From behind them came a voice, unmistakably familiar.
"Young Master Lucian, what are you doing out here all alone?"
The voice belonged to a woman with brown hair and striking azure eyes, one that struck Lucian as painfully familiar: Rumelia, his own maid, the person closest to him in the world.
"Rumelia, what are you doing here?"
But it wasn’t Lucian who answered. It was the boy, the one who also happened to share his name. A younger version of Rumelia approached the child.
"Young Master, I already told you not to wander off alone. Were you out here looking for that girl from your dreams again?" Rumelia’s tone carried the exact edge of someone gently scolding him.
"But I wasn’t alone. There was someone else here with me."
The boy pointed toward where Lucian stood, but when Rumelia followed his finger, her eyes settled on nothing but empty air.
"Young Master, do you have a fever?" She pressed a hand to the boy’s forehead.
"I’m fine. Can’t you see him? He’s right there eating."
Worry crept into Rumelia’s expression as she scanned the space around them, seeing no one there but herself and the child.
"That’s enough joking around, Young Master. We need to hurry, and if we don’t get back to the estate soon, we’ll both be in trouble."
Rumelia took the boy’s hand and pulled him away, back toward the estate. Lucian, still holding the roasted fish in one hand, stood frozen, his mouth hanging open, unable to believe what he’d just watched unfold.
There’s no way Rumelia can’t see me. That’s not possible.
"Rumelia, it’s me! Can’t you see me?!"
Rumelia and the boy kept walking, as though not a single word had reached them.
"Hey! Can either of you hear me?!"
Lucian scrambled to his feet and chased after them, reaching out to grab Rumelia’s hand. He was certain his fingers had closed around hers, but he felt absolutely nothing, none of the touch he should have felt. As if he’d become nothing more than a passing shadow.
Shouldn’t I be able to touch her?...
As they walked back toward the estate, their conversation drifted back to him.
"Rumelia, is there a guest coming today who’s blind, like me?" the boy asked.
Rumelia shook her head. "I’m sorry, Young Master, there’s only ever been you."
"But I just met someone my age a moment ago. He told me he was blind too. We even ran into a Thunder Horned Boar together."
Rumelia’s eyes narrowed sharply. "Did you just say there’s a Thunder Horned Boar out here? Young Master, please tell me you’re not joking. If that’s true, this is serious, we need to call the guards immediately, the two of us can’t handle something like that alone."
"But the blind boy, he actually fought it off."
"Young Master Lucian, please don’t try to scare me. You just said ’blind boy,’ but it’s only been the two of us out here this whole time..." A visible shiver ran through Rumelia, and she quickened her pace, practically dragging the boy into a run, as though fear itself were chasing them now.
"we need to move faster, Young Master."
"H-hey, wait for me!" Lucian called out from behind them, though neither so much as glanced back.
Rumelia kept calling him Lucian. Over and over. She called that child Lucian.
Lucian stopped dead in his tracks, watching the two of them grow smaller and smaller in the distance.
Turning it over in his mind, piecing together Rumelia calling the boy by his own name and everything the child had told him about the date, the truth settled over him at last: this wasn’t some world he simply didn’t recognize. This was his own past.
But something about it still didn’t add up. Why could he still touch the things around him? Lucian crouched down and pressed his palm flat against the ground, and the damp give of the soil registered clearly against his skin, which meant something specific.
I can touch objects just fine. It’s only people I can’t reach here?
Because all of this is my own past?
A faint tremor ran through his grip. Lucian looked down at his own hand.
This sword, the one I used earlier... it’s strange. I don’t remember ever owning a sword like this, not once, in my entire life.
The sword in Lucian’s hand had a pure white sheath and blade, and near the hilt sat a cracked, half-shattered crystal shaped like a star, yellow and clearly ancient.
A weapon this distinctive should have been impossible to forget. And yet, right now, the only lead he had was a child who looked exactly like his younger self.
Only that version of myself would even know I exist here.
No, wait... there’s one more person who should know. The girl voice, the one who was with me earlier.
Miyu?
Lucian turned, searching the space around him, but he couldn’t sense the faintest trace of her presence anywhere.
A gentle breeze picked up, sweeping hard toward the main estate.
Is Miyu part of my past too? Maybe I’ll find her somewhere inside the main house.
He started walking, following the wind toward the estate.
By the time he arrived, the grounds were packed with carriages belonging to every branch of the Sarnel family. One convoy stood out immediately, its carriage trimmed with gleaming gold pillars, surrounded by a heavy escort of soldiers standing guard.
Judging by the crest emblazoned on its side, this had to be a delegation from the imperial family itself, invited to attend.
But no matter how far Lucian’s gaze stretched across the grounds, there wasn’t a single trace of Miyu, or of his younger self, anywhere in sight.
