ESPERSIA, YEAR 1889
"So, what happened?"
Raamiz had taken the position I usually claimed, sitting in the wooden chair in his room, while I stole his favorite spot—idly lying in his bed. A cool, damp towel rested across my forehead—our best attempt to ease the pain from recovering my memories.
"What do you mean? In general, or something more specific?" I groaned. I had thought the initial wave of pain that came with the resurgence of my memories was all I'd have to deal with, but there seemed to be lingering symptoms that wouldn't fade so easily.
"Tell me what you've learned in the last couple of days."
Raamiz, after his initial worry about my condition faded—being told I'd be fine—had developed a stern face. He wanted to get straight down to business.
Unfortunately for him, my body wasn't so amenable to his disposition. The moment he asked me to pull up the details from the past few days, a sharp wave of nausea hit me. I swallowed back the gag rising in my throat.
"My body isn't quite so happy with this line of questioning," I muttered with a cough. "Maybe it's best I get some rest and we finish this—"
I was cut off as another wave of nausea hit me, the urge to throw up clawing at my throat. I really shouldn't be talking so much.
Raamiz stood up, his worry creeping back in as he realized I hadn't pushed through the worst of it yet. He stepped to my side, placing his hand gently against my forehead.
"You're not burning up, and you haven't gone pale… but still." His voice was quieter now. "Are you sure you'll be alright?"
I nodded as best I could without moving too much.
"It's just a bad migraine, that's all. I just have to get through it."
"You speak as if you have experience with this condition," Raamiz said, raising an eyebrow—somewhere between suspicion and confusion.
I had no idea what he meant by that or what he was trying to imply, and frankly, I was in no mood to find a diplomatic response.
Instead of bothering to answer his provoking question, I launched into another coughing fit.
That seemed to be enough to change the subject.
"Okay, okay," Raamiz muttered, settling back in his chair. "I can clearly see how this night's going to go."
Raamiz stepped away from my bedside and, to my surprise, went straight to his bedroom door. I lifted my head just enough to watch him crack it open and step outside. A brief murmured conversation followed—his voice low as he spoke to the guard posted outside.
After about a minute, the conversation seemed to wrap up. He shut the door behind him and walked back in, grabbing the wooden chair and pulling it to my side. On the way, he reached into one of his storage chests and retrieved a blanket. With a quiet sigh, he sank into the chair, draping the blanket over himself.
"You don't have to worry about returning to your room tonight," he said calmly. "I just sent Calen to Luca to let him know you'll be sleeping in here. He's also fetching a water bucket and more towels."
"Wait—don't—"
"I won't hear any arguing. You're clearly in no condition to move, and you need rest."
"But… where are you going to sleep?" I managed to croak out.
Raamiz raised a hand from under the blanket and pointed downward at the chair he was sitting on.
"I'll be fine right here."
I must've made a face, because he added quickly, "Zeliot, don't worry about it. It's really not a big deal."
I wanted to protest, but my pride wasn't nearly as strong as the weariness dragging at my body. I parted my lips to speak, but before I could get the words out, my eyelids slipped shut.
…
Thump. Thump. Thump.
I couldn't have been asleep long before I was jolted awake. Groggily, I lifted my head, blinking as I tried to gather my bearings. My eyes wandered across the room until they landed on the clock mounted opposite me.
Wait… that couldn't be right. Only about ten minutes had passed since I'd closed my eyes.
Something must have woken me.
Beside me, Raamiz was no longer sitting. He stood by his chair, posture alert and focused. As he turned, his eyes caught mine, realizing I'd stirred.
"Sorry, Zeliot," he said, his voice calm but edged with slight annoyance. "Didn't mean to wake you. Calen must've made it back with the towels. Though why he had to knock like a battering ram is beyond me."
Well… that was fast, I thought, still dazed.
Delivering a message to Luca was one thing, but fetching a water bucket? That wasn't as simple as stepping into the hallway. The only place to draw fresh water at this hour was the outer courtyard well. Calen would've had to navigate the winding staircases, cross half the estate in the dark, and trek back up with the weight of a full bucket sloshing in his arms.
The poor man must have been sprinting like his life depended on it.
Before I could dwell on the thought any further, another round of loud, impatient knocking rattled the door.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Raamiz let out an exasperated sigh, rubbing his temples. "Gods, Calen—calm down. I'm coming, I'm coming."
He crossed the room with sluggish steps and reached for the door handle.
Raamiz swung the door open, his frustration already spilling into words. "Calen, if you keep knocking like you're trying to break the—"
But his voice cut off abruptly.
The irritation on his face shifted in an instant—replaced by a flash of shock, then raw fear. His hand shot instinctively toward the dagger at his belt.
