sight.¡± Oh, come on. She¡¯s obviously lying. What¡¯s gotten into her now? Her stiff posture, the way she avoids my gaze, how she presses her lips together¡­ She doesn¡¯t want to let me go. But why? ¡°I¡¯m not going far¡ª¡± ¡°N-no matter! You¡¯re staying here with me.¡± She grabbed my hand firmly and dragged me toward where the king was watching the dancers without joining them. Before Isolde pulled me away completely, I glanced back. The girl had raised a hand, as if to stop me, but then lowered it in resignation. Her expression reflected quiet disappointment. And when I turned my gaze back to Isolde, I caught something else on her face. It wasn¡¯t just annoyance. It was something deeper. A glint of fear, of stubbornness, of absolute refusal. As if the mere idea of someone else taking me away from her side was intolerable. Is she¡­ jealous? I watched Isolde out of the corner of my eye. She was still upset. I moved closer and stood beside her, breaking the silence with the subtlety of a dagger slipping between ribs. "Why didn¡¯t you let me go with her?" "Why? Because you can¡¯t wander off from us. If you get lost, Mom and Dad will be angry." She was lying. I studied her calmly. "Are you jealous?" I saw her ears turn red. Oh, bullseye. I still didn¡¯t fully understand it. Was it one of those childish sibling jealousies, the need not to share someone she considers hers? "And now why are you staying quiet?" I leaned slightly to see her face. It was completely red, with a barely concealed pout. I smiled, amused, but when she tried to turn away to hide, I had to school my expression. "So what if I am?!" she suddenly snapped. Oh hell, she really was upset. "You can¡¯t go with anyone else but me. You¡¯re still too small." She was right. If I thought about it coldly, I was far from the right age for something like that. "...Then¡­ let¡¯s make a deal." "What?" ¡­Wait, I haven¡¯t even thought of what. I thought quickly. Technically, I¡¯m too young to have a partner. What¡¯s the standard age? Fourteen? Fifteen? I have no idea. I never had a girlfriend in my past life. And when I was close to getting one¡­ well, I ended up killing her during sex. I¡¯m not particularly proud of that, in case you were wondering. I never experienced love that way. But¡­ for Isolde, I can do this. I¡¯m decided. "I won¡¯t go out with anyone but you until I¡¯m fifteen. Deal?" "What do you mean by that?" Come on, seriously? I don¡¯t even know why I¡¯m discussing romantic relationships with my eight-year-old little sister. But if this reassures her and guarantees I won¡¯t have a girlfriend before fifteen, then it¡¯s worth it. "I mean, until I turn fifteen, I won¡¯t go out with anyone else with other intentions. Only with you, all the time, every day." I saw a small smile appear on her face. Still, she pondered it, as if analyzing whether the offer was convenient enough for her. "Hmm¡­" she mused before locking eyes with me. "Deal!" I smiled back and hugged her. Her cheeks were cold, but her hands were warm. In the end, we never bought gloves for her, so I ended up giving her mine. Though, as an alternative, we found a solution: Syrix. I managed to manipulate it to warm my skin, turning it into an improvised heat source. Efficient, yes. But exhausting. "Hey, Lucy¡­" she said suddenly, interrupting the hug. "Don¡¯t you think he looks too lonely?" She pointed behind me. The king. I looked at him. Yeah, he seemed solitary. But not in the way of someone who chooses to be alone¡ªmore with the distant sadness of someone carrying too much weight on their shoulders. "Maybe," I murmured. "Do you think something¡¯s wrong?" "Hmm¡­ I don¡¯t know. Ever since he¡¯s been with us, he¡¯s had that¡­ sad expression. But maybe it¡¯s because his wife and daughter aren¡¯t here." Didn¡¯t this sound too much like adult gossip? "I¡¯m going to talk to him," I decided. The king probably needed company, someone to talk to. Though, if I was honest, I wasn¡¯t sure a conversation with a child would be particularly interesting. "What? Wait, you¡¯re seriously going to talk to the king?" Isolde asked, confused. "Sure. Why not? Just wait for me." I started walking toward the king. Isolde made a half-hearted attempt to stop me but failed. So I kept going. The weight of absence
