Sixteen years had passed.
More than sixteen years had gone by since Amon reincarnated into this world. When he had regained consciousness back then, he found himself lying in a warm, cozy apartment.
His face, in particular, had felt strangely warm.
'It's been sixteen years since I started wearing this mask,' Amon thought with a neutral expression.
He stood in front of a mirror, gazing at his reflection. A unique, metallic mask covered his face, and from beneath it, his silver eyes stared back at him. His long, silver hair flowed freely down his back, gleaming faintly under the dim morning light.
Amon slowly lifted a hand and touched the mask. In the mirror, his reflection mirrored his movement, showing the mask tilting slightly over his chin. Yet just as he began to remove it, his hand paused.
'I don't know if I will lose my life the moment I take this mask off. There is no reason to take such a dangerous risk,' he decided internally, letting go of the mask as it settled snugly back onto his face.
For more than sixteen years, Amon's life had been relatively peaceful. There had been no grand crises, no earth-shattering events. It was the kind of life he had once longed for.
'If I can live peacefully for sixteen years, then making it to twenty shouldn't be that difficult,' Amon reassured himself with a quiet nod.
Just then, the door creaked open, and a young lady stepped inside.
She appeared to be around the same age as Amon. Her golden-brown hair was tied up neatly in a bun, and her sharp, dark blue eyes studied Amon with mild curiosity.
"Brother, why do you keep staring at yourself in the mirror all the time?" she asked, placing her hands on her hips.
"Aurora," Amon called out softly.
When the woman who raised him had taken him in, she had already been pregnant, which eventually led to the birth of Aurora. Although Amon had always known the truth, he never mentioned it. The woman had raised both of them as her own children, never showing favoritism.
Aurora gave a casual shrug and walked over to the mirror. She glanced at her reflection and struck a few playful poses. She was tall, nearly one hundred and eighty-three centimeters, yet still a head shorter than Amon.
Placing a hand on her waist, she turned toward him and said lightly, "Mother said you should come downstairs for your meal. I'll be heading out soon to visit some friends. You can stay home and keep doing… whatever it is you do all day."
She gave him a quick hug, turned on her heel, and dashed out the door.
Amon watched her disappear and sighed.
He had no friends.
Most people found his mask creepy and avoided associating with him. Others who found it cool eventually asked him the same thing—if they could borrow it, just for a trial.
But that was something Amon could never allow.
Only he knew the true horror hidden behind the mask.
He moved to a nearby chair and sat down gently, facing the window. Through the slightly foggy glass, he watched the streets below, filled with bustling activity.
'This world lacks technological devices. Unlike the more advanced realms I've reincarnated into,' Amon thought, a hint of boredom creeping into his expression.
For a long while, he sat in silence, various memories from his past lives drifting through his mind like mist. Eventually, he stood up and made his way downstairs to eat breakfast.
The house was quiet. No one was around, and the only sounds were the distant chirps of birds outside.
'Aunt must be out for work again,' Amon muttered to himself. Though she had told him she was his mother, he knew the truth. His real parents had died long ago.
She was out for most of the day and only returned at night, leaving Amon and Aurora to manage on their own.
He ate his meal in silence. It was a steaming hot plate of rice with lightly sautéed vegetables and a few chunks of tender meat. The aroma was comforting, and the warmth spread through his chest as he ate. After finishing, he cleaned the dishes quickly and stood up.
'I should check the library. Maybe I'll find another interesting book to read,' he thought, hurrying to his room.
He donned a long black robe, dark trousers, and wrapped a scarf snugly around his neck.
'The weather is cold and a bit cloudy. It doesn't look like it'll rain, so I won't need an umbrella,' he noted, analyzing the sky through his window.
Amon stepped out of his room, locked the door carefully, and slipped the key into his pocket.
As he had seen earlier, the sky was blanketed with gray clouds. The sun was barely visible, shrouded in mist. A cool wind whispered through the narrow streets.
He looked around and noticed a few pedestrians. His home was in a district near the main road, which meant people were constantly passing by.
He turned toward a nearby corner and shook his head slowly.
There, an old man was practicing sword swings. His movements were fluid, and his eyes sharp with focus.
'Old Man Don,' Amon recalled. 'Some people call him crazy because he's out here every morning, swinging that sword. They say he talks about slaying ghosts and monsters. What a strange fellow.'
Amon tightened the belt on his robe and continued walking toward the library.
He could feel the eyes of passersby on him. The weight of their stares was familiar, like the pressure of a constant drizzle. Amon ignored it, keeping his gaze straight ahead.
There were no modern vehicles in sight. Only the occasional clatter of horse-drawn carriages, the creak of wooden wheels, and the sound of hooves echoed in the background.
After a few minutes of walking, Amon reached the library.
He stomped his boots lightly on the mat outside and stepped inside.
"Uncle Mart Bookshop."
It was one of the most well-known libraries in the district, especially famous for its vast collection of fantasy novels written by renowned authors.
Amon brushed a bit of dust from his sleeve and stepped in.
Behind the counter stood a middle-aged man, wiping down a few books with a sky-blue cloth.
"Greetings, Uncle Mart," Amon said evenly, his voice calm and clear as he entered the library.