He never made it.
A boot slammed into his chest, sending him crashing backward through the doorway. He slammed into the wardrobe with a sickening thud, his head snapping back hard against the wood before his body crumpled to the floor in a heap.
My adrenaline spiked like a jolt of lightning. Blood roared in my ears as I shot upright.
"Raamiz!" I yelled, my voice cracking.
No response.
The intruder stepped into the room.
A fully-built man, his face obscured beneath a dark hood and mask, a short sword gripped tightly in his hand. His movements were disturbingly steady and coordinated. This man was a trained killer.
He turned—and locked eyes with me.
My breath caught.
Then he moved.
The man strode toward me, sword raised, his posture coiled like a predator ready to strike.
He's going to kill me.
The blade came down in a flash where I'd been lying—
—but I threw myself to the side just in time, hitting the floor hard. The sickness that had clung to me moments ago was a distant memory now. This was life or death, and my body surged forward on pure instinct.
I scrambled to my feet, heart hammering as I scanned the room for anything—anything—I could use to defend myself.
The man was relentless, circling the side of the bed, sword already poised for another strike.
As he swung again, I dodged, barely slipping out of reach. My foot brushed against the water bucket Calen had brought earlier.
In one desperate motion, I grabbed it—flinging its contents straight into the man's face.
The water splashed across his mask and eyes, making him reel back with a startled grunt.
Now.
Before he could recover, I swung the bucket with everything I had, smashing it across his face.
The intruder staggered, his grip on the sword faltering as he shook his head to clear it.
This was my chance. My only chance.
In his daze, I bolted. I needed to get past him, into the main hall, and scream for the guards. Raamiz is going to be okay, I told myself. He's not going to touch Raamiz.He's going to be okay. The man's after me. This is going to work out.
I sprinted past him, ready to belt out a desperate, hollowing yell—
But I never made it.
The intruder snapped back faster than I could have imagined. As I tried to run, his fist shot out like a hammer, catching me square in the face.
CRACK.
I flew backward, slammed hard into the wall, and crumpled to the floor.
My vision blurred instantly. My mind fogged.
Like divine punishment, my naivety had punished me again.
In so many things in life, I had been naive—thinking I could accomplish so much, fix so much, be so much. And here, again, I thought I could outmaneuver a trained killer.
But of course I had been naive.
James. James. James…
Instead of being staggered by the bucket, the intruder had recovered in seconds. Of course he had. You idiot, I cursed myself. I'm just a child after all. How could I forget that?
Through my doubled vision, I saw the man approaching—his sword raised, the steel catching a glint of candlelight.
This was it.
My second chance was over.
I had blown it.
Even with all my memories, with all the warnings my previous life had handed me on a silver platter, I'd still made the same mistakes. I had let my guard down. Even after everything—even after all the times I reminded myself. Maybe that's just who I am at my core—careless enough to trip over the same stones twice.
Still… it wasn't all bad, was it?
I enjoyed this life. I really, really did. And James… James never enjoyed his...
With that final thought, my eyelids began to close.
James.
James.
James…
ZELIOT!
The sharp yell ripped through my fog like lightning from the heavens. My eyes snapped open.
The man in front of me—the one who had been ready to cut me down—froze. His head whipped around, clearly startled.
Was that… God? An angel?
My delirium was overwhelming. I couldn't stand. Couldn't move. Couldn't even think to take advantage of the hesitation.
But there was no need.
Because my angel of salvation stood in the doorway, his familiar blade raised high.
"What have I always told you, kid…" Luca's voice was dry, but there was a fire underneath it that made my stomach flip. "I'm not the only one watching you. You never listen to the important things."
I let out a soft, broken chuckle, which dissolved into a coughing fit.
Luca's expression didn't change—but there was no mistaking the fury in his eyes.
"Now then," he muttered, his sword catching the light as he leveled it at the intruder, "I'll finish my lesson with the kid in a few moments." His tone turned ice cold. "Right after I kill you."
The intruder hesitated. His sword trembled slightly in his grip.
He wasn't confident anymore. He was afraid. For good reason too.
It was over in an instant.
The man lunged toward Luca, blade slicing toward his midsection.
Luca moved like a shadow. He leapt over the strike and, in one fluid motion, brought his sword down in a vicious arc.
The blade split the intruder's head cleanly in two.
Blood sprayed across the floor, warm droplets splattering onto my cheek—but I didn't flinch.
Not because I was trying to be brave. Not because I was trying to look composed.
But because I couldn't feel anything anymore.
Between the sickness and the trauma, my body had finally given up.
The last thing I saw was Luca stepping toward me, his voice low and steady as he bent down to scoop me up.
Then darkness swallowed me whole.