He wove his way through the ranks of soldiers, waving a hand in front of their faces, even reaching out to touch them directly, but not one of them so much as flinched.
Hm. Seems like no one here can see me either.
Curiosity pulled him further, and he made his way toward the mansion itself. But the moment he moved to step inside, something foul brushed against him, a presence that lingered for only an instant before it was gone.
This feeling... am I imagining that?
On the fourth floor, one particular window sat wrapped in a shroud of black aura, though Lucian, sightless, had no way of seeing it. He kept walking forward regardless.
A sudden light washed over his temples, brilliant and blue, accompanied by the low murmur of a crowd gathered together, voices overlapping in conversation.
Lucian found himself standing in the middle of it all.
This isn’t the main hall...
This is the Sword Tomb. Didn’t I just walk in through the front entrance a second ago?
Before him now stretched the back grounds of the Sarnel estate, a hill studded with swords driven into the earth. These weren’t ordinary blades. Each one had once belonged to a legendary figure of House Sarnel.
Among the countless swords planted across that hill, three stood out above all the rest, weapons every branch family in the empire secretly dreamed of claiming for their own.
The one furthest to the right belonged to the fifth Patriarch of House Sarnel: Kharvess, a curved blade with a jagged, serrated edge shaped like a dragon’s spine. Its hilt was cast in the form of an open jaw, teeth sinking permanently into the hand of whoever dared wield it.
On the far left stood Ravon, once carried by the twelfth Patriarch. A long, black-bladed sword with a slight curve near its tip, a crimson line running down the center of the blade that glowed the instant it tasted blood.
And in the center rested Ulzareth, the sword of House Sarnel’s very first Matriarch. A thin silver blade paired with a hilt of deep navy blue, its edge said to catch the light like lightning itself in the instant before it pierced an enemy’s heart.
Impressive as those three blades were, that didn’t mean the countless others planted across the hill fell short by comparison.
What made those three legendary was something else entirely: not a single soul had ever managed to claim them. No sword resting in the Sarnel family’s Sword Tomb could be drawn without its own consent, each one waiting, choosing, for the master it deemed worthy.
Near the edge of the Tomb stood four young men and two young women, all standing straight-backed, bracing themselves to step forward and claim their first blade.
Behind them rose a small platform lined with rows of seats. At its center sat the most commanding figure of them all: Cassius Sarnel, the current Patriarch, his hair a striking black that matched the deep color of his robes.
Flanking him on either side stood three Elders of House Sarnel.
"Edward, how does the boy’s situation look?"
Cassius’s voice carried a deep, unmistakable authority as he addressed one of his servants, a sharp-eyed man wearing spectacles.
"Reporting, my lord. At present, three candidates from the branch families have entered the Tomb grounds, along with three of the main family’s young lords."
A cold, cutting voice cut in from beside Edward.
"Edward, why did you allow that Lucian boy to set foot in our sacred Sword Tomb at all?"
"Forgive me, Elder Piter. But in my assessment, Young Master Lucian needed to be present today, so we could finally determine his true potential for ourselves."
Elder Piter waved a dismissive hand, clearly unconvinced by that reasoning.
"You let him stand there, and if he fails to claim a single sword, imagine the shame it’ll bring on this family. A swordmaster house, and our own young lord can’t even hold a blade. What will the branch families think of us? What will the magic-caster houses say?"
Lucian stood directly in front of them now, listening to every word of the conversation unfolding about himself. But it was the next line that struck him hardest.
"Lucian doesn’t have that kind of talent. If he can’t claim a sword today, we need to consider exile. Please, Patriarch, grant us permission, it’s for the family’s own sake."
The words came from one of the Elders, a man named Burrel.
"Do as you see fit," Cassius said, his voice cold and utterly detached.
Lucian had already known, in a sense, exactly what had been said about him back then. And yet, hearing it now, standing right there in the room, the sting of it still caught him off guard: how easily a family could decide a child was worthless, simply for lacking talent.
"By the way, Edward. Did you ever look into what Rumelia mentioned, that Lucian keeps talking to some white sword of his? Are you certain that isn’t the sword sealed away on the fourth floor?" Cassius’s gaze sharpened toward Edward.
"Reporting, my lord. I confirmed the sword in question is still exactly where it’s always been. As for Young Master Lucian, I saw no sword with him at all, not of any kind."
"Ha. See, that’s exactly what we’ve been telling you," Elder Piter said. "Not only does the boy have no talent, now he’s making up imaginary swords for himself since he doesn’t have a real one."
A white sword?... I don’t remember ever being that far gone, talking to some sword that wasn’t even there. Is something wrong with this memory?
But when Lucian glanced down at his own hand, the white sword was still there, gripped firmly in his fingers. He raised it high above his head.
Uhhmm... is this the exact sword they’re talking about?