When Hunter woke up the next morning, his first thought was that he felt a lot better than yesterday. No headache, no nausea, no dizziness. It was nice.
His second thought was that he hoped the fever didn’t come back, because fever or no fever he was getting the fuck out of this farkakte1lousy, fucked up country.
Arch-Healer Chiron showed up around dawn to check and see if he was still alive. Judging by the bags under the man’s eyes he must have been up all night, but instead of this worsening his mood he actually seemed calmer.
“Your temperature now would be normal if you were most people, but judging by your record, you generally run a few degrees colder than average.” Frowning, the Arch-healer deactivated the temperature-recording artifact Hunter had worn all night. “I really can’t say your fever won’t come back, so I’d advise you to stay another day at least, if not a few.”
“What? But I feel fine!” Hunter protested. “You healed the shit out of me yesterday, I’ve gotta be fixed by now.”
“I hope you are, but regardless, your body needs rest,” Chiron said, adjusting the collar of his silver-edged robes. “Furthermore, these injuries can be complex. I healed what I could find, but if I missed part of the underlying cause, the symptoms could come back. Not to mention the tests we ran might not have caught everything, you could still develop more issues down the line.”
Hunter bit back his frustration and ran a hand back through his very tangled hair. “Look, let’s be honest with each other—you don’t want me in here all day, and I don’t want me in here all day, so just give me some pills or something and I’ll get out of your way.”
“Well… you’re right about that,” Chiron conceded. Then, like he’d already anticipated this, he reached into his pocket and took out two small, colorful glass bottles. “Take a green one for pain, a red one for fever. No more than three in a day, and if you have to take either of them at all, even once, I want you to come back here.”
“Will do, d—” Hunter stopped himself from calling Chiron ‘doc’ in English. Yesterday he’d discovered he was peppering his Cydonian with bits of English and Yiddish slang, which was great for selling the brain damage excuse but bad because Chiron would then interrogate him over what he’d been trying to say instead. “Ah… you.”
Chiron’s look of annoyance, though obvious, was still less intense than yesterday’s.
Anemone arrived shortly after, carrying with her a spare change of clothing, breakfast, and a look on her face that said she was ready to turn on the waterworks at any moment. Hunter shooed the both of them out so he could change, and as the door clicked shut behind them, he felt a tinge of guilt.
Ianthe had a history of mistreating Anemone and Chiron, but when they thought she needed help, they’d both stepped up—well, Chiron had required a bit of bribery, but still. They didn’t strike him as bad people.
Rifling through the clothes Anemone brought, he found a bra and promptly set it aside. Then he began rummaging through the room’s cabinets for a solution to his ongoing chest problem, and as he did he wondered if he should try to warn those two about what might be coming.
Then again, what the heck would he say? It was all kind of complicated, and he didn’t even know for sure if the game’s plot was actually going to happen. Anyway, they probably wouldn’t believe him—he certainly wouldn’t, in their shoes.
Maybe he’d at least try to leave them a note before he left.
Ah-ha, he thought, locating a roll of bandages. He’d seen Mulan, he knew what to do when you were a woman pretending to be a man… though, technically, right now he was actually a man pretending to be a woman pretending to be a man. That said, if Ianthe’s tits suddenly went MIA, would that look suspicious? He’d definitely notice if someone he knew who usually had a chest showed up without one.
He slipped out of his old shirt and wrapped himself up in the bandages anyway. What were they gonna do, ask him about it? He’d like to see someone try.
As he put on the loose white blouse and long black coat Anemone brought him, pausing only to stuff the bra in his pocket so he could throw it out later, he lingered by the door and eavesdropped on Anemone and Chiron.
"Head Secretary, I can’t stop her if she wants to leave.” That was Chiron’s voice. It was low and carried easily, even through the door. “Physically, she’s not healthy, but being unwell is normal for her. I advised her to return if the symptoms come back.”
Hunter grabbed the two little vials of pills he’d been provided and slipped them into the pockets of his black slacks. As far as he was concerned, unless he was actively dying there was no way in hell he was coming back. One day of Chiron’s scrutiny was enough for a lifetime, thank you.
Now dressed, he concentrated on stuffing the bread-like food that Anemone had brought him into his mouth, only to find that—oh! It was actually really good. It was fluffy, and a little salty, with a subtle taste of olive oil and rosemary.
So far he’d found that the food in this new world of his tended to be good. Between that and magic, he thought that living here might not be too bad.
Anemone had also brought him a mug of something warm, but when he took the little ceramic lid off of it he saw that it was tea and frowned. Tea again! It showed up every time he’d eaten here so far, but he didn’t want leaf juice. He wanted caffeinated bean water!
