"I should thank you for that," Leonard said, trailing behind me with that neutral tone of his, as if what he'd just said was as trivial as commenting on the weather.
The entrance exam was over. All four of us passed. A result that, honestly, I still struggle to wrap my head around. I'd decided to help Leonard—not because I expected gratitude, but because leaving him out felt unacceptable. Education… education mattered. Or at least, that's what I kept telling myself.
Ironic. In my past life, I never took education seriously. Sure, I was smart. Brilliant, even. But I used that intellect for a purpose that, only now, with this second chance, I dare to call abominable. Medical knowledge wielded not to save, but to destroy. Unethical experiments. Horrors executed with clinical precision. A parody of science in service of a killer.
"If it weren't for you, I definitely wouldn't have passed," Leonard added, his face still devoid of any emotion.
"Don't thank me. No one should be denied the chance to study," I said, not breaking my stride.
And I meant it. In this life, at least, I'd decided to cling to certain principles. One of them was to avoid repeating the choices that dragged me into the abyss last time.
Leonard gave a brief, silent nod. When we reached the academy's entrance, our paths began to diverge. Everyone would return to their own worlds. Except for Isolde and me, who'd committed to waiting for Alicia.
"You guys staying?" Gareth asked, already turning on his heels with that almost offensive nonchalance of his.
"Yeah. We're waiting for someone before we head out," Isolde replied, settling into the shade where the lingering burn from the defensive test wouldn't sear her skin.
"Got it. Well, I'll head off with Leonard then. See you on the first day of classes," Gareth said, raising a hand in farewell before vanishing into the crowd. Leonard followed without another word.
I sat next to Isolde, also in the shade. My body ached, though not enough to cloud my thoughts. The tests had been more grueling than I'd expected. If that was just the threshold, I didn't want to imagine the true power of the General Sergeants. Monsters… human only in appearance.
That thought dragged another, darker one in its wake. My father. He had the potential to be one of them. Which meant, in combat, he was a monster in his own right. Maybe that's why he refused to train me back then. I was too young. A single blow from him probably would've killed me. Understandable, if no less frustrating.
I sighed and rested my head on Isolde's shoulder. A gesture that needed no words.
I wanted to spend more time with them. With our parents. In my previous life, "family" was little more than a euphemism for emotional neglect. No need to rehash it—I've done that too many times already. But in this life, with protective, loving parents… the irony is I've barely had real time with them. Maybe when I was a baby, sure. But back then, I had no voice, no real thoughts. Just hunger, crying, and sleep. That kind of closeness doesn't count.
I guess focusing on studies and training comes at a cost. You get used to the distance until it turns into a void. And that void, eventually, hurts. I had to fix it. For Isolde, too. I didn't want her to end up distanced from that affection because of me. Not now.
"Why's she taking so long?" Isolde asked, taking my hand and resting her head on mine.
"Probably got held up," I murmured, more to soothe her than because I believed it. "Now that I think about it… I didn't see her at all during the tests. Maybe the king's keeping her."
"It must be tough being the daughter of someone so important," Isolde whispered, her concern undisguised.
That concern bothered me. Not because of her. Because of me. Selfish, I know. But I wanted to be the only one on her emotional radar. I didn't want her world's center drifting toward other satellites. Still, I couldn't do anything about it. Nor should I.
"Wanna keep waiting?" I asked, sitting up straighter.
"Just a bit longer. If it gets too late, we'll go."
I nodded. There was nothing more to say. So we stayed there, in silence. Two shadows among shadows. Waiting for Alicia.
As expected, though, she didn't show.
Minutes passed. Maybe half an hour. Maybe more. Time blurred into a sequence of shared silences. Gradually, the other students we'd seen in the tests started trickling out of the academy. One by one, dragging their feet like soldiers returning from the front.
Some smiled, others frowned, and many just walked with vacant stares, as if they'd left a piece of themselves on the testing grounds. You didn't need to be too observant to know who'd failed. Failure has a distinct way of shaping posture.
And then, as if signaling the day's official close, Reginald appeared.
"Didn't expect to see you here," he remarked, approaching me with a familiarity that left no room for formalities.
I pressed a finger to my lips, signaling for quiet. Isolde was asleep, her head resting gently in my lap. The tranquility of her face, partially lit by the sunset, contrasted with the exhaustion we all carried. There was something comforting about seeing her like this. Harmless. Serene. Mine, at least for now.
"Sorry," Reginald whispered, lowering his voice as he took in the scene. "Why don't you head home?"
"We're waiting for Alicia. But after seeing everyone leave, I'm guessing she won't show," I said, my fingers gently combing through Isolde's hair. An automatic act. Almost ritualistic.