The king regarded me with curiosity. Standing beside him, my height seemed ridiculous. To be honest, I really should grow taller. This man looked like a giant. Well, considering he''s nearly 190 centimeters while I barely reach 126, it''s pretty obvious. We watched Mother and Father dancing. They seemed to be enjoying themselves. Naturally, considering how long it had been since they''d spent time together like this. Now then... what exactly should I say to such an intimidating authority figure standing right beside me? "Why so lonely, Your Majesty?" "Where''s your wife, Your Majesty?" "Why not dance with someone, Your Majesty?" Ah. That last one has potential. "Your Majesty," I began. "Yes?" he responded immediately. Damn. That was too quick. "Well... why aren''t you dancing with everyone else?" "I don''t have my wife with me." "Then... what about your daughter?" "She didn''t want to come." Right. Curt and direct. As expected. Still, I''ll keep pushing. "Why not find someone else to dance with? You should be enjoying yourself too." "I''m not the type to dance with others when I''m married." Hmm... I suppose he''s doing a good job staying faithful to his wife. But at least he could try enjoying the festival on his own. "You should at least have fun by yourself, shouldn''t you? I think that''s what people do when they don''t have company." The king turned slightly and gave me an inquisitive look. "What are you getting at, Lucius?" Lucius, huh? I guess we''re on that level now. I remembered he''d said himself that right now, he was just another citizen. So I decided to match his approach. "What I mean, Lord Leo, is that you shouldn''t be standing all alone at a festival you personally ordered prepared just days ago." He fell silent. This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. Studied me carefully, but instead of taking offense at my bluntness, he smiled. ...Wait. He smiled? "Hahaha. You''re clearly your parents'' child," he laughed quietly, giving me a pat on the back. "Ugh!" That little tap nearly sent me straight to the ground. If not for my balance, I''d have been flattened against the earth. "I don''t think I can enjoy the festival alone," he continued, his tone more relaxed. "Without my daughter... perhaps I can''t find meaning in these games." I watched him silently. I didn''t really understand a father''s love for his child. Or maybe that was my previous parents'' fault. I still struggled to process the affection my current parents showed me. It was... strange. Different. "May I ask where your daughter is?" "Hmm... At home, enjoying time with her friends." I see. No, I don''t see. What''s his daughter doing at the castle while her father stands here, completely alone? At the very least she should accompany him, stand by his side, share in the people''s joy with him. But apparently, she didn''t. And he, for some reason, didn''t insist either.
I expected the king and princess to be sensible enough to have a serious conversation about their strained relationship. Though it wasn''t my business nor something I particularly wanted to get involved in, so I decided to drop it. "At least you should have persuaded her to come with you, don''t you think?" I said, keeping my irritation carefully restrained. "No... I can''t force her to do something she doesn''t want." But he should have. Why refuse to spend time with her own father? If I were the king''s son, I wouldn''t hesitate to stand by his side¡ªI''d flaunt it. "Hmm... At the very least, you should talk to her. I don''t know what''s going on between you two, but from what little you''ve said, it seems the princess has a rebellious streak. I''m not ordering you, but you really should." Without waiting for a response, I turned and walked back to Isolde. She was still watching the dancers, though her attention occasionally flickered toward my conversation with the king. She hadn''t even bothered to hide her curiosity. I stood beside her and took her hand. It wasn''t a conscious decision¡ªjust something we did instinctively, without question. "How did it go, Lucy?" she asked, not looking away from our parents spinning on the dance floor. How long did they plan to keep that up? It''d be more productive to grab something to eat¡ªmaybe some chocolate bread. "I guess fine. But the king didn''t seem to be in the best mood. At least he laughed." I yawned, the weight of sleep pressing on my eyelids. "He