Where was the coffee!? He’d tried asking for it, but apparently it ‘wasn’t available anymore’, whatever that meant. At least it did exist here, that meant he might be able to track some down later.
Anemone’s raised voice came through the door.“She nearly died! What if there are complications!?”
“That's a good point, Head Secretary, which is why I told her to stay for a few days—but brain damage aside, she’s still Ianthe. I can’t make her do anything.”
Anemone sighed, and said quietly, “I know, I don’t blame you. Honestly, I’d rather herd cats than try.”
“You’d be less likely to get scratched,” Chiron replied.
A heavy, judgmental silence that followed this.
Aw, come on you guys… it’s not like I wanted to be her!
His room had a little mirror on the wall, so he paused in front of it to fix himself up.
It was still very weird to see the wrong face looking back at him, but at least it looked less haggard this morning. He tried to find something positive in it, something that made it feel okay for it to be his, and decided…
Hey, her nose was kinda like his old pre-surgery nose, wasn’t it? He’d always missed that little bump in his bridge after he’d lost it, even if he’d done so for a good reason.
Feeling somewhat better, he focused on straightening up his clothing, arranging his shirt and coat with military neatness.
His hair was a hopeless mess, though. Anemone had brought a few toiletries (including, to his relief, dental supplies and deodorant), and a hair brush was among them. However, no amount of brushing could change the fact that Ianthe’s waist-length hair had gone unwashed for about four days, and it looked dull and oily.
Ianthe knew a few cleaning cantrips, so he tried casting one on himself and…
Well, now his hair looked dry and straw-like. Also, his skin felt a little parched. The result of the spell was better than being gross and unwashed, but not by much.
Thankfully, he’d learned to braid Al’s hair for marching band, and thus managed to wrangle his own into a French braid that was only slightly ugly. It was almost, but not quite, worth the hours he’d spent enduring the tortured sounds of dying geese courtesy of his kid’s trumpet practice.
Finally he slipped on the eye patch, covering up the weird left eye he’d inherited. He… really needed to look into that, didn’t he? He couldn’t just ignore being cursed, right?
Eh, he’d worry about it after he found his son.
Anyway, in addition to his nose, he liked the eye patch! He felt it gave him Bond villain vibes, like he ought to invest in a pool of sharks so he could throw someone in it. He’d never killed anyone with sharks before.
Hey, Ianthe had a bunch of money, maybe he could actually…?
No! No, he needed to stay focused.
Outside, Anemone was speaking, her voice lowered. “At least she seems… nicer than usual?”
There was another heavy pause.
“It’s uncomfortable, isn’t it?” Chiron said.
“Yes! I appreciate it, but it makes me nervous!”
“Like she’s setting you up for something?”
“Exactly!”
Great, Hunter thought. I can’t even be nice in this damn body without looking suspicious.
“I did warn you that she might be different from now on, didn’t I?” Chiron said. “So far the worst thing she’s done is be polite. I say we thank the gods for little gifts and move on.”
“I agree,” Hunter said, stepping out of his infirmary room and not bothering to hide the fact that he’d been listening in. “The semester starts tomorrow. We can’t afford to get distracted now.”
Anemone’s face turned as bright red as her hair. Chiron, in contrast, wore a calm expression that said he’d happily say worse to Hunter’s face, and was just waiting for the opportunity to do so.
“My Lady!” Anemone stammered. “You… um…”
“President,” Hunter insisted, trying to give Anemone a reassuring smile. “I prefer 'President.'”
“O… oh…,” Anemone said, her face going from bright red to pale white, as though he’d frightened her.
Oh come on, I can’t even smile? Ianthe, how have you been treating this poor woman!?
“My L—President, would you reconsider…”
“Nope! I’ve laid around long enough, thanks.”
Sheesh, what happened to that confident super-woman who’d scooped him up, told him he could fire her if he had a problem with it, and princess-carried him to safety? The moment he was doing better all her self esteem seemed to have vanished. He wanted to tell her she ought to find a better boss, but if he did she’d probably think he was firing her.
“I still recommend you stay a little longer,” Chiron added, as his face said that he hoped Hunter wouldn’t.
“Really, I’ll be fine,” Hunter insisted.
“In that case…”
Chiron offered a folio he’d been holding, which Hunter took and flipped open.
“Ah, right, the emergency expenditure. I’ll get this read and signed today. Anemone, would you mind taking it to accounting tomorrow?”
“Um, I don’t mind taking it today.”
“What? No! It’s Sunday, it’s your day off,” Hunter said, then patted her on the shoulder while giving her a stern look. “Never work for free, kid, that’s the first rule of surviving capitalism. Anyone who tells you otherwise is trying to scam you.”
Anemone froze up under Hunter’s hand. She opened her mouth as if to say that Ianthe was the one who had always expected her to do that, then thought better of it and nodded instead.