"You're waiting for her? But she left about an hour and a half ago. She withdrew during the tests. Didn't you see her? Oh, right… you were fighting at the time. It happened fast. No one paid much attention."
"Really? Well… guess we'd better head back then," I muttered, swallowing a pang of disappointment.
We'd waited. Not out of necessity, but for the promise of a reunion. And in the end, Alicia left without a word. It wasn't the act itself that bothered me; it was not knowing why. Though if she was summoned by the king before the tests, something must've happened. Something beyond our grasp.
"Let me help. You must be exhausted," Reginald said, lifting Isolde into his arms with surprising gentleness, careful not to wake her.
"And whose fault is that?" I shot back, my tone flat but laced with irony.
"Haha. Come on, you can't be mad at me. I knew you could handle the heat. You're tougher than you look."
I sighed. It wasn't worth arguing. There were more important things than weightless grudges. We walked together, starting the journey home.
"Why were you the one running the tests?" I asked bluntly. It intrigued me.
"Why? Well, it was a request from the king. There were some issues, and the director couldn't make it. I had to step in to keep the exam on track."
"I see. Would've been interesting to meet the director."
And I meant it. Another authority figure. Another face to study. Another name to memorize. I would've liked to observe their mannerisms, deduce their character, anticipate their decisions.
"Don't worry. During classes, he'll be your combat instructor."
Oh. So much for special. Looks like he won't be such a distant figure after all. Another myth debunked before it could form.
"Seriously?"
"Seriously! But fair warning: he'll be relentless. The goal is rapid growth. No compromises. No breaks."
"…"
I fell into a brief silence. Tough training, huh? I wanted it. I needed it. Our previous training had been effective, yes, but always measured. Always safe. If this new regimen was more demanding, the results would be too. More endurance. More strength. More control.
And more exhaustion. But in this case, exhaustion was an investment, not a loss.
"Man, you guys live far from the academy," Reginald complained, his jovial tone as unshakable as ever.
He wasn't wrong. Though we moved through the shadows cast by tall houses, the heat of the crowd wrapped around us like a damp blanket. The air was thick. The streets, overflowing. Despite the Sentinels' efforts to maintain order, it felt like the city itself was struggling to breathe.
Sunday. Shopping day. I'd heard that in this district, a bakery sold an exclusive type of bread only on Sundays. It sounded absurd. Until I tried it.
The first time Mother brought it home, I didn't think much of it. Just a piece of baked dough. But one bite was enough to understand why people lined up under the sun. Its flavor was comforting. Familiar. Addictive.
You don't expect something simple to become indispensable.
But that's life, I suppose.
We kept walking for a few more minutes. No point in narrating every step of a mundane journey. The path was what it needed to be: irrelevant, quiet, devoid of twists or stimuli. Sometimes, life insists on mimicking the monotony of a straight line.
"So this is where you live?" Reginald asked, stopping in front of our house.
He studied the facade with an expression wavering between doubt and aesthetic critique. Gothic, dark, with sharp lines and restrained proportions. Two stories. Imposing to some, small to others. Perfectly fitting for someone carrying a past life, present secrets, and an uneasy future.
"Yep," I replied, no frills.
"Isn't it a bit small? I mean, you're gonna grow up eventually and need more space. I bet Erika and Elias didn't plan on having twins."
"I guess you can't predict how many kids you'll have after sex and a pregnancy."
The silence that followed was telling. It took him a few seconds to process what he'd heard.
"What? Wait, how do you know about that…?"
Not worth dignifying with a response. I crossed the threshold and opened the door.
"We're back!" I announced, loud enough to be heard from the kitchen but without much energy. Just formality.
No immediate reply. Instead, Mother appeared in the doorway. She wore her apron, hands still wet from washing dishes.
"Welcome back, my little twins! How'd it go…?"
She stopped short. Her gaze wasn't on me but on the man behind me. Reginald. And what I saw in her face was… nostalgia. A heavy emotion, undiluted by years or time.
"Oh… What a surprise to see you again," she said, calm, though her voice trembled slightly at the edges.
Confusion gripped me for a moment. Again? How long had it been since they'd seen each other?
"I guess it's been a while," Reginald said, with an awkward half-smile.
"It has… Please, come in. Elias will be here soon, so if you'd like, we can catch up."
"I wouldn't want to intrude. I just came to help Lucius."
Sure. Clumsy, poorly disguised diplomatic excuses. If you didn't want to intrude, you wouldn't be standing in the doorway like a shy kid. I thought about saying it. Didn't. Instead, I stepped behind him and gave a gentle push.
He turned, frowning.
"Why're you pushing me?"
"Stop waffling and catch up with Mother. Hand me Isolde. I'll be down in a bit."
