I blinked.
The light in the room didn't change, but something behind my eyes did.
It wasn't pain. It wasn't memory. It was… foreign.
Then—
[SYSTEM SYNCHRONIZATION COMPLETE…]
The message appeared—clear, cold, silent. Not written in front of me, but etched into the space inside my head.
[STATUS SCAN: ACTIVE…]
[NAME: ALARIC VEYNE]
RACE: ???
TITLES: — SWORD OF JUDGMENT — LAST SENTINEL — EXILE OF THE DIVINE
ATTRIBUTES
Strength: ???
Agility: ???
Endurance: ???
Mana: ???
Willpower: ???
Intelligence: ???
Perception: ???
Divine Resistance: MAX
IMMUNITIES
– Poison
– Mental Control
– Soul Interference
– Charm
– Pain
– Time Distortion
– Possession
– Sleep
– Curse
CORE STYLE – JUDGMENT
– Severance Blade
– Rebuke
– Crimson Discipline
– Heaven's Vein
– Final Measure
– Soul Lock
– Divine Null
TRAIT UNSEALED: ???
[REMARK: HOST CLASSIFIED – IRREGULAR]
[SYNC RATE: 100.0%]
I sat completely still.
The system spoke like a god with no face—measuring me, labeling me, failing to understand what it saw. The numbers didn't exist. The definitions fell apart. Even it… didn't know how to explain me.
What is this?
Is this world trying to fit me into something I don't belong to?
I could feel its confusion. Its hesitation.
A tool meant to define things. And I was something it couldn't.
Irregular, it called me.
The message dissolved.
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. The bar returned around me — the scent of warm stew, the faint laughter of children, the creaking of old wood under careful feet.
I looked down at the bowl in front of me. Still untouched.
"You sure you're alright, kid?"
Brehn's voice pulled me back.
I lifted my eyes. His were calm, steady. The kind of eyes that had seen pain but never turned hard.
"I… think so," I said, quietly.
"My name's Alaric. That much I remember. The rest… not much else."
"Memory loss?"
I gave a small nod. Lowered my gaze again.
"Everything else feels distant. Like a dream that won't come into focus."
It wasn't a lie.
Just not the full truth.
Brehn studied me a moment, then slowly folded his towel and set it aside.
"Well, you're safe now. That's what matters."
He leaned an elbow on the counter and pointed toward the back.
"My wife's in the kitchen. The kid playing with the wooden sword is Nico — my youngest. Mira, my third, is the one behind the register. She keeps this place running more than I do."
I followed his hand. Mira was quietly counting coins, sharp-eyed and focused. Nico had started chasing a mop like it owed him money.
Brehn chuckled under his breath.
"Other two girls come and go. You'll meet them when they're not off getting into trouble."
I said nothing.
I had no interest in being part of their warmth — but I couldn't deny the comfort it gave the space.
"No one's come looking for you. No ID, no profile chip, no background pings. You're either lucky, or you've been through something you don't want to remember."
He wasn't accusing me. Just stating it like it was.
"Could be both," I murmured.
"Well, whoever you are, this is a safe place. Don't worry about the bill. We've got food, we've got shelter, and you've got time."
He stepped away, tossing the towel over his shoulder, and walked toward the kitchen.
"Just take it easy, Alaric. You've been out for three days. Rest's on the house."
He disappeared behind the door.
And I remained at the bar, alone again.
The stew steamed quietly. I watched the surface shift, watched Nico spin like a storm in the corner of my eye, watched Mira glance at me and quickly look away.
What am I doing here?
Why did I wake up again… in a world like this?
I picked up the spoon with slow fingers and took a bite.
It burned. Not from the heat — but from the memory it pulled out of me.
I swallowed it anyway.
The warmth of the stew helped steady me, but my thoughts stayed sharp — restless.
Then came the footsteps. Light. Barely creaking the floorboards. Measured. Hesitant.
I didn't look up at first. But I felt her presence — a protective one, watching me with guarded eyes.
"So…"
Her voice was sharper than her step.
"Are you planning on staying here long?"
I turned slightly.
It was the girl behind the register — Mira. Sixteen at most. Straight dark brown hair, sharp eyes, and an upright posture like she was used to being the one holding things together. She wasn't glaring, exactly. But she was definitely evaluating me.
"It's just…" she continued, folding her arms, "I don't know who you are, and I don't really like that. Dad's too kind sometimes. Brings in strangers with nothing but a name and a story."
I stayed quiet. Let her speak.
"We run a good place here. Safe. And my little brother lives here too, so don't give me a reason to regret being polite."
Her tone wasn't hostile. Just cautious. Nervous energy hidden beneath practiced sharpness.
I finally met her eyes.
There was a flicker of something — confusion? Unease? She looked quickly down at the scars running from my eyes and then back up.
"You've got… weird eyes," she said, softer now. "Like you've seen too much."
I smiled.
Not forced. Not mocking.
Just… tired.
And for a moment—
Her face flickered.
The light in the tavern dimmed around me.
The smell of stew was replaced by warm soil and blooming trees. The sound of rain on wooden rooftops. My little girl spinning with her arms wide, her laugh echoing in the summer wind.
"Dad, you're smiling again. I told you, that face doesn't suit a warrior!"
Her voice. Her tiny hands grabbing my sleeve, tugging it to make me kneel, so she could draw stars on my face with sticky fingers.
I blinked.
The bar returned. Mira was still standing there, watching me curiously.
I gave her a small nod.
"Thanks for the warning."
She looked away quickly, as if she hadn't meant to say so much.
"Yeah… well… Just don't make us regret being nice to you."
She turned to leave, but just before she walked away, I heard her mumble — not coldly, not angrily. Just softly:
"I hope you're not like the others."
I let the silence stretch after she left.
I'm not like the others, I thought.
There are no others left.