“Good! Good, I’ll just leave it on your desk tonight, take it over in the morning—ah, and send messages to the Board, tell them I need ‘em to meet early.”
“Ah, their meeting isn’t scheduled until next week,” Anemone quavered.
“Move it to this Tuesday,” he commanded.
He didn’t like being Ianthe, but being the president? That he liked, that he could get into.
Anyway, everyone already thought of Ianthe as a tyrant, so he saw no reason not to bully the bastards holding Aegis’ purse strings on Chiron’s behalf.
“Um… can we do that…?” Anemone asked.
“Why not? I’ve got dirt on all of ‘em. If they give you push back, tell them I’ll come see them in person.”
Sure he might not remember everything, but he did remember Ianthe’s little blackmail collection, including where it was and who was in it.
In some ways he thought Ianthe was a bitch, but in others he felt like she was a woman after his own heart.
“That explains a lot,” the Arch-Healer muttered to himself. Then, with a mixture of worry and discomfort on his face, he said even more quietly to himself, “Waiting a few won't be too bad, will it? My people can probably cover things for a few days.”
Hunter, who thought Chiron was referring to surviving without extra healers on staff, said, “Start looking for people to fill the positions now, eh? Don’t worry about the money, I’ll get it.”
“Yes… thank you,” Chiron replied, his expression conflicted.
“No problem! Really, you saved my skin yesterday, I’m grateful,” he smiled one last time and gave them a small wave. “Look, I gotta run. You two take care of yourselves.”
“Oh, uh…?”
“Sure?”
They stared at him, but made no move to try and stop him, so he grabbed the door handle and bolted the hell out of there.
The hall he emerged into was cool and empty. Letting out a breath in relief, he rushed off in a walk that was almost, but not quite, a run.
Even if they were nice, being around people who knew the actual Ianthe was nerve wracking. Keeping what was hers and what was his straight in his head while talking to them was a huge pain. Anyway, now that he had some time to himself, he could finally start looking through the students and staff, and maybe figure out a more methodical solution for finding Al.
He had a good memory for faces, but remembering thousands of people was asking a lot. Maybe there was some kind of online directory he could reference, some pictures he could look at.
He reached into his pocket to grab his phone. Not finding it, he unconsciously checked his other pockets.
As he arrived at the back stairs of the building, he suddenly stopped.
What directory? This world has no computers or internet, no smartphones or cameras!
Fuck! How had he only just realized that?
Ah… that meant no more Words with Friends, either. Shit, did Cydonia have Scrabble? They had to at least have Scrabble, right?
He couldn’t find any information on it in Ianthe’s memory, but Ianthe was boring and anti-social! Maybe she just never bothered to play any board games!
As he headed down a long, narrow stairwell, its stone steps drooping where students had climbed them for hundreds of years, he tried to shrug the revelation off. After all, from his perspective, computers, smartphones, and the internet were relatively new inventions. He’d survive without them.
No, who was he kidding? Even if he’d lived without them before that didn’t change the fact that they were useful and fun and now he was cut off from them forever!
Pausing at the bottom of the empty stairwell, he leaned up against the wall and privately held a moment of silence for the twenty-first century technology he’d been forced to leave behind.
Then, straightening up, he pressed open the exit doors and stepped out into the morning sun. For a moment the bright light dazzled him, but once his eyes recovered, he looked around and saw a pretty stone path surrounded on all sides by lush trees. Here and there some late-summer flowers were in their last blooms before fall began, and the air smelled clean and fresh. Through the trees, he could see glimpses of more buildings in the distance.
Turning around, he walked backwards so he could get a better look at the place he’d come out of. That building was old, really old, he could tell from the quiet majesty it presented, from the subtle ways in which it’d been worn down, from how he could see where it had been patched and added onto with newer stone over the generations. It reminded him a little of the times he’d traveled through Europe, where he could walk into a new building, step through a certain door, and suddenly be in a room that’d been built a thousand years ago. It made him feel smaller, but in a soothing way—as though, by being an insignificant thing just passing by, his own problems weren’t actually as big as he thought.
Turning back around, he followed the path until it opened onto a wide, grassy expanse, and from there he walked towards what must be the main road running through campus. Aegis was a university built on the windward side of a mountain, which meant that from positions like the one he was in now it was possible to see the rest of the island of Chryse sprawled out beneath it. Far off in the distance he could make out the port of Kastri, Chryse’s only city, and the blue-green sea sparkling beyond it.
“Oh… it’s so pretty.”
