When consciousness fully returned, it came with the mechanical precision of his amber iris expanding to accommodate the light, and a smile that grew slowly across his face as reality solidified around him.
"How do the Squidi look exactly?" Aether asked, his voice still rough from the transition. The text responded with characteristic hesitation.
"Extremely manipulative, and resembles—" The text paused, as if choosing its words carefully. "It depends. They vary so considerably that to a layman, they could be mistaken for entirely different species."
"Alright," Aether murmured, pushing himself to his feet. The light streaming through the window painted the room in warm amber tones—morning or afternoon, he couldn't tell.
Time felt meaningless after all he had experienced after coming to this city. He reached for his discarded clothes, then turned his attention to the holographic display hovering near the window, beckoning it closer with an elegant gesture.
The time blazed in crisp, azure numerals: [7:39am]
He squinted against the brightness, his gaze drawn to the training grounds visible through the window. A sudden realization hit him with the force of a physical blow.
"Where's my sword?" The words escaped in a frustrated mutter as he dropped his clothes once again.
Yesterday night's meeting with Sir Eadric had left him in such a state of reverence that basic details had slipped through the cracks of his memory. Had he lost track of it after their handshake? Or was it later, when he'd settled onto that absurdly comfortable bed?
Through the window, he watched the parade of staff members—maids and butlers going about their morning routines. Some appeared to walk on air itself, though he quickly corrected his perception: "The steps," he reminded himself, noting the nearly invisible elevated pathways he and Sir Eadric had traversed.
His fingers traced the familiar fabric of his butler's attire—the crisp white sleeves, the deep crimson vest that had served him faithfully until now. He reached for the clothes, his mind replaying the cryptic message that had appeared moments ago.
"It can turn into anything?" he whispered, his voice carrying a mixture of wonder and uncertainty.
"Anything—" the text began to respond, its golden letters forming in the air, but Aether gently brushed them away, lost in his own thoughts.
He lifted the butler's outfit, the red vest hanging limply in his hands. The familiar silk tie draped across his fingers, and he found himself wondering about its origin. Why did he have such formal attire in the first place? The question echoed in his mind as he glanced down at his current attire, the black trousers that had seen him through so many adventures.
"Should I take a bath first?" he murmured, aware of the perspiration that still clung to his skin. "I did sweat quite a lot…"
Through his open door, he could hear the rhythmic sound of footsteps in the corridor—coming and going, like the tide. Each step reminded him of the life flowing through this place, of the connections he'd made.
"Why did the tour guide want a partner?" The question escaped his lips before he could stop it, heavy with unspoken emotion.
The text materialized instantly: "I don't know." Then, after a pause, it continued with unusual warmth, "You do look like him, though. Maybe it's the eyes, or the attitude. You really do look like him, Aether."
A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "That's the first time you've ever added emotion to a response," he noted, his voice soft. "But if I do look like him, even just a little… my lie about being his son might not be such a lie after all."
His words trailed off as he glanced at the outfit again. He lifted it higher, letting the faint light catch the fabric, and his mind began to wander.
Why did Milah insist he have this outfit? Was it because he thought he'd be like a manager of sorts? The idea felt strange. His heart clenched unexpectedly.
"I should've talked to him more," he whispered, his gaze falling to the floor.
Holding the clothes close to his chest, Aether closed his eyes and began to imagine.
The metamorphosis spread like ink in water. The transformation started slowly at first—a whisper of change that rippled through the fabric.
The crimson vest began to shift, its color bleeding and morphing like watercolors in rain. The white sleeves darkened, as if absorbing shadows, while the trousers already on his body began to writhe and change, conforming to his form with liquid grace.
Cool, dark grey silk suddenly hugged his brow and swept past his ears, leaving his lower face exposed. As he instinctively tilted his head back, a stiff, sharply angled collar rose against his jawline, its edges prickling with fine amber embroidery.
A matte black leather headband settled firmly over his eyes, the cool metal of a bronze donrolf-etched fastener pressing against his temple.
Weight settled on his shoulders as a midnight black long coat defined his frame. He ran his right hand down his chest, feeling the suede-meets-scale texture and the overlapping leather ribs mimicking wyrm bone.
His fingers brushed six cold, fang-shaped bronze clasps secured with amber-threaded cord at the center. He felt the coat's deliberate asymmetry as it slanted lower on his left side.
Beneath it, a flexible, dark charcoal combat vest seemed to breathe with him, offering a subtle dragon hide sheen.
He glimpsed amber filigree trimming the seams and caught sight of a gunmetal underlayer edged in amber as the coat shifted.
He flexed his right arm, feeling the dark fabric wrapping it, threaded with amber circuits like glowing veins, reinforced by leather loops running from elbow to wrist.
A fingerless glove of soft black leather formed on his right hand. He turned his palm, seeing "Salvius Nox" stitched in amber and feeling padded grip lines across it.
