Everything was chaos.
Curled into a fetal position, my arms clung to my legs as though they were the last anchor I had left, while the rough ground, covered in twisted roots, cold vines, and damp leaves mixed with others already rotting away, scraped against my skin and soaked me through.
My entire body shook in short spasms, as though every muscle were a thread on the verge of snapping. My eyes burned, blinded by tears, and my breathing came in broken sobs, cracking in my chest like blades sawing through bone.
The smell of burning invaded me like living smoke, clinging to my throat, suffocating me from within, mingling with the metallic taste of blood running from my forehead, down my lips, scorching my tongue like red-hot iron.
"It'll pass... it'll pass..." I kept murmuring, my voice catching in my throat, dissolving into restrained sobs, muffled behind lips I bit until I could taste my own blood.
"Dad will make it in time... Mom will come get me... César will play with me again... it'll pass... it'll pass..." The words repeated like a fractured spell, a mangled prayer I spat out in desperation, trying to drown out the reality crushing me beneath it.
But my pleas died the moment the smell ceased to be just a smell. The flames began to devour the world. First as timid sparks, then as ravenous tongues climbing the trunks, swallowing leaves, blazing in the wind.
The sky, once cloaked in night, was painted with orange and crimson reflections, as though the very heavens were burning alongside me.
Then the voices came. Deep. Harsh. Inhuman. Every word hurled in my direction felt as though it were tearing through my skin, leaving invisible scars.
Heavy footsteps crushed branches like brittle bones, and with them... the sound of something being dragged. Not one thing—many. Like chains scraping against stone, like bodies being pulled against their own will.
"Boy... come out."
"Come, come... we won't hurt you."
"Yes... we'll take you to your mother."
"Come..."
I knew. I knew it was them. The monsters. The demons who had destroyed everything. And even so, my treacherous legs moved. As though they no longer obeyed me, as though fear itself were forcing me out of the only miserable shelter I had left.
I stood, every joint screaming like tortured iron, and pushed through the bushes.
Then my world shattered.
"There he is!"
"Look, boy... we'll let you see your mother again."
And I saw.
Dragged by her hair like a slaughtered animal, there she was, her eyes devoid of light. The woman whose smile had been my sun, whose voice had been my safe haven... now writhed in a despair that tore me apart.
Her body was covered in deep cuts, her skin marred by purple and black bruises. Her face—the face my forehead used to kiss before I fell asleep—streamed with blood and tears mingled together.
She sobbed without a voice, and even so, I could hear her screams inside me. Her dress, once white, was now a rag drenched in red, stained with dirt, dragged through the mud like a burial shroud.
One of them stopped. His body began to glow, flesh splitting open with fiery fissures like living coal cracking under the heat. His skin crackled, incandescent veins slithering beneath it like burning roots.
Flames burst from his hand that were more than mere fire—they breathed, ravenous, alive, like beasts trapped beneath his skin.
He raised his hand, pointing at me. The air trembled. The flames swallowed everything, consuming my vision.
My world became fire.
✦ ✦ ✦
"AAARRHHH!"
I jolted upright in bed. My body was drenched in cold sweat, my chest heaving as though it had been torn apart from the inside. The fire still burned in my eyes. The woman was still being dragged. The room spun, shadows taking the shape of the monsters.
The taste of blood still lingered in my mouth. The fire too. The voices. Everything.
And then—
"Auuuuuuuuuuhhh!" Axel's howl sliced through my memories like a blade. A second later, I felt his rough tongue licking my fingers.
"What the hell was that...?" My voice faltered. My body trembled, drenched in sweat, my heart pounding far beyond normal.
"Mom...?" Her beautiful face surfaced in my mind, only to be swallowed by the same twisted mask from the nightmare.
"Argh!" The pain struck me like shrapnel. My hands flew to my head. "When did that happen?!"
They were foreign memories, memories that even the original Alexander didn't seem to remember. "The day she died...? Or just... a nightmare?"