Out here, where there were less trees, the breeze was much stronger, and it tossed about a few hapless green butterflies even as it picked up strands of his hair and swept them across his face. The air was cool, the sunlight warm but not too strong, and he had the sudden urge to turn on some Jimmy Buffet and go lay down in front of a pool somewhere… only to have that thought spoiled by the knowledge that Jimmy Buffet’s discography did not exist here, and neither did music players in any shape or form.
Noticing the carriages lining the main road, he narrowed his eyes and said, “Huh.”
At first, having woken up in a world of lords and ladies and feudal bullshit, he’d assumed the technology would be just as medieval, but clearly he’d been mistaken. The vehicles before him looked like carriages, but only a few were pulled by horses. Others were pulled by monsters or constructs, and a few looked like they weren’t pulled by anything at all…
Come on! You guys have magic cars but you haven’t invented music players? A record player, a phonograph, give me something!
Still, he had to admit it was impressive that, despite the presence of horses, there was no smell of horse shit. Hunter suspected some kind of magical shenanigans had to be going on behind that, because he’d been around horses plenty, and no matter how dedicated people were to cleaning up after them, that smell was normally inescapable.
As he walked, passing arriving students, their attendants, and the university staff assisting them, he studied people’s faces. Some of them Ianthe recognized, but she was not a person who made friends, and thus few of them offered more than nervous nods in his direction. In fact, the majority of people pretended not to see him at all, which gave him the suspicion that, even if they did not know Ianthe personally, plenty of them had heard about the red-haired lady with the eye patch and knew to stay out of her way.
Here and there he saw crests on certain carriages, and some were similarly sewn on uniforms or bags. These, he knew, all represented noble families.
Though Ianthe’s knowledge of politics and history seemed to be missing a lot, he did know that the Emperor here was a ‘divine right to rule’ kinda guy. Apparently the deal was that the Dread Lady gave him some sort of fancy blessing, and he could give bits of that blessing out to people in the form of noble titles, but uh…
He also knew that, while not all Cydonians bought into it, the general consensus was that being part of the nobility meant being, very literally, holier than common folk. Ianthe had learned that nobles were ‘chosen by the gods’ and therefore ‘naturally superior’, that their blessings made them a ‘better breed’ of humans, and…
Yeah, fuck that. He’d tasted different flavors of that same bullshit his whole life. Hunter hadn’t liked it then and he didn’t plan to start now. Didn’t matter what the excuse was, that kind of thing never went anywhere good.
He did realize, with a bit of discomfort, that the body he’d possessed was one of those nobles, but he wasn’t too sure what that meant for him exactly. He didn’t have even more employees somewhere, did he? God, he hoped not.
In the game she’d been referred to as ‘President Ianthe’ or ‘Young Duchess Ianthe’ pretty interchangeably, and he was pretty sure that ‘Young’ moniker meant she hadn’t inherited yet—the real Duke was her father, a man named Ixion, and—
“Oh, god damnit!”
The further down one went into the castle, the louder the sound became. She’d always wondered where it was coming from, and what could make such an ungodly racket, and now, standing in front of that dim red pool, she knew.
She was not a squeamish woman, but she couldn’t stand to look directly at it. That sort of thing shouldn’t be able to happen to living people, and yet everyone in that water was so horribly, undeniably alive.
While she’d never looked forward to the curse she’d also hadn’t resented Morpheus for it, yet again and again they’d insisted on apologizing.
As her father turned away from the pool, holding a cup of that red liquid, she thought she’d finally figured out why—
He lost his balance, stumbling, and would have fallen over altogether if someone hadn’t grabbed him by the arm and stopped him. He appreciated that, and planned to thank them as soon as he was confident he could open his mouth without losing his breakfast.
Grimacing, he put a hand to his now pounding head. Where the hell had that come from? He hadn’t poked at any new memories, he’d been avoiding them on purpose, but that shit still hit him like a fly ball!
“Try taking deep breaths,” someone suggested, their melodic voice gentle and reassuring. They still hadn’t let go of his arm, perhaps worried he was about to fall over again.
Hunter took a few slow breaths, trying to calm himself down, and after a moment he managed to regain his bearings. Fighting against the lingering disorientation, he slowly straightened up and turned to see—
“Fuck!” he shouted, flinching like a startled cat.
“Hello, President,” said a tall, golden-eyed man holding his arm. His white smile was apologetic. “Are you alright?”
This guy! Hunter recognized him through Ianthe, but also through his memories of the game. This was Professor Iphis!
Not counting the body he’d stolen, this was the first time he’d run into somebody from Rabbit Heart, and he felt a little starstruck.
Right now the man in question was staring down at Hunter, patiently waiting for him to reply, his eyes crinkled at the corners like he was witnessing something amusing. Dappled sunlight through the leaves above darted across Iphis’ golden-brown skin, pulling out bright highlights in his wavy, dark blue hair. Its effect complimented the summer-like vitality he seemed to exude, giving Hunter the impression that, at any moment, Iphis might suddenly produce a volleyball from nowhere and ask him if he wanted to go a few rounds on the quad.
