All things considered, this ability was far superior to the Traveler's Door.
The Traveler's Door merely opened a passage into the Spirit World. To reach any other destination, one still had to traverse that vast, chaotic realm—essentially "running" through the Spirit World from point A to point B.
Wandering, however, while still requiring passage through the starry sky or Astral Plane as a kind of transfer station, functioned differently in practice. It was more like: instantaneously teleporting from point A to point B, then from point B to point C—the intermediate process almost negligible, like skipping through coordinates rather than traversing them.
Not bad at all.
Edward nodded in satisfaction. After flipping his coin a few times to confirm there were no hidden risks, he hesitated no further.
Ancient gears within his eyes began to turn with a deep resonant click, and this time, he directed his power upon himself.
A wave of intense weakness immediately flooded through him.
Sequence 4...Sequence 5...Sequence...
He snapped his fingers lightly. Above the deserted island, dark clouds gathered layer upon layer, roiling like a sea of ink.
Light flashed—
Bolts of lightning leapt out from the void, intertwining into a colossal forest of crackling thunder that radiated a suffocating aura of annihilation.
Edward watched the dazzling bolts in calm silence. His eyes reflected only silver brilliance; his heart remained as still as water—devoid of the faintest fear.
After all, he could resurrect.
And this was exactly what he needed.
What was there to fear?
Rumble—!
The silvery light flooded his pupils as the entire island was swallowed by the forest of thunder, along with the surrounding stretch of ocean.
In the final instant before his consciousness dissolved, one fleeting thought passed through his mind—
So this is what death feels like?
It seemed…
Nothing special.
———
That April seemed far slower than the ones before it.
Bernadette, still in her pyjamas, rested her cheek on one hand while holding a tiny Little Mermaid doll in the other and a Snow White figurine in her lap. She sat by the piano, gazing out the window at the moonlit garden blooming under the crimson glow, her thoughts drifting.
First, Papa had gone off on an expedition without taking her along.
Then Mama suddenly decided to hire her a private tutor—lessons every single day.
That alone wasn't so bad. With Mr. Sparrow around, she could still occasionally dive into the sea to look for mermaids, or go sneak a peek at Papa's ship. Those days were fun.
But then—Mr. Sparrow disappeared too.
After the kindly old priest from the Church left town, Bernadette had immediately run to No. 28 Emerald Street to play with Mr. Sparrow. But the butler, Mr. Dubois, told her that Mr. Sparrow had gone out and hadn't yet returned.
But he'd clearly said he'd be gone only three days!
Adults really were liars!
So Bernadette waited, and waited, and waited…
One day.
Two days.
A week.
Two weeks.
Three weeks…
Yet Mr. Sparrow never came back.
She had tried reciting those three "magic incantations" several times too, but no response came.
Gradually, worry began to gnaw at her—worry that Mr. Sparrow might have run into danger.
Then, when she was done worrying about him, she started worrying about Papa as well.
For someone so young, she was burdened with anxieties no child should bear.
Sigh…
She lifted her head, clasped her small hands together, and gazed devoutly at the moon.
"Dear God," she whispered softly, "please protect Daddy and Mr. Sparrow. Let them both come home safe...and soon!"
Knock, knock, knock.
Just then, her mother, Matilda, knocked and pushed the door open. Standing at the doorway, she said gently, "Bernadette, time for bed, darling. You've got lessons early tomorrow."
"Okay, Mama!"
She hopped off the stool, scrambled into bed, and burrowed under the covers.
Matilda came to sit by her bedside. "Do you want Mommy to tell you a bedtime story?"
"No need, Mama~"
Matilda smiled and pressed a soft kiss to her daughter's forehead. "Alright then. Good night."
"Good night, Mama."
Bernadette tucked her head under the blanket, watching her mother turn off the lamp and quietly leave the room.
Her small heart sank a little with disappointment.
If only that 'Mama' just now…had been Mr. Sparrow in disguise, she thought wistfully.
Pressing her lips together, she let out a tiny sigh and murmured, "Good night, Papa, Mama…and Mr. Sparrow."
Drowsiness soon overtook her, and her consciousness began to fade.
No one knew how much time passed before—
Pop!
A sudden noise startled her awake.
"Ah! Ouch—my butt!"
A startled yelp echoed in the darkness.
Then, out of the pitch black, came a familiar voice.
Bernadette instantly jolted upright, clutching the blanket tightly around herself as she stared toward the shadowy figure sitting on the floor. "Wh-Who's there?!" she cried out.
"It's me, Bernie."
The response made Bernadette freeze in shock. For a moment, her thoughts tangled together in disbelief—until now, there had only ever been one person who called her "Bernie." Naturally, that was Mr. Sparrow.
But the voice…was completely wrong. It wasn't his calm, magnetic tone at all—it was a young, unsteady child's voice!
Snap!
A faint sound broke the silence, and the room suddenly lit up.
Bernadette instinctively squinted against the sudden brightness, then opened her eyes wide in astonishment—
A boy, only a little taller than herself, was sitting on the floor rubbing his backside. He had soft, chestnut-brown hair and black eyes, dressed neatly in a fitted black trench coat that made him look like a miniature adult.
A real child?!