After a few seconds, the pain subsided. No new images surfaced. My chest gradually calmed, my breathing steadied, but the emptiness left behind by the silence in my mind was almost worse than the pain itself.
'Why now?' The question echoed over and over like an unwelcome refrain. Nightmare or memory, there had to be a trigger behind it. But the harder I searched, the less I found.
Sunlight streamed through the small window, casting golden lines across the stone floor. A cruel contrast to the darkness that still throbbed inside me.
My body was well-rested, but my mind remained unsettled by the turmoil.
Even so, with some reluctance, I tried to ignore what had happened. The lingering warmth of a good night's rest still clung to my bones, but the way I'd awakened had almost completely driven it away.
I walked over to the window. The worn iron groaned as I opened it. The cool morning air drifted in, carrying with it the damp scent of stone and trees. I took a deep breath. My chest filled not with relief, but with even more questions.
"Good morning..." I murmured, a fragile greeting that nevertheless did much to calm my mind.
I stood there for a few moments, caught between the need to act and the inertia my mind still imposed on me. The morning silence was heavy, almost suffocating. There were no screams, no fire. Only the soft tapping of the wind against the wood.
Then my eyes fell upon a simple clothes rack leaning near the door. A thick, coarse towel hung from it beside a curved-handled brush with stiff bristles crudely fastened in place. Beneath them sat a yellowish bar of soap, odorless and greasy in appearance.
"Rustic... if not downright antiquated." I sighed, my voice low, almost resigned. Even so, it was better than nothing.
I gathered everything. The rough wood of the brush, the awkward weight of the towel, the faint greasy smell of the soap. The simplicity of the place seemed to mock me—a quiet, ordinary life standing in grotesque contrast to the images that still burned behind my eyes.
I reached for the doorknob, ready to leave, then suddenly stopped.
"Ah!" I exclaimed under my breath, pulling my hand away from the knob as though it had burned me.
I crossed the room quickly to the black iron wardrobe. The hinges creaked softly as I opened it, revealing five neatly arranged changes of clothes.
They were simple, yet of good quality. Not the finest fabric, but far from common—heavy wool or reinforced linen for the trousers and shirts.
Each set included a sturdy pair of trousers, a long-sleeved shirt, and a dark overcoat made of thick fabric with a lightly padded inner lining. Beside them stood four pairs of leather boots, sturdy and practical for the region's mild winters.
A wicker basket rested against the wall. Without thinking much about it, I tossed the towel, the brush, and the clothes I intended to wear inside.
The gesture was almost automatic, yet there was something comforting about putting small things in order, as though that semblance of routine were enough to remind me that I was still alive—and finally back among society.
When I stepped into the hallway, a strange sense of civility accompanied me, fragile, almost illusory.
The corridor lay silent, save for the occasional creak of the old stone walls settling into place. Small openings let shafts of light spill in, cutting across the hallway at rigid, almost ceremonial angles, like golden spears piercing the dusty air.
There was no movement whatsoever. No voices, no hurried footsteps, no squires carrying messages. Only the hollow echo of my own footsteps against the worn stone, as though I were the sole survivor wandering through an abandoned castle.
'Perhaps this really is the best time to wash up...' I thought, adjusting the basket beneath my arm.
The communal bathhouses were located at the end of each corridor, a practical solution for buildings housing roughly ten to twenty rooms per floor. Most had only two stories; a few newer or renovated ones reached three, with intersecting hallways or inner towers.
Nothing but stone, wood, and iron—materials chosen to withstand time, relentless use, and the harshness of training.
The divisions were straightforward: boys on one side, girls on the other. Only the common areas in the center were shared. A simple detail, yet a necessary one.
At the very least, it helped avoid greater problems in a place that brought together young people from different backgrounds and temperaments.
'So the old man was right to complain...' I thought, remembering the eccentric guide. 'He probably wasn't even allowed to cross into the girls' quarters.'
It was curious. In Allythéon, unlike in many other kingdoms, there had never been any issue with a woman wielding a sword or choosing a life at home. What determined a person's path was nothing more than their ability and their circumstances.