“I’m… I’m fine….” Hunter tried to pull back his arm, only to find that Iphis didn’t release it. Frowning, he tugged harder a second time, and the moment he did Iphis let go, causing Hunter to stumble back a step.
Hunter caught his balance and rubbed at the place Iphis had been holding onto him. He’d been so preoccupied by his own head that he hadn’t realized how strong Iphis’ grip was, and he suspected he’d just gotten some new bruises.
Had that been deliberate?
Studying Iphis, Hunter couldn’t deny that his warm expression and relaxed body language implied a golden retriever-like level of friendliness, but something about his gaze that felt a little off. There was a hidden intensity behind it that didn’t match the rest of him, subtle enough that most people would have dismissed it as their imagination.
It reminded him of someone he hadn’t thought of in a long time, someone who used to look at him in a very similar way. He’d ignored that little warning sign for years and it had, in the end, ruined his whole fucking life.
A chill passed over him, causing the hairs on his body to stand up. He wanted to run away when people looked at him like that, but he resisted the urge and worked hard to keep his expression neutral.
First of all, he hadn’t seen that man in nearly fourteen years. Second of all, that guy was on another planet. Whoever Iphis was, whatever was making him look at Hunter like that, it had nothing to do with his old life.
“I apologize,” Iphis said, holding his black-gloved hands up to show he didn’t intend to grab Hunter again. “You lost your balance so suddenly earlier, I was afraid you might fall again.”
Liar, Hunter thought. Aloud he said, “Sure… thanks for your help.”
“I must admit, I’m a little surprised to see you out and about, President,” Iphis continued. His sunny expression grew more serious. “I heard you had an accident?”
Hunter frowned. Word travels fast here, huh?
“Yeah, but I’m fine now,” Hunter said, frantically trying to recall what he knew about Iphis from the game.
According to Rabbit Heart, the scary fellow in front of him was a proud member of Team Protagonist. He often acted as a mentor to the main characters, and while players were not required to listen to him, relying on the advice he gave generally led them towards the ‘good endings.’
A lot of adults in the game tended to be patronizing towards the children, but Iphis’ character had treated all of them with respect regardless of age, social status, or wealth. Between that and the man’s sense of humor, he had arguably been Hunter’s favorite character.
So it felt very uncomfortable to meet Iphis and sense so much underlying hostility.
“Are you, though?” Iphis asked. He propped his elbow up on one hand and leaned his cheek against his fist, a performance of concern. “I’ve heard that head injuries can be dangerous, even long after the fact.”
Now that he’d caught on, the insincerity of Iphis’ behavior was hard to ignore. Hunter was about to tell Iphis that he could take his fake concern and shove it, but then—
Damn it, Ianthe! I’ve only met three people since I’ve gotten here, and two of them hate you!
Then he remembered the other details of Iphis from the game.
Like the fact that he was the adopted grandson of the current Saint, and it was heavily implied that he suspected Ianthe right from the beginning, and how he helped the kiddos try to kill her in every storyline.
There was a non-zero chance the guy in front of him right now believed Hunter was an evil cultist.
“Don’t worry about me,” Hunter said, his smile bitter. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Iphis replied. He looked down at Hunter with his lids half-lowered, his voice soft and his smile just a little too wide. “This place would be awfully dull without you.”
Yeah, no question about it: this guy absolutely wanted to kick Ianthe’s ass.
How unfortunate that the ass in question was currently Hunter’s.
“Is that all?” Hunter began to take a step away, but Iphis cut him off.
“Are you headed somewhere? Why don’t I walk with you?” Iphis offered. “Just in case you stumble again.”
Hunter opened his mouth to reject the offer, then paused. He didn’t really want to spend time with someone who wanted to beat him up, but…
Considering the fact that Iphis was related to the Saint, maybe this could be a good opportunity? According to the game, the Saint was the human closest to the Dread Lady, and since his friendly neighborhood spider-goddess hadn’t left him with any options for contacting Her, trying to connect with the Saint might be his best option. After all, he knew a lot about the shit that was probably about to kick off in the future, and his guilty conscience would really love to dump it on someone else before he left.
“Alright,” Hunter agreed, then turned his back to Iphis and began to quickly walk away.
Fishing into his coat pocket, Hunter pulled out the little vials and rolled a pill out of each while Iphis jogged to catch up with him. Popping them into his mouth, he swallowed them dry and stashed the bottles again. While it wasn’t as bad as yesterday, that migraine of his was back, no doubt courtesy of that memory from earlier. He had a feeling that meant his fever had returned too, and felt grateful for the medication Chiron had given him.