laughed?" "Yeah... I''m not sure exactly what I did, but he laughed. Though it sounded kind of tired." "Oooh... Aaah..." Isolde yawned too, rubbing her face against her jacket sleeve. "I think we should head home." "But Mom and Dad are still dancing. Shouldn''t we wait for them?" That would be the logical thing, but I was too sleepy. Besides, security in the city was decent. With Veil Masters and Sentinels patrolling, the chances of anything happening to us were pretty low. "Maybe. But it''d be better to rest before we end up passing out in the middle of this crowd. Come on." We made our way to the dance floor, weaving through people and enduring the unpleasant stench of sweat. With some effort, we reached our parents. I tugged hard on Father''s coat while Isolde did the same to Mother''s. Both turned at the same time. "What''s wrong, dears?" Mother asked, bending down to our level. Her voice was sweet, though exhaustion lingered beneath. Impressive she was still dancing. "We''re sleepy," I said bluntly. "Oh... Well... Let''s go home, then." "No. We want to go back on our own. There are Veil Masters and Sentinels all over the kingdom. I don''t think anything will happen to us." Mother looked at Father. He returned her gaze with an expression that said the final decision was hers. She hesitated for a moment but finally nodded. "Alright. But be careful. Don''t separate." She cast a tracking spell to ensure our safety before letting us go. "Got it." Mother kissed our foreheads, and Father, in his usual carefree way, ruffled our hair. After that, Isolde and I headed home. Reginald Rex Dampforth The streets were utterly deserted, wrapped in a silence that felt almost oppressive. In the distance, the shadow of something glinting seemed to watch us¡ªmotionless yet undeniably present, accompanied by a sound that felt unsettlingly familiar. It was metallic, harsh, and repetitive, like the clash of a hammer against an anvil, mixed with the whirring of a drill biting into metal. A shiver ran down my spine, but curiosity¡ªthat absurd, irrational force¡ªalways finds a way to win. I took a step forward, ready to move closer, until I felt a tug on my arm. Isolde. Her hand trembled slightly, her pupils dilated with fear. I didn¡¯t need to ask to know she¡¯d reached the same conclusion as I had: the unknown is usually dangerous. ¡°You¡¯re planning to go in there?¡± she whispered, her voice shaky. ¡°Yeah, just to take a quick look,¡± I replied, downplaying it. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t. What if it¡¯s something dangerous?¡± A fair point. But if it were truly dangerous, the Veil Masters would¡¯ve detected and eliminated it long ago. The fact that nothing had happened meant it was either harmless or something discreet enough to evade notice. ¡°If it were a threat, they¡¯d have intercepted it by now, don¡¯t you think?¡± ¡°Hmm¡­¡± Isolde didn¡¯t seem convinced, but after a moment¡¯s hesitation, she said, ¡°Then let me come with you.¡± Should I allow it? Well, two is always better than one. ¡°Fine.¡± We moved quickly and silently, slipping down the street with the caution of people who knew they might be making a mistake. As we got closer, the sounds grew clearer: metallic screeches, parts being screwed together, something being cut with precision. Were they assembling something? We pressed against the wall of an alley, stopping when we realized the noise was coming from a part of the kingdom we¡¯d never seen before. Damn it. We should¡¯ve explored more. The noise grew louder, and then we heard it. A hum. Slow, rhythmic. A man¡¯s voice. A moment later, from the depths of the alley, gray smoke began to rise¡ªthick and dense, curling into the air. Perfect. Just what we needed to make this even creepier. Isolde squeezed my hand hard enough to make me wince. I understood. Truth be told, I wasn¡¯t exactly calm either. Maybe this wasn¡¯t the best idea. But we were already here. Turning back now would feel like admitting defeat. ¡°We should go back¡­¡± Isolde whispered, stopping. Her feet were shaking, and despite the cold, her skin was beaded with sweat. There was no point in dragging her through this. Curiosity is a personal poison; she didn¡¯t need to share it. ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re right. Let¡¯s go back.