I continued on, my eyes fixed on the uneven stone floor. Inevitably, my mind wandered. 'Bringing children together is already a risk... but placing them side by side with noble preteens, some already maturing early, and even fully-fledged knights, like that captain...'
A shiver ran down my spine, making my shoulders tense.
"I'd rather not even imagine..." I quickened my pace, as though trying to leave behind not just the thought itself, but the weight that came with it.
✦ ✦ ✦
The moment I pushed open the heavy wooden door, its hinges creaking softly, I was greeted by a mixture of scents: strong soap, dampness soaked into the walls, and the faint smell of smoke drifting from the heated stones that kept the room from becoming too cold.
The room was spacious, yet simple. The floor, made of uneven stone, allowed the water to drain through shallow grooves that led to a central opening, a rudimentary drain. The stone walls were partially covered with aged wooden planks, likely to keep out some of the cold and moisture.
In one corner, large wooden barrels stood neatly lined up, filled with water. Some still seemed warm, thanks to iron braziers strategically placed beneath small stone platforms. Metal buckets and wooden ladles rested beside each barrel, ready to be used.
Several makeshift partitions fashioned from thick, dark fabric curtains hung from rusted iron rods. They offered just enough privacy for anyone accustomed to the ordinary life of a castle or fortress.
Iron hooks fastened to the walls allowed clothes and towels to be hung. In the opposite corner stood a small stone counter where crude brushes, made with straw bristles tied to pieces of wood, and rough bars of soap had been left for anyone to use.
Steam lingered gently in the air, lightly fogging the areas around the barrels and taking on ghostly shapes whenever it crossed the rays of light filtering through the small circular windows.
Everything was utilitarian, built to function without luxury or vanity.
And yet, after everything I had been through these past few days, that bathhouse felt like a small piece of paradise.
✦ ✦ ✦
"Better not try..." I murmured, staring at my reflection in a worn mirror mounted on the wall.
My hair, now falling below the nape of my neck, was damp and unruly. I took a lock between my fingers, studying its texture. It was no longer tightly coiled as I remembered from my previous life, when each strand curled into dense, firm coils.
Now, my curls were looser, forming well-defined spirals while still retaining their volume, density, and body. Somewhere between tightly coiled hair and loose waves.
'Still, it's just hair,' I thought with a sigh as I let the lock slip through my fingers.
Even though I was now clean, dressed in fresh clothes, and carrying the more acceptable scent of rustic soap, it was impossible not to notice how much my hair stood out—rebellious, voluminous, and shapeless, a living relic of who I had once been and what I had become.
'I wonder if Kyle knows how to cut hair?' The thought crossed my mind for only a moment before another resigned sigh escaped me. "Better not..." I muttered to myself, shaking my head. "Barbers are expensive for a very good reason."
In that world, just as in my old one, barbers were highly respected professionals. Not only had they mastered the difficult art of cutting, trimming, and styling every kind of hair, they also served as dentists, and in some cases even dermatologists, while occupying important social roles as well.
Among the nobility, appearance was a direct extension of one's prestige and standing. Entrusting someone with your hair was almost the same as entrusting them with your honor. Loyal barbers were treated almost like personal confidants, every bit as indispensable as a trusted advisor or faithful butler.
"And to think that after only a year and a few months I'd actually miss Albert..." I smiled faintly, letting out a quiet chuckle. "Not as a butler... but as a barber."
Albert had always possessed steady, skillful hands. And unlike many others, he knew exactly how to handle my hair without treating it as something that needed to be "fixed." In difficult times, the feeling of being properly cared for made far more of a difference than I would ever admit out loud.
With another sigh, I gathered my belongings and returned to my room. Once again, the corridors were deserted, the sound of my boots echoing alone against the cold stone walls.
Inside the room, I removed one of the laces from a boot that didn't fit me. Of the four pairs I had been given, two wouldn't even fit my feet, while the other two were too large, a crude method of accommodating the varying sizes of the young nobles housed there.