If it weren’t for that, he might have actually had to go back to the infirmary.
Thankfully, Ianthe didn’t seem to have any intense personal memories related to Iphis. It seemed like all their interactions had been strictly professional, and while Iphis treated her just like he treated Hunter, she must have felt that being hated by her employees was normal.
“What brings you out here?” Iphis asked, catching up and shortening his strides to match Hunter’s so he could walk beside him. Even with a head start, Hunter hadn’t been able to outpace the tall bastard.
“Wanted to get a look at the students,” Hunter replied.
“Really? Why now?” Iphis asked. “You were never interested in them before.”
Buddy, I only just got here!
“Yeah, well, people change.”
“Oh? Then I’m curious—what do you think about them so far?”
Hunter began to answer, then paused. He’d been looking at them to see if one of them was Al, not considering them as individual people. Now, prompted by Iphis, he studied them again.
The students passing by him looked just like normal kids, albeit ones with very colorful hair. Had college students always looked so young? He couldn’t help but imagine what Al might have looked like if he’d gotten to that age, and…
He quickly rejected that thought. He didn’t want to think about that right now.
“I think they’re way too young.”
Iphis’ eyebrows went up at that, clearly unsure what Hunter meant.
That guilt Hunter had felt earlier around Anemone and Chiron was back, but now it had a whole gaggle of baby faces to stick itself to.
Ignoring Iphis, Hunter wondered: if Ianthe was real, and Iphis was real, then the games’ protagonists must be real too, right?
If they were, and the game’s plot played out, then they and the rest of the students here were about to go through some real shit.
Taking off after he dumped everything on Iphis and or the Saint was undeniably the safest option for him and Al, right? He couldn’t be sure they’d believe him, or act on what he told them, but that was their problem, wasn’t it? Anyway, these students might look young, but since they were all in their late teens and early twenties they were technically adults.
At the same time, Hunter felt that ‘technically’ could go fuck itself, because they didn’t feel like adults, not to him.
He remembered being that age, remembered the fear and the confusion and the vulnerability that came with being an adult but not quite. When he’d been in his twenties he’d thought of himself as fully grown, but the further he got from that age the more he realized just how much of a child he’d still been.
Frowning, he grappled with his conscience, and failed to notice just how long the awkward silence between him and Iphis had spread out.
“President?” Iphis prompted.
“Shut up, I’m thinking,” Hunter waved a hand and went back to ignoring him.
What if Al was one of those students? It was something he’d considered before, but until now he hadn’t really thought through the potential consequences of that.
Whether Al was a student or not, he either remembered his past life or he didn’t.
If Al remembered, then he probably remembered the game too, which meant that Hunter would have to convince him to leave these people behind despite knowing there was an apocalypse coming. Would that stubborn, goody-two-shoes son of his be willing to do that?
If Al didn’t remember, then how the hell would Hunter convince him to go with him? Even if Al didn’t know Ianthe personally, she had a widespread reputation for being terrible. He had Ianthe’s money, which meant he might be able to bribe him into going, but…
If that failed, what the heck else was he gonna do, kidnap him? Sorry about abducting you, but don’t worry, I’m actually your dad from your past life?
Hunter wanted to cry. Why was being put in a new body so complicated? No wonder everyone else just reincarnated, it was way simpler to forget everything and start over!
Next to him, Iphis made a gesture like wiping his eyes, and then continued watching Hunter, who at this point had forgotten he was there at all.
He gave up fighting with himself. Once he met Al, he’d try to see if he remembered, and if he did there was a slim chance he’d be willing to go. If Al didn’t remember, then there was next to no chance at all, and most importantly, Hunter really needed to be careful not to frighten or traumatize the hell out of the new Al. He was already starting with negative points thanks to Ianthe’s awful reputation.
Either way, if Al wouldn’t leave, then he’d have no choice but to stay. And if he did stay, then there was no way he couldn’t try to help the rest of the babies out.
“God damnit,” he said.
“Which one?” Iphis asked.
“Fuck! You’re still here?”
“You really did hurt your head, didn’t you?” Iphis said, and for the first time since they’d met there was something like genuine pity on his face.
“I’ve got a lot on my mind, okay?” Hunter snapped.
“I can see that,” Iphis murmured. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so worried before.”
“Yeah, well it’s… you know,” Hunter grumbled, feeling petulant as he kicked at the soft grass and gestured with a hand at the students. “It’s these kids.”
“What about them?”
“They’re just babies!” Hunter said, glaring at Iphis like this was somehow his fault. “Who let them out on their own like this?”
Iphis didn’t bother to hide his surprise, and his expression grew thoughtful.