Bernadette rubbed her eyes hard. But…why would a little boy suddenly appear in her room in the middle of the night? And how did he know the nickname "Bernie" that only Mr. Sparrow used?
Wait!
Her eyes widened as a shocking realisation flashed through them.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" Edward frowned and glanced down at himself—and then realisation struck him as well. "Hold on…what's wrong with my voice?"
"My hands, my feet, my legs…my body—"
What the hell?!
Edward blinked out of existence and reappeared instantly in the washroom. The moment he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror, his mind blanked.
"I…turned into a kid?!"
Thump, thump, thump!
Bernadette came running, curiosity and caution written across her face as she leaned against the bathroom doorframe, whispering, "Are…are you Mr. Sparrow?"
"…"
Edward turned his head toward her and managed a strained smile. "I…don't really know if I still am."
Before she could ask more, he raised a hand. "Wait—let me sort this out first."
He closed his eyes and knocked himself lightly on the forehead. Broken, scattered fragments of memory surged up from the depths of his mind, quickly knitting together into coherent sequences.
Advancement to Sequence 3.
Loss of humanity.
Divination.
Suicide.
Resurrection within memory.
In a few seconds, everything came back.
When the lightning struck him and he "died," his consciousness once again dissolved into streams of pure informational data. But this time, instead of being dragged uncontrollably through other people's memories as before, the fragments appeared neatly before him—like a library of recollections laid out for his choosing.
There were memories belonging to Amon, Medici, Pallez, Roselle, Reinette, Adam, Hermes—and of course Dubois, Bernadette, and even a few household servants.
It seemed like a wide range of options, but in truth, most of them were unusable.
Medici, Pallez, Roselle—he immediately excluded them. Losing his humanity in the first place had been because their images had affected his psyche. Reviving through their memories would just make everything worse.
Amon and Adam? Both were fundamentally inhuman. Not even an option.
As for the servants and slaves at home, their impressions of him were too faint and blurry—utterly inadequate for resurrection.
So ultimately, only Dubois and Bernadette remained viable choices.
Edward's first instinct had been Dubois. After all, Bernadette was a child—too many uncertainties surrounded her. But just as he was about to proceed, an alarming thought struck him: Dubois might have a very dangerous misunderstanding about me.
That man had always seemed to think Edward didn't like women!
Sure, after hearing he had a daughter, Dubois had appeared to drop that suspicion, but who knew what he really believed deep down?
If his loss of humanity had come from being influenced by others' perceptions of him…what if reviving through Dubois's memory actually turned him into a gay man?!
Just imagine—after a hundred years, he finally reunited with Audrey, only to end up as her sister! That would be…unspeakably tragic and absurd!
So Edward made his final decision—he would revive within Bernadette's memory.
What he hadn't expected, however, was that a Spiritcaster's "resurrection" wasn't instantaneous. From the moment he chose until the moment he succeeded, nearly three weeks had passed.
And the result…was this—a boy not even ten years old.
If he died again and had to resurrect once more through Bernadette's memory, it would take even longer each time—and once her memories of him faded completely, resurrection would become impossible.
Thinking back on how recklessly he had decided to "commit suicide," Edward felt as if he'd been out of his mind. He strongly suspected that his so-called "rationality" at the time had not come from losing humanity…but rather from the lingering madness of the Madman persona he had once played.
What sane person kills himself just to test it?!
Taking a deep breath, Edward calmed down and examined himself carefully. Aside from his smaller body, everything else seemed perfectly intact. His Sequence rank and magical abilities were all unchanged—unaffected by his physical age.
And since Transfiguration could easily alter his appearance, his current size wasn't even a real problem.
So in that case…this resurrection had been a complete success!
With that thought, Edward tapped his chest lightly. His form and clothes shifted in an instant, and within seconds, the boy vanished—replaced by the familiar figure of Klein Sparrow.
Bernadette's face fell in visible disappointment.
Edward walked over and gave her a light rap on the head. "What are you sighing for? Since when is your image of me a little kid?"
"Huh?" She rubbed the spot where he'd tapped her, puzzled. How did Mr. Sparrow know that in my imagination, he looked exactly like that?
Sigh…such a shame. It would've been so nice if he stayed like that forever!
"Mr. Sparrow, why did you turn into a child just now? Was it for…a mission or something?"
"That's…complicated," Edward said, scratching his head. "Let's just say I was hit with some kind of curse."
"A curse?"
Her eyes widened. "Who did that?!"
"A certain despicable woman who insists on calling herself 'Queen Mystic.'"
"???"
Bernadette tilted her head in confusion. That nickname sounds oddly familiar…
Before she could dwell on it, Edward suddenly staggered, his movements jerky and awkward.
"What's wrong?" she asked in alarm.
"I don't know. My whole body just feels…off."
He tried to walk a few more steps, but the discomfort only grew. It was as if his transformed body rejected his control—bound by invisible constraints that his instincts strained to break free from.
And with every passing second, the tension only intensified.
An irrational spark of irritation flared in Edward's chest. So you're forcing me to undo the transformation and turn back into a kid, huh?
Hell no!
If this resistance came from Bernadette's image of him, then he would not yield to it!
He clenched his jaw, eyes narrowing. Just because you think I should look like that doesn't mean I'll do as you imagine!
———
[Note]: Don't forget to VOTE. It keeps me motivated.