¡± She nodded immediately. We turned and began retreating in silence. Then I heard it¡ªa metallic clink. I looked down just in time to see my foot nudge something. A small metal object skittered away, and when it hit the ground, the echo bounced off the alley walls, loud enough to carry several houses down. Shit. We spun around instantly, alert, waiting¡­ but nothing happened. Did we get away with it? Maybe. We both exhaled in relief and kept walking. Then everything went dark. The light returned abruptly, forcing me to squint. The first thing I noticed was Isolde beside me, utterly terrified, on the verge of tears. The second¡ªand perhaps more concerning¡ªwas the sensation of immobility. We were tied up. My hands and feet were bound by magic, an invisible force restraining every movement with near-surgical precision. Damn it. Where the hell are we? My eyes darted around the room. Shelves crammed with strange objects. Metal birds with folding wings. Guns and rifles I didn¡¯t recognize. Armor with exposed mechanisms. Steam-powered machines? Bloody hell. ¡°What the devil were you two doing near my workshop?¡± The man¡¯s voice from across the room was deep and casual. He held a cup in one hand, as if this were just a minor inconvenience in his routine. I swallowed hard. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. His crimson hair and blue eyes seemed to glow in the dim light. His gaze held no anger or surprise¡ªjust cold, calculated assessment. ¡°W-we were just passing by! I-it¡¯s not like we were here out of curiosity or anything,¡± I stammered, sounding like a damn amateur. Shit. I¡¯m terrible at lying. The man tilted his head slightly, never breaking eye contact. ¡°Hmm¡­ Unfortunately for you, seeing this will have consequences.¡± Flat. Unambiguous. No room for negotiation. My jaw tightened. I glanced at Isolde, but the result was worse than expected. Her eyes, already brimming with tears, looked even more desperate. Her fear was palpable, and I had no way to tell her everything would be fine¡ªbecause it probably wouldn¡¯t be. The man approached with calm steps, plucking an oil lamp from the wall to study us better. And then, something shifted. His expression morphed into something I hadn¡¯t anticipated. First, surprise. Then, a grin. ¡°Oh? Oooh¡­ Hahaha! Shit! You¡¯re Lucius! And I¡¯m guessing she¡¯s Echidna! Hahaha! No wonder you felt familiar.¡± ¡­ What the hell¡¯s wrong with him now? No¡ªbetter question: How the hell does he know us? Isolde, who¡¯d seemed seconds from collapsing, now looked baffled. Though tears still clung to her lashes, fear had been replaced by confusion. ¡°Never thought Erika and Elias¡¯s kids would wander into this place. Or even find it,¡± he mused, still chuckling to himself. ¡°Guess I got sloppy with the Vigil of the Fallen festival going on.¡± He knows Father and Mother. My thoughts scrambled into order. If he knows us, then¡­ ¡°Mind untying us? We¡¯re innocent, I swear,¡± I said, layering on a pitiful tone. Not that it worked much, but worth a shot. Hearing that this guy knew our parents, though, made my voice waver mid-fake sob. ¡°Oh, right. My bad.¡± With a careless flick, he dissolved the magical bindings. A tingling sensation spread through my limbs as movement returned. Fear still prickled under my skin, but I managed to stand. I helped Isolde up. Her breathing remained ragged, though the tears had slowed. Only quiet sniffles and the occasional stubborn trail of snot remained. That could¡¯ve ended very badly. Hell. What if we¡¯d died? No¡ªnot the time. First things first. ¡°You know our parents?¡± I asked quietly, staying alert. Now that we were free, we could run. Assuming this guy didn¡¯t decide to recapture us in a blink. Though, let¡¯s be real¡­ at our current level, we stood no chance against an adult. The man clicked his tongue and smirked. ¡°Know them?¡± he echoed, playful. ¡°We bled together, kid! Been friends since the academy.¡± Oh¡­ What? If that¡¯s true, why had we never seen him before? Just as I tried to process it, Isolde hesitantly opened her mouth¡ª ¡°Then you¡¯re¡­¡± She seemed to doubt her own words. ¡°You¡¯re Uncle Reginald!