Hunter, who didn’t notice, kept walking as he talked. “Someone has to look out for them, right? Can’t let a bunch of children get eaten by a giant fuckin… worm thing… it’s just basic human decency.”
If Al was a student like the kids walking by, Hunter would want someone to protect him, even if they didn’t know his son personally, even if it was dangerous. That was just what you had to do for children.
If not for coming here, it would have only been a few more years until he would have sent Al to college.
He’d never pressured Al to go—hell, Hunter hadn’t even finished his own degree. Al had decided that for himself. He’d gotten it into his head that he needed to be a doctor for some reason and kept harassing Hunter about it. He’d picked out all the schools he wanted to get into, he’d even not-so-subtly started asking if Hunter planned to pay and if so, how much. Personally, Hunter thought Al was insane to want such an expensive and exhausting degree, and had tried—well, not to ‘talk him out of it,’ but rather just to explain the harsh realities of that kind of profession.
Boy, had that turned into a fight. Multiple fights, actually.
Yet in the end they’d reconciled, and Hunter had promised that as long as Al had the grades to get in, he’d make sure Al could go anywhere he wanted. He had maybe, secretly, even been looking forward to it, with a mixture of sadness and pride.
Only…
That was never going to happen now, was it?
Even if Al was here, that previous version of Al was gone, just like the rest of their old life.
Even if his son had been reincarnated, his son had still died, and that thought hit him like a hammer.
It was a thought that he’d been avoiding unconsciously all this time. As long as he kept thinking that Al was still here he didn’t have to confront the fact that his death had happened, that the thing he feared more than anything else had come to pass, and Hunter didn’t even know how or why. Even if he did, what would it matter?
The child he’d raised for seven years, the person he loved the most, who he wanted to protect the most… he’d failed him. That realization felt impossibly heavy, like the knowledge itself was crushing him bone by bone, twisting his gut into spirals until he couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. He’d been hurt before, he’d lost people before, but the phenomenal level of pain he felt now was so deep it didn’t feel real, and every time he tried to deny the truth it hit him again, over and over, without mercy. A part of him was grateful for that—a part of him believed that, if he could hurt enough, suffer enough, he could somehow use that as payment to undo what had already been done, to bring his son back to life.
He distantly realized that his mind was collapsing in on itself, and knew this was a bad place to do it, but he couldn’t seem to stop. Then he felt a strange sensation, like someone had knocked on his metaphysical front door and thrown something through the mail slot. Without understanding how or why, everything sort of… zoomed out, emotionally.
That debilitating feeling of loss was still there, but it was suddenly as though it had happened years ago, not yesterday. The pain was there too, but no longer as a fire consuming him. Instead it felt like a part of him, still awful, but nevertheless a weight he’d learned how to carry.
It was about this time that he realized that he had, in fact, stumbled again, and that if Iphis hadn’t caught him he probably wouldn’t be standing up at all. Iphis, who was gripping him by both arms, had even turned so that his back was blocking the road, hiding Hunter from other people’s sight.
Now Iphis was watching him carefully, that intensity still present but less hostile than before. Hunter realized with some embarrassment that he was covered in cold sweat, that he couldn’t stop shaking. Straightening up, he self-consciously tried to free himself from Iphis’ grip, and this time he managed it on the first try.
Iphis did not ask if he was alright, which was good, because if he had Hunter might have punched him.
Instead he said, “Have you got it now?”
“Yeah…” he said, by which he meant that he could stand on his own, not that he’d gotten his shit together, because he absolutely hadn’t. In fact, if not for how confused he felt at the moment, he might have slid directly back into breaking down again.
Luckily, Iphis was there to distract him.
“Spells like that won’t keep working in the long term,” Iphis said, his expression calm and serious. “It’s better to process this kind of thing naturally over time, if you can.”
“What?” Hunter asked, only to be met by a patient, level stare.
Iphis seemed to expect him to figure it out himself.
When he did, a shiver passed over him.
That ‘zooming out’ feeling just a moment ago, when he’d been about to freak the hell out, hadn’t come from himself, it’d come from Iphis.
He’d experienced magic being used on him via Chiron, but he had no idea that someone could just walk up to him and mess with his head like that!
Hunter grit his teeth. “What the hell did you just use on me?”
Iphis shrugged, unconcerned with Hunter’s discomfort. “A blessing of perspective, of course. You’re a necromancer too, President. I’m surprised you didn’t recognize it.”
“You… that…” Frustrated once again by his incomplete understanding of this new world, Hunter was nevertheless determined to assert himself. “You can’t just do that kind of thing without asking.”
“Then next time, don’t let it through,” Iphis replied. He pulled a white card out of thin air, casually infused it with a glow of golden mana, and offered it to Hunter. “I think you and I should find some time to talk alone.”
