A hum of a bird startled a young man awake.
Black hair and red eyes. A body that's neither buff nor weak just the normal body of a ten-year-old boy. Not handsome, but not ugly. Just normal. Too normal.
The young man's gaze quickly scanned his surroundings, shock written clearly on his face.
"Where am I?" he muttered to himself, just as a young girl approached him from behind.
"There you are! Hurry! Mother is calling us!" she said, her voice hurried, her face showing clear fright.
The young boy was familiar with that emotion… fear. Fear that a kid her age shouldn't feel.
"Mother? What are you—" Before he could finish, before he could process what was happening, the young girl had already grabbed him and started running.
"H-Hold up! Why are you dragging me, little girl? At least tell me!" he shouted, running alongside her.
The girl frowned. "Little girl? Idiot! I'm your big sister!" She rolled her eyes as they ran uphill across the vast plains.
"What are you talking about?" he asked, and only then did he notice; his body was that of a little kid.
Then, as if electrified, he shook violently and collapsed onto the ground. Dust and grass scattered beneath him as he hit the earth. The girl noticed immediately, her eyes widening with worry, and she rushed back to him.
"JULLIAN!!!" she shouted, scooping him up. "Are you okay? Did you lose your memories again?" Her voice trembled with fear, but there was fierce determination in the way she held him.
The young boy shook violently in her arms, the motion almost comical, though it hid the storm inside him. Flashes of memory slammed through his mind—who was this little boy, who was the girl holding him, why were they running, and what world was this? Everything felt both familiar and alien at the same time.
The girl holding him was his elder twin sister. Yes, twins. Her name was Julia. They came from a family renowned for their swordsmanship, a lineage so respected that they held the title of Duke of Bringerdoom in this empire. They were the youngest son and daughter of the current patriarch, a man who had been fighting on battlefields since they were five.
Their mother had died giving birth to them. The mother Julia spoke of now was their stepmother, a cruel woman who punished and abused them whenever their father was absent.
Jullian's body gradually stopped trembling, but his thoughts remained clouded, and a sharp ache throbbed painfully at his temples.
"Damn that woman! This always happens because she hits your head so often! If only father were here..." Julia cried, clutching Jullian tightly in her arms, her tears soaking his clothes. Her voice broke, but her grip never faltered, as though she could shield him from the world by sheer force of will.
The young boy's gaze flickered with conflict, unsure whether he should call this child his big sister. After all, in his mind, he was far older than her—he was already her grandfather.
He thought carefully, weighing what would be best in this situation. Since he now carried Jullian's memories, he made a decision.
"Don't worry… s-sister. I'm alright." he said, forcing the words out and standing up.
The word sister felt awkward on his tongue. His mind was old, heavy with decades of life, yet his body was small and fragile.
Julia exhaled softly, a mixture of relief and gentle patience in her sigh. She reached out and held his hand firmly, guiding him. "Alright, let's walk slowly."
Her touch was warm and reassuring, her voice calm but filled with care. They moved carefully together, stepping through the rolling plains, the wind rustling the grass around them, as they slowly made their way toward the Bringerdoom Residence. The sunlight spilled across the landscape, casting long shadows and highlighting the small figures of the twins against the vast world.
Once they arrived inside the residence, the sharp, heavy crack of flesh hitting flesh cut through the air.
Jullian's head rang as he was struck, collapsing to the floor. This was no ordinary slap. Their stepmother was an honorable knight herself; her blows carried the strength of someone trained in combat. And above all, Jullian was only ten years old.
Julia immediately stepped forward. "No, mother! It was me! I was the one who did that!" She threw herself in front of Jullian, shielding him with her small but firm body.
Their stepmother looked at them both with pure disgust. "You bastards dare to talk back?" Her hand lashed out again, this time striking Julia. But Julia, stronger and more disciplined than Jullian, didn't fall. She planted her feet, gripping the floor with defiance.
Seeing this only fueled her irritation. She attacked again and again, raining blows on Julia while Jullian lay on the floor, helpless. His body, that of an ordinary ten-year-old boy, had no training, no secret strength. Unlike Julia, who had trained herself in secret, Jullian could barely move.
He wanted to stand, to help his sister, to defend her, but not an inch of his fingers obeyed.
All he could do was shout.
"STOP!!!!! STOP HITTING HER!!!"
"What? You're talking back to your mother? You disrespectful child!"
In the end, both of them were beaten. Bruises blossomed across their skin, tears mixed with blood, the sharp sting of each strike marking their small bodies.
In this world, Jullian realized, intelligence came second. It wasn't enough to be clever, to memorize, to strategize. What he truly needed now was strength—a body capable of fighting, resisting, surviving. Physical power, hard and raw, was what mattered here.