His left side felt conspicuously light and unburdened; a glance confirmed only a sleek, horn-tipped pauldron marked where his arm should be.
Twin belts cinched firmly at his waist. He felt the higher one anchor a short half-cape that draped from under his right shoulder.
As he shifted, it trailed across his back towards his left thigh, its black fabric artfully tattered. The lower belt held pouches and felt purpose-built to guide a sheath.
An asymmetrical flap along his left hip hinted at a hidden compartment lined with something armored and flexible.
Looking down, steel-gray tactical pants, slim-cut and reinforced with blackened steel plates at thighs and knees, felt both agile and protective.
He noticed curling etched motifs touched with amber enamel. Mid-calf boots in jet-black leather encased his feet and shins, angular bronze reinforcements gleaming.
He flexed an ankle, hearing the faint click of triple amber-buckled straps and feeling the grooved soles grip the floor silently. Horn-like flares on the boots echoed the pauldron's bold design.
"Now this is—" Aether began, his smile growing wide with appreciation as he took in the full effect, turning slightly to see the cape flow…
…but the words died in his throat as he heard a familiar voice.
"….Looks like Aether's got a sense of fashion too. You never said you were into dragons." Anna said, her voice thick with emotion.
"Well, once you catch a glimpse of that dragon it won't escape you easily," he tried to respond, but she was already moving.
Anna crossed the threshold with careful steps, as if afraid he might disappear. But as her gaze settled on him, she moved quickly, throwing her arms around him.
Her embrace was tight, almost desperate. She buried her face against his chest, and he felt her trembling.
"No, you don't understand, this is a really great attire," she choked out, laughing slightly.
"I think it matches the new you, properly so—" She pulled back slightly, her hands gesturing wildly as tears streamed down her face. "I mean, you are back now, right? You're really back!"
Aether pulled her close again, his own eyes stinging. "I'm back," he whispered. "Where's Elara, oh-"
The sound of rushing footsteps announced Elara's arrival as she sprinted up the stairs, her wide eyes taking in the scene. Without hesitation, she ran toward them, her face a mixture of relief and regret.
"Elara!" Aether began, his voice cracking as he turned to her.
A beat of silence, and he noticed her expression.
"Got a new outfit. You think I'll still have to tell them I changed my name when they see me in this?"
Elara didn't let him finish. She reached for him, using her unwritten skill to lift him off the ground as if he weighed nothing.
Elara laughed, her expression softening as she adjusted herself. "You're an idiot," she said, though her voice was fond.
"Also…" Anna said, gripping Aether's shoulder, her eyes searching his face. "When you died, did you meet your father, since he's basically death an all?"
The question hit Aether like a physical blow. For a moment, the light in his eyes dimmed, as if a cloud had passed over the sun. But then, like dawn breaking, it returned stronger than before, his amber light glowing with newfound intensity.
"Yes," he answered, his smile small but genuine, filled with a certainty he hadn't felt before, "We talked for a bit."
Anna didn't press further—something in his eyes, in that light, spoke more truth than any skill could. It was all the proof she needed.
"I thought of something stupid before," Aether admitted, his voice thick with regret. "'It is only a transaction' or something like that. But I was wrong. When I died…" he paused, gathering his thoughts, "I realized that reincarnation exists in its darkest form, mind you."
"I don't know if it's the same for the eras, but…" he quickly thought.
He took a deep breath, vulnerability clear in his voice. "It might sound crazy, but I think we knew each other during the reincarnation process. Somehow, some way, our souls have met before."
Anna and Elara fell silent, the weight of his words filling the room. Then, almost in unison:
"Yeah, I think so too," Anna whispered, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks.
"Me too. Also, what are you going to call this outfit?" Elara asked, her voice wavering with emotion.
"I'm supposed to name it?" Aether replied, genuinely confused.
"I mean, yeah," she said, clicking her tongue as she listed off examples. "There's Anisa, Coco, Ace, Rika…" She laughed mid-sentence.
Aether paused, glancing down at his outfit, fingers brushing the fabric thoughtfully.
"How about… Ìbora Ọ̀nà Àtúnwá?"
Anna and Elara exchanged a look.
"I can't even pronounce that," Elara admitted, grinning.
Aether chuckled and stepped closer.
"Ee-BOH-rah OHN-nah ah-TOON-wah," he said, slowly and clearly.
They came together in a group embrace, their tears mingling as they held each other tight. In that room, with Aether's new outfit marking a physical transformation and their hearts opening to deeper truths, it felt like more than just a new beginning—it felt like coming home.
The light streaming through the window caught the subtle gleam of Aether's transformed attire.
The cross was a striking emblem, etched in stark white against the deep obsidian black of Aether's long coat. It dominated the back, an extreme gothic design that radiated an undeniable aura of intensity and purpose. The lines were sharp and deliberate, each stroke infused with intricate detailing that caught the light faintly, like threads of silver within the pristine white.
"I will protect you all," He declares, his right hand gripping their backs.