"Huh? O-okay…"
His tongue seemed to stumble over his own memories. Awkward, shy… How long had it really been since they last saw each other? And what happened in that time to make this reunion so thick with poorly hidden tension?
There were questions, sure. But right then, my priority was Isolde.
He handed her to me carefully. I held her close, light, like she was a piece of something irreplaceable. I headed to our room. I heard Mother and Reginald move toward the kitchen, their footsteps muffled by the wood.
I opened the bedroom door. It was cold. The windows were still open, and though winter wasn't official yet, its breath already slipped through the cracks.
I closed the door behind me.
I carried Isolde to the bed. Her breathing was soft, steady. The kind of breathing that only comes when the body lets all its defenses down.
I covered her with the blanket. Watched her in silence for a few seconds.
There was something deeply unsettling about such a domestic scene. As if, for a moment, I'd forgotten the weight of my other life. The echo of my mistakes. The bodies. The knives. The blood.
I smiled. Barely.
My fingers brushed through her hair. A useless but necessary gesture. Then I leaned down and kissed her forehead. A silent kiss, like one given in dreams.
I went to the windows and closed them. The creak of the frame was the only sound to break the icy silence of the room.
After that, I headed to the kitchen.
I felt completely out of place.
I knew it. Every fiber of my being whispered it, like an annoying hum that wouldn't stop. I shouldn't be here. I was an intruder in a moment that didn't belong to me, a shadow that had slipped through the cracks of someone else's story.
The conversation between Mother and Reginald wasn't just private. It was sacred. As if, by witnessing it, I was desecrating a memory buried too long.
And yet… there I was. Sitting. Rigid. Watching them from my chair, arms crossed, with a grimace I didn't even try to hide.
"So… how've you been?" Mother asked. Her voice was that of someone unsure where to begin. Like opening a book halfway through and finding blank pages.
"Doing alright… Just been busy," Reginald replied, looking at the floor as if it were more worthy of his attention than her face.
Silence. The kind that isn't awkward for what it hides, but for what it recalls. Past days. Unspoken words. Broken promises.
And me, there. A forced spectator. A body breathing in the middle of emotions that weren't mine.
Until the front door opened.
"I'm back!" Father's voice boomed from the entrance, deep like the echo of an ancient drum.
His familiar footsteps echoed down the hall until he entered the kitchen. I saw him pause. Saw his eyes linger on Reginald. And saw, too, how I ceased to exist for him.
He walked forward without a word and sat beside Mother. The wood creaked under his weight. And then, silence again. Only the wind from outside, slipping through the cracks, dared to fill the space between them.
"A pleasant surprise…" he said at last, his voice barely audible, as if he couldn't quite believe what was in front of him.
Reginald looked down. His smile carried the weight of a sentence.
"How've you been?"
"Good… It's been a while since we last saw each other, hasn't it?"
"A while? It's been sixteen years," Father said, a mix of reproach and astonishment. "Where were you all this time?"
"Here. In the kingdom. Just… hidden. Working for the king."
Father frowned. I saw him fiddle with his fingers. A gesture I inherited without meaning to. An emotional containment mechanism. A habit that says more than a thousand words.
"For the king? But I'm by his side all the time. How did I never notice you?"
"I only meet with him at night," Reginald replied. "To discuss new inventions. Water purifiers and other projects have been ramping up lately."
"Yeah… I noticed. But tell me… if you were here all this time… why didn't you stop by to say hello?"
And there, right there, the silence changed. It stopped being awkward and became painful.
Reginald didn't answer right away. His gaze fixed on the wooden table as if he could find courage there. He pressed his lips together. His fingers trembled slightly.
In that moment, I wondered something absurd.
Was I as invisible as I thought? Had I stayed so still that no one noticed I was there? Like Drax in Guardians of the Galaxy. An unmoving presence, blending into the background. A bad joke… but one that felt uncomfortably real.
And then came the confession.
"After I left… because of the guilt over Lyla's death… I just decided not to come back. I thought it'd be dangerous."
Lyla. A name. Just that. But it dragged a shadow that blocked out the light.
"Hey. That wasn't your fault, you know," Father said, a weak attempt at comfort.
"You said the same thing seventeen years ago…" Reginald forced a smile, but his voice was already breaking. "But guilt doesn't just vanish."
I understood.
Not superficially, not like someone faking empathy. I understood. Because guilt doesn't drag like a chain. It lodges in your chest like a wound that doesn't bleed but never closes.
It wasn't just one death for me. It was forty-two. And each one still spoke from some corner of my conscience. Some in whispers. Others in screams.
"It was my fault… If I'd just followed the plan perfectly, maybe that damn dragon…"
"Stop," Mother cut in, firm, sharp, with a sadness that hurt more than any scolding.
