The storm did not end.
Rain continued to fall against the window in an endless rhythm, each drop striking the glass like the ticking of an unseen clock.
Lucien remained standing before the mirror long after the servant's voice had faded from beyond the door.
Golden eyes stared back at him.
They were his.
At least, he thought they were.
There was something unsettling about looking at a face that belonged to him and yet didn't. The child in the reflection couldn't have been older than ten. His features were delicate, almost frail, lacking the hardened edges of a life lived in battle.
Battle.
The word lingered in his mind.
He knew what a battlefield smelled like.
Blood.
Ash.
Steel.
How?
Lucien raised a trembling hand, touching his cheek as if expecting the reflection to move independently.
"Young Master?"
The servant knocked again.
"Lord Arkanis does not appreciate being kept waiting."
Lord Arkanis.
His father.
The title felt foreign on his tongue.
Memories surfaced, fragmented and incomplete.
House Arkanis.
One of the Four Great Houses of the Kingdom of Elaria.
Masters of Star Magic.
Ancient bloodline.
Political enemies.
A mother who had died shortly after childbirth.
An older brother destined to inherit the family.
A younger sister who was too young to understand why everyone whispered whenever she entered a room.
And Lucien.
The third son.
The disappointment.
The memories arrived like pages torn from a book, disconnected and faded at the edges.
Interesting.
Even in a new life, fate seemed determined to provide him with complications.
"Young Master?"
Lucien exhaled slowly.
"I'm coming."
His voice sounded strange.
Too soft.
Too young.
Opening the door revealed an elderly man with silver hair and a posture so rigid that Lucien briefly wondered if he'd been carved from stone.
"Steward Elias."
The name emerged naturally.
The old man's eyebrows rose ever so slightly.
"I am pleased to see your memory remains intact after your illness."
Illness.
Another memory.
Three days of fever.
Doctors unable to explain the cause.
Lucien almost smiled.
If only they knew.
"I apologize for keeping Father waiting."
Steward Elias studied him carefully.
Something about that gaze suggested the old servant had noticed a change.
"Please follow me."
The halls of House Arkanis were exactly as his fragmented memories described.
Large.
Cold.
Beautiful.
Paintings of long-dead ancestors lined the walls, each depicting men and women with the same golden eyes. Some wore armor crafted from materials Lucien couldn't identify, while others held staffs that seemed to bend the surrounding light.
There was power here.
Ancient power.
He could feel it lingering in the stones beneath his feet.
"Tell me," Lucien said suddenly. "Has the storm lasted long?"
Elias glanced toward the windows.
"Three days."
Three days.
Interesting.
"And the mountains?"
The steward frowned.
"What of them?"
Lucien hesitated.
He couldn't exactly explain that he'd seen a pair of golden eyes hidden among the clouds.
"Nothing."
They continued in silence.
Servants moved quickly through the estate, lowering their heads whenever they passed. None of them met his gaze for more than a moment.
Fear?
No.
Pity.
That was significantly worse.
They eventually arrived before a pair of massive doors engraved with the crest of House Arkanis—a seven-pointed star surrounded by a dragon.
Curious.
The image caused something to stir within him.
A distant memory.
Golden scales.
A voice like thunder.
"Find me."
The sensation vanished as quickly as it came.
"The Lord is waiting."
The doors opened.
The main hall was enormous.
At the center sat a man who looked as though he had stepped directly out of the family portraits.
Black hair streaked with silver.
Golden eyes.
An expression carved from stone.
Lord Cassian Arkanis.
Lucien's father.
Standing beside him were two other children.
The first was a boy of perhaps fifteen, wearing an expression of carefully concealed disdain.
Aiden Arkanis.
First son.
Genius.
Future heir.
The second was a little girl hiding behind his chair.
Elara Arkanis.
Eight years old.
Shy.
And apparently attempting to hide despite being in the middle of a brightly lit room.
"Brother!" she whispered loudly.
Aiden sighed.
"You're not hiding if everyone can see you."
"I know that."
"Then why are you trying?"
"Because it makes me feel better."
Lucien blinked.
That wasn't the interaction he'd expected.
Cassian cleared his throat.
The room immediately fell silent.
"You are late."
"I apologize, Father."
Cassian studied him for several moments.
"You seem...different."
So everyone keeps saying.
"The fever appears to have passed."
"I can see that."
The Lord of House Arkanis leaned back in his chair.
"You know why I summoned you?"
Lucien searched his inherited memories.
"No."
"Tomorrow is your Awakening Ceremony."
Ah.
That explained several things.
Magic.
Bloodlines.
Awakening.