With a bit of patience, I used the lace as a makeshift hair tie. Gathering my hair into a firm, low ponytail, I secured it just above the nape of my neck. A few curls, The younger strands, stubborn as always, escaped around my face and ears, framing it in a natural way that softened my still youthful features.
Even so, despite the casualness, there was a quiet order to it, an intention. I adjusted it one last time, pulling a few strands to better balance the volume, trying to give it a stylish touch without overdoing it.
'Everyone has the right to look presentable,' I thought, watching my reflection in the fogged glass of the window, where the world outside looked like a faded painting in shades of gray and blue.
'And above all, the right to choose how they present themselves to the world.' Carefully, I adjusted my fringe, which, through effort and some stubbornness on my part, I had finally managed to tame.
"With this, I can go to the library now," I murmured, a satisfied smile forming on my lips.
Yes, I had prepared myself with such enthusiasm just to visit the library. Nothing more, nothing less.
An inevitable consequence of the fusion between my love for reading and the compulsive habit that Alexander had planted in me like a stubborn seed.
"But first of all..." I said to myself, looking away.
I walked over to the desk, where Alex had gone back to sleeping sprawled out, snoring softly. I leaned over him, the shadow of my body covering the little wolf's peaceful face. "Seriously... how can someone sleep this much?" I muttered with a tired smile.
Carefully, I slid one arm beneath him and moved him onto the bed, adjusting the blanket over his body. He growled in his sleep, but soon returned to his dream world.
I let out a light sigh and returned to the desk, sitting down with a soft creak from the chair.
I rested my hands on the worn wooden arms and allowed myself a moment of silence, staring out at the sky through the window, now tinted with the first orange hues of dusk.
"And to think it's already been a year and six months..." The words left me in a whisper, as if confessed to an invisible old friend.
Without realizing it, my fingers began lightly tapping against the wood of the chair, an unconscious habit that surfaced whenever I fell into introspection.
I started to review everything I had experienced up to that point. It had become a habit rooted in me: every time a cycle closed, every time something even remotely significant happened, I would sit down and retrace the path I had taken, the right choices, the mistakes, the lessons learned, and above all, the silent gains that no one but me could measure.
"I really have been through quite a lot," I murmured, bringing my hand up in front of my face.
I focused. A small gust of wind swirled in my palm, forming delicate air currents like the whisper of a gentle breeze.
Immediately after, a burst of electricity crackled in the air, creating a golden sphere of light between my fingers.
Around it, small layers of earth began to form, solidifying the luminous sphere within a earthen shell.
And then, crack, the layer broke, and a sphere of pure water emerged.
The water flowed smoothly for a few seconds until it evaporated into a dance of vapor, which then gave way to a living flame flickering in the palm of my hand.
"Perfect..." A genuine, light smile escaped me. The pride was silent, but present.
Now, I no longer needed to verbalize in order to cast simple spells—level 0 magic, true, but still a milestone. More than that: I could alter small properties of them, making them stronger or softer depending on my will.
I slowly closed my hand, extinguishing the flame, and looked back outside.
The wind gently hit the window. Far away, a solitary bird cut across the sky, diving and rising in lazy circles.
"What did they do all this time?" My gaze turned slightly melancholic. "Did they manage to contact each other?"
I unconsciously tightened my grip on the chair arms, the rough wood creaking under my fingers. My eyes followed the bird's path until it disappeared into the clouds.
"Are they worried about me too...?" I asked in a low voice, almost like a prayer cast into the wind.
I stayed there in silence, listening to the questions echo in my mind like footsteps in an empty corridor, unanswered.
The golden light of dusk began to fill the room, painting the floor in warm tones, and the subtle cold drifting through the cracks reminded me that time would not wait for me.
"It would be nice if I could at least tell them I'm fine." I took a deep breath, forcing a brief smile.
I stood up, smoothing my new clothes with my hands, and quickly, decisively fixed my ponytail.
There were things that did not depend solely on me. But there were others that, now, were entirely under my control.
And going to the library was the first step.