"Young lord?" A girl's voice, unfamiliar, wavered at his side.
"Lord Darian, wake up sir"
Takura's eyes flung open. He shot upright, the mattress shifting beneath him.
The sudden movement startled the maid beside him. She flinched back, her breath catching, clutching her apron like a shield.
She appeared to be a girl of perhaps seventeen at most, her expression caught between worry and fear. She had soft chestnut colored hair tied neatly at the back, a few loose strands framing her round face. Her eyes, wide with worry, were a gentle shade of hazel that reflected innocence and fatigue. The crisp uniform she wore was simple, yet clean, the white apron pressed neatly over her dark dress.
"Lord Darian, you scared me"
Her eyes fixated on Takura.
In that moment, floods of memories pierced his mind like a blade through armor.
Faces he had never seen. Names he had never heard. A grand mansion draped in banners of red. Whispers of scorn. Mocking laughter.
He saw himself slumped over a desk, eyes clouded with bitterness. A boy resenting the world and the curse in which denied him mana.
A noble in name only, sneered at by his peers, pitied by his servants, ignored by his own blood.
Takura staggered, clutching his head as the torrent poured in.
'These memories aren't mine'
'These are the memories of Count Darian of Redmond'
'Darian of Redmond', the name echoed in his mind, heavy with failure and disgrace.
Yet beneath the bitterness, Takura felt something else, the weight of a curse. A shadow that clung to Darian's soul, devouring any spark of mana before it could take root.
Takura sat in silence, his breath uneven as the last fragments of foreign memories settled in his mind. Slowly, he lowered his gaze to his hands.
They were slender, pale, unscarred. Not the hands that had gripped a sword for decades. Not the hands calloused by years of battle.
His eyes swept down to his arms, his chest. This frame was smaller, weaker, almost fragile compared to the hardened body he had known. A chill slid down his spine.
Takura pushed himself off the bed, his legs unsteady beneath unfamiliar weight. The red carpet that covered the stone floors was a new feeling to him. He stumbled toward the mirror in the corner of the chamber.
The reflection staring back at him was not the samurai he had trained decades to be, but a stranger -pale and sickly, as though the life had been drained from him. Dark red hair spilled loosely over a face too young, no more than eighteen, yet the skin was bloodless, lips nearly colorless. Dark rings bruised the space beneath hollow eyes, and his frame though lean, looked fragile, as if a harsh wind might topple him.
Takura leaned closer, heart tightening. This was no hardened samurai. This was a boy cursed with frailty, dressed in silk too fine for the strength his body clearly lacked.
The face in the glass looked as though it hadn't seen sunlight in months. And yet… those same tired eyes now burned with his spirit.
"Young lord, is something wrong?"
The maid asked, staring at his unusual behavior.
Takura exhaled sharply, sweat beading on his brow. His eyes, now steady, toward the anxious maid.
This was no dream.
He had died on the battlefield… and awoken in a young men's life.
"Umm...nothing is wrong, Elaina."
He startled himself with the ease in which her name slipped from his mouth. He should not have known it, yet he did.
"I have made you breakfast, young lord"
She grabbed a tray that lay on the bedside table.
Steam curled from a bowl of rich broth, its surface sprinkled with herbs, beside neatly sliced roast fowl, soft bread still warm from the oven and a small cup of fruit juice.
Takura's gaze lingered on the spread. To see so much food, prepared solely for one man, felt almost indulgent. Back in his past life, even as a clan heir, meals were simple, shared, and earned with sweat. Here, abundance was laid before him without effort. He wasn't overwhelmed, but the thought struck him all the same,...'this was the life of a noble'.
Even the chamber itself was a display of nobility. The size of the room was as big as his old house.
Thick curtains hung over the tall windows.
A huge chandelier from the ceiling. Shelves of stacked books.
The walls and furniture were carved with fancy designs. Red, gold and white, were the colors that covered mostly everything.
"I've placed the food on your dining table, be sure to eat it"
Elaina spoke softly.
"Oh... uh, thank you " He replied, slowly walking toward the table.
Elaina stilled, her thoughts stumbling over his words. 'Did he just ...thank me?'
She lowered her head at once, hiding the flicker of disbelief in her eyes.
Takura,now going by Darian, lowered himself onto the chair.
'This is so much food for one person' he remarked inwardly, his gaze drifting toward Elaina.
His glance made her stiffen
Her eyes narrowed, expecting dissatisfaction of the food,a swear or something cruel.
"Have you eaten, Elaina?"
Her lips parted in surprise. His words shocked her. For a moment she just stared at him, unsure she'd heard correctly.
"No… not yet, my lord" she said softly.
"Do you care to join me?"
Darian motioned to the chair opposite him, leaving little room for refusal.
Her eyes widened, panic flickering across her face. "N-no, young lord… I possibly couldn't. It wouldn't be proper for me to sit with you."
Her words tumbled out quickly, almost desperate, as if saying the wrong thing would bring down his wrath. She bowed her head at once, bracing for the punishment she thought must follow.
"Then go eat" Darian commanded.
"You shouldn't work on an empty stomach"
Elaina froze, her head snapping up in disbelief. She had braced herself for scorn, for punishment, not this. The words didn't fit him.
'Is he plotting something?'
Why is he suddenly kind to me?'
She wondered.
Her hands tightened against her apron before she finally lowered her gaze.
"Y-yes, my lord… if that is your wish."
She turned and quietly left the chamber.
.
Something about the young lord felt different, something Elaina couldn't quite grasp.