Naturally suspicious of anything this guy might give him, Hunter tentatively pinched the card out of Iphis’ hand. He held it cautiously in front of himself, like it might sprout legs and try to run at him. Then he actually read the damn thing, and he snorted out loud.
“Seriously?” He looked from the card to Iphis. “Is this a joke?”
Iphis’ lips quirked up at the corners. “Oh? Not many people get it. It’s always nice when someone does. I’m serious about my services, though—at the very least, put my mana in your receiver, you can always contact me later if you change your mind.”
“Yeah, I’ll do that,” Hunter said, slipping the card into his pocket. “Look, if you’re done bugging me, I’d like to be alone for a while.”
“Of course,” Iphis agreed, and gave Hunter a shallow bow. “Take care of yourself, President. I’ll see you again soon.”
“You too,” Hunter said, his eyes following Iphis as the man walked away, making sure he was actually leaving.
Alone again, he stepped farther away from the main road and slumped down at the base of a tree, putting his head in his hands.
Fuck.
Pushing back his sweaty bangs, he leaned the back of his skull against the rough bark and closed his eyes.
He could still feel the grief, it’d nestled into his chest like a critter that’d burrowed in and made itself at home. That ‘blessing of perspective’ made it more tolerable, but he could already feel it fading, and so he did his best to try and stop thinking about it.
On one hand, he was glad Iphis had done it. Considering the status of his new body, sobbing in front of all these arriving students would have been inconvenient. At the same time, he didn’t like the idea that such a thing could be messed with.
Looking for a distraction, he pulled the business card Iphis had given him from his pocket and read it again.
“Baron Iphis of House Ephyra
Professor of Combat Magic, Aegis University
Ordained Priest of the Lord Underground
End of Life Assistance, Grief Counseling”
For the first time since his head had been stuffed into Ianthe’s, Hunter was struggling a bit with the Cydonian language.
Cydonian didn’t have an official way of turning verbs into nouns, and in addition, it allowed one to be a bit ambiguous when it came to asserting possession. It seemed to be one of those languages that relied a great deal on context to get the message across, and the result was that, when Hunter read the line ‘End of Life Assistance,’ he could read it as:
‘End of (your) Life Assistance,’ as in, help given to someone who was naturally experiencing the end of their lifetime.
However, it could also be read as:
‘Ending of (your) Life Assistance,’ as in, personally assisting you with the process of dying by speeding up death for you.
Cydonians seemed to regard this sort of thing like a pun, and paid no mind to the confusion it caused non-native speakers.
Is this a necromancer joke?
Leave it to death mages to enjoy black humor.
Then there was that last bit: ‘Grief Counseling.’
He frowned at it, knitting his brows. Had he really been that obvious? Sure he probably hadn’t looked great, but he hadn’t said what it was about, and he hadn’t cried or anything. The spell Iphis had used was a spell specifically tailored for people dealing with loss, so how had Iphis known to cast it on him at all?
He felt like the more he learned here, the less he knew. At first getting part of Ianthe’s memory had felt like a big advantage, but now he was beginning to think of it as the bare minimum he needed just to get by. There were so many small things here people knew without realizing they knew them, so many bits of information that, even if they existed in his brain, didn’t sink in until he was encountering them directly.
He needed years to adjust to this place, not days.
Also, a shower. He really, really wanted a hot shower.
Getting back to his feet, grateful that the sheer amount of plants on this campus made hiding from the road pretty easy, he wondered whether or not to keep looking through the students. It seemed finding Al was going to be way harder than he’d hoped for, and it might be better to step back for now and go take a look at Ianthe’s apartment instead.
Walking back onto the grass, he was still debating whether to stay or go when a flash of color out of the corner of his eye caught his attention.
He and Iphis had walked almost all the way to the school gate, and students were trickling through it both in carriages and on foot. One of them was a short girl with tan skin and bright bubblegum pink hair, and the moment he looked directly at her, certainty hit him like a lightning bolt.
He couldn’t explain how it was that he knew, only that he did, and that he believed to his core that he couldn’t possibly be mistaken. As he looked closer, he realized that there actually was quite a bit of resemblance: her height, her skin color, and her eyes, for example, though those eyes were now light green instead of hazel. Even the shape of her face and her scowl felt familiar.
His feet carried him over without thinking, faster and faster until he was nearly running. Giddiness bubbled up inside him like soda pop, and the despair he’d felt earlier was half forgotten.
He’d done it! He’d actually done it, he’d found his son and… huh.
Now his steps slowed down.
… Okay.
The resemblance aside, there was definitely at least one… no, two big differences between this Al and his Al.
The first, and arguably most obvious, was the fact that he… they… she…? Seemed to be a girl now.
Also. Also…
She looked a hell of a lot like Rabbit Heart’s protagonist?