Reginald seemed to shrink in his chair. He was on the verge of breaking. It was obvious.
"Why take all the blame? Remember, it was my job to have her back… and I… I failed her."
And there it was.
The three of them shared a wound. Three people. Three versions of the same failure. And at the center, Lyla's absence, as present as if she were still sitting with us.
I stayed silent. Not out of respect. Not out of caution. But because, for once, I understood my words couldn't add anything.
I just watched. Like a witness in a trial with no judges. Like a ghost who once carried the weight of the dead.
"And I…" Father said, his voice cracking like a stone breaking under too many winters. "I was supposed to keep that dragon away."
His confession hung in the air like a verdict. In him, the pain seemed older, more embedded. His eyes glistened, betraying him. For a moment, I thought he'd break. That the guilt would finally spill over.
But then… footsteps.
Small. Delicate. As if each one caressed the floor with tenderness.
I already knew who it was.
Because my entire attention, my entire existence, revolves around her. Isolde.
My world.
She appeared in the doorway, rubbing her eyes with her palm. A sheet draped over her shoulders like an makeshift cloak, a childish shield that made her seem even smaller.
"Lucy?" she asked, still groggy, as I approached her.
"What're you doing? Weren't you asleep?" I said, lowering my voice to match her innocence.
I stroked her head and adjusted the sheet over her shoulders. She hadn't even bothered to take it off before getting out of bed. A habit of hers… as if the line between dream and reality didn't exist for her.
"Isolde? What's wrong, sweetheart?" Mother's voice broke as she approached and scooped her into her arms.
I followed them. As I always did. As I needed to.
I didn't want to be apart from Isolde. I couldn't. She was the only anchor in this turbulent life, the only human whose existence didn't remind me of death.
"What're you doing, Mommy?" Isolde asked, sleepy, her head resting on Mother's shoulder.
"Nothing, love. Just… talking."
"Really? Then why're you crying?"
Isolde, unknowingly, touched Mother's wound with small fingers and a transparent voice. She reached up, wiping her tears with the same ease as breathing.
That's when I found myself resting my head in Mother's lap.
She, by reflex, began stroking my hair.
And I… stayed still.
I'd never said it. Maybe because it was absurd. Or because, somehow, admitting it would make it real. But this body—this child's body—still reacts like one. There are things you don't forget, even after living a whole life. Like the comfort of a touch. Or the warmth that, in my other life, came with… darker things. Murkier.
But here… it was different.
"Uncle Reginald? What're you doing here?" Isolde asked, as if just noticing him.
Reginald, silent witness until now, smiled. A discreet, wounded smile. He wiped a tear starting to slide down his cheek.
"Nothing important. Just a reunion I should've had a long time ago. Why're you awake? I went to a lot of effort to carry you without waking you."
"That doesn't count when I'm the one who told you to be quiet," I said without thinking, too used to our casual banter.
I mentally bit my tongue. Habit.
"Daddy? I thought you were coming back later," Isolde said, turning to him with that mix of tenderness and surprise only kids can pull off effortlessly.
"Well, it is later, my sweet little one. You were just asleep."
"Is it?"
"Yeah. You fell asleep while we were waiting at the academy entrance. Luckily, Reginald came out and helped me bring you home," I said.
"Oh… Thanks, Uncle Reginald."
He just nodded, with silent gratitude. But his gaze drifted for a moment. And then, as if the weight of the reunion crashed back down on him, he murmured, "Well, I should go. If it gets any later, I won't finish my work."
"What? You should stay," I blurted, faster than I meant to.
"Yeah, I agree!" Isolde exclaimed, suddenly bursting with energy. She always knew when to break the tension with a spark of innocence.
"Good idea," Mother added, picking up the thread. "I was about to start dinner. Why don't you stay? We can catch up."
"Won't it be a bother?"
"Of course not," I cut in before he could refuse. "Besides, you can talk about the exam results."
An innocent comment… but Reginald looked at me like he hadn't expected that much from me. Like my words carried more weight than they seemed.
"Alright," he agreed after a moment's hesitation. "I'll stay."
"Awesome!" Mother smiled, setting Isolde down and nudging me aside as she headed to the kitchen.
Isolde looked at me and grinned. I grinned back… and winked.
She froze, as if unsure how to respond. And that simple reaction was enough to ease something inside me.
Sometimes, all it takes is a spark.
The air had been heavy, thick with memories, guilt, and trapped words. But then, she came.
Isolde.
The smallest of us all. The most fragile, the brightest. And it was her mere presence that, like a lighthouse, steered our emotions away from the storm.
The darkness dissolved. The reunion, once painful, grew warm.
One where, maybe, words didn't weigh so much.
One where, maybe… talking didn't hurt as much anymore.