His memories suggested that members of House Arkanis typically awakened their affinity around the age of ten.
Judging by the expressions in the room, expectations regarding his own ceremony were less than optimistic.
"I see."
Aiden folded his arms.
"Let's hope you awaken something useful this time."
Lucien raised an eyebrow.
"This time?"
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
An uncomfortable silence followed.
Interesting.
Apparently, he'd touched upon something important.
Cassian's expression remained unchanged.
"When you were six, your first ceremony failed."
Failed.
That explained the pity.
"It has happened before," Cassian continued. "Though rarely."
Rarely.
Not never.
"House Arkanis has granted you a second opportunity."
How generous.
Lucien kept that particular thought to himself.
"And if I fail again?"
Aiden looked away.
Elara lowered her head.
Cassian remained silent for several seconds.
"Then you will live as a member of House Arkanis."
There was more to that answer.
Lucien could feel it.
But before he could press further, a familiar voice echoed through his mind.
"Your family remains just as unpleasant as I remember."
Lucien froze.
No.
Absolutely not.
"Though your sister is new. I like her."
The voice was unmistakable.
The Last Witness.
Lucien's eye twitched.
"Something wrong?" Cassian asked.
"No."
"Your brother becomes less likable with every incarnation."
Lucien suddenly understood why his previous selves apparently hated the old man.
"Lucien?"
"I said nothing."
His father frowned.
"Then who are you speaking to?"
Silence.
Ah.
That was difficult to explain.
"Tell him you're hearing the voice of an impossibly handsome immortal trapped inside your soul."
No.
"Fine. Mysterious immortal."
Definitely not.
"I am merely thinking aloud."
Cassian didn't appear convinced.
Fortunately, Elara chose that moment to emerge from behind her brother.
"Big Brother?"
Lucien looked down.
"Yes?"
She hesitated before holding out a small object.
A wooden carving.
A dragon.
"I made it while you were sick."
The room grew strangely quiet.
Lucien accepted the carving without knowing why his chest suddenly felt...lighter.
"Thank you."
She smiled.
It was a small thing.
An insignificant thing.
And yet...
Why did it feel so familiar?
A memory surfaced.
A little girl laughing beneath a sky filled with stars.
He couldn't see her face.
Only the sound.
Pain lanced through his head.
"Interesting," the Last Witness said quietly.
"What?"
"Nothing. Simply an old memory."
Lucien frowned.
Before he could ask what the old man meant, Cassian rose from his chair.
"The ceremony begins at dawn."
His gaze settled upon Lucien.
"Do not disappoint me."
And there it was.
Expectation.
Fear.
Disappointment.
Some things, it seemed, transcended lifetimes.
Lucien bowed his head.
"As you wish."
The meeting ended shortly afterward.
As he walked back toward his room, the Last Witness remained silent.
For once.
That alone was concerning.
"You've been unusually quiet."
"I'm thinking."
"About?"
There was a long pause.
"Do you know what your greatest weakness is?"
Lucien frowned.
"My lack of memories?"
"No."
"My current physical condition?"
"Also no."
"Then what?"
The old man's voice became strangely soft.
"You still care."
Lucien stopped walking.
"...What?"
"You've died nine times."
The words carried an unusual weight.
"You've watched worlds burn. You've buried people whose names you've long since forgotten."
Silence.
"And yet..."
Lucien waited.
"You still accepted the dragon."
His hand unconsciously tightened around the wooden carving.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Of course you don't."
The old man's laughter echoed faintly through his mind.
"That's probably why I always liked you."
Lucien opened the door to his room without responding.
Night had fallen.
The storm continued.
Thunder rolled across the distant mountains.
He sat upon the edge of his bed, staring at the small dragon in his hands.
"How do I enter the Mindscape?"
The question escaped before he could reconsider.
The Last Witness laughed.
"There he is."
"What?"
"I was wondering how long it would take before curiosity won."
Lucien ignored him.
"How?"
"Close your eyes."
He hesitated.
Then complied.
"Now what?"
"Take a step forward."
"That doesn't make any sense."
"Neither does existing across nine lifetimes, yet here we are."
Fair point.
Lucien took a step.
The world vanished.
Stars stretched endlessly in every direction.
The stone pathway.
The night sky.
The Infinite Mindscape.
And sitting exactly where he'd been before was the Last Witness, calmly pouring himself another cup of tea.
"You know," the old man said without looking up, "you never did learn to knock."
Lucien stared.
"I have a feeling I'm going to regret asking this."
"Most likely."
The Last Witness smiled.
"Welcome home, Lucien."
And for reasons he couldn't begin to understand...
The words felt true.