¡± ¡­Excuse me? I slowly turned my head toward Isolde. "You know him?" I asked, feeling the tension gradually drain from my body. Something about the man''s aura had shifted¡ªcalmer now, yet still wrapped in an air of mystery. "Yes! Mother actually told both of us about him, but you always fall asleep before she even starts her stories. You really should pay more attention, Lucy." ¡­ Thanks for throwing that in my face, little sister. "Hahaha. So they do still talk about me," Reginald mused. "I figured they''d forgotten after twelve years of radio silence." Twelve years? And yet he¡¯d just said they bled together? If they were that close, why cut ties for so long? Not that it surprised me. People were like that. Still¡­ curious. Even so, Reginald seemed decent. But the main question remained unanswered: Where the hell are we? He¡¯d said "workshop," so I guessed he was some kind of mechanic. Though, judging by everything here, that¡¯d be an understatement. "Wow," I blurted without thinking. I¡¯d just noticed his outfit. Until now, the situation hadn¡¯t let me appreciate it. Was this the legendary "Gothic Victorian Aesthetic"? Damn. He looks incredible. Come on, admit it¡ªeven in my past life, I¡¯d had an eye for fashion, and this guy knew what he was doing. Impeccable style. Elegant, dark, with that hint of mystery making it even more striking. I¡¯m stealing his look. Not a possibility¡ªa certainty. "I see you like what you¡¯re seeing, Lucius." His voice snapped me out of my trance. I cleared my throat and glanced away, feigning indifference. "Just¡­ admiring your style." "If you want, I could give you a few pieces. Got some that might fit you." "Seriously?!" "Why not?" No way I¡¯d say no. Even if I¡¯m still too small to pull it off, I¡¯ll make it work. Reginald strolled over to a cabinet across the room, rummaging through boxes while Isolde and I took the chance to properly survey the place. "What are all these things¡­?" I muttered. "This is amazing. A metal bird? Metal spiders?" Isolde was even more awestruck than me. To me, though, this wasn¡¯t entirely foreign. In my past life, I¡¯d read enough novels to recognize these contraptions¡ªsteampunk inventions, powered by steam and meticulously assembled gears. Steampunk. Wait. Steampunk? "Weren¡¯t you just crying a minute ago?" "Hey! You were about to cry too!" Isolde shot back, indignant. "Besides, I was just faking it so he¡¯d let us go." Wow. She said it with such pride it almost sounded narcissistic. "Really?" She nodded with a smug little smile. Well, I had no proof to refute that. But at this point, I couldn¡¯t tell if she cried from fear, sadness, or just because she¡¯d learned to manipulate people with her tantrums. Not me, though. I think. "Seems you two are interested in these things," Reginald cut in, picking up a mechanical bird from his workbench. At a glance, it looked like his latest project. Isn¡¯t it too big? Roughly the size of a raven. "They¡¯re amazing!" Isolde blurted, her usual boundless energy surging back. She was clearly fascinated. Then again, what kid wouldn¡¯t be? You didn¡¯t see steam-powered animal machines or intricate clockwork devices like compasses and mechanical weapons every day. Even I had to admit it was impressive. "Is this kind of thing even possible?" I muttered, remembering how, in my world¡¯s Victorian era, these concepts were just sci-fi dreams. "Of course," Reginald said casually. "You just need a bit of magic to generate water, turn it into steam, and use that to power the engine. Once you grasp the process, it¡¯s fairly simple." Like steam locomotives? In my world, pistons converted steam energy into mechanical motion. Here, the difference was using magic to create water and steam in a self-sustaining cycle. Does that mean it could run indefinitely? Fascinating¡­ though I didn¡¯t fully get it. "I see¡­" Isolde murmured, studying the bird with keen interest. Wait, did she actually understand? If so, I definitely needed lessons from this guy. Maybe I should come back¡ª Come back. "Come back!" I suddenly shouted. Isolde jumped, startled, while Reginald frowned at me. "W-what¡¯s wrong, Lucy?" Isolde asked, clutching her chest. Shit. We got way too sidetracked. "We have to go. We should¡¯ve been home ages ago. We¡¯ll come back tomorrow." "Huh? Oh, right!" "Thanks for not killing us, but we gotta run. Maybe we¡¯ll drop by tomorrow. Or¡­ someday." "Wait, what?" Reginald blinked, visibly baffled. Couldn¡¯t blame him. "We¡¯ll be back," I declared, grabbing Isolde¡¯s hand and bolting for the door. And so concluded the day.