"Help! I need help—!" A woman's voice split the night, echoing from an abandoned house, left to rot for nearly forty years.
"What's going on in that place? Should we do something?" one of the villagers whispered, unease threading his words.
"No," replied a man in a black jacket, voice flat as dead stone. "If we step in… we all die. Eventually."
"Terrifying… so we just stand here and let that lady scream?"
(What is this Fallmen's problem? Is he a sorcerer hiding behind gold?)
*Fallmen – high-ranking businessmen and merchants,
[You shouldn't be here, Tyler.]
"Jack?!" Tyler grapsed. "Haven't seen you in ages."
{Another Fallmen? Blessed or cursed, who could tell anymore?}
"Name's Jack Daring," the man announced, every syllable heavy with practiced pride.
[This isn't courage. And neither are you… are you?] (The hell am I saying?)
A new voice stepped into the murk. "Huh? Another fool. Do you even know who I am? A Fallmen," Jack spat, as if it (un)settled everything.
"And do you I am? Richard Filver." (This is cringier than cringelords themselves.)
(Brother please go somewhere else. Let me draw all eyes. I want to earn respect.)
"Perhaps, another time," Jack murmured. "I'm done here."
(Is this truly happening? The weight of aura… the sheer power of reputation… thank you god.)
"Come, Tyler," Jack ordered softly.
{What now, Mr. Richard?}
(Think, Richard. Flee and lose everything; stay, risk more than life. Either path tastes of blood.)
{Hello…?}
"Yes, best we leave it," Richard finally said, words tasting of rust. (What madness am I tangled in tonight?)
"Have you been drinking hashish again?" a calm voice cut through.
"Zhoui? Why are you here?" Richard turned, irritation flickering behind his mask. (If only I could silence that grin forever.)
(Nice thought, Richard. But you'll never outmaneuver me.)
(And how, exactly, are you reading my mind now?)
(If you used yours, you'd remember. I have Thought Communication and Mind Reading.)
"Why are those two staring like that?" a villager whispered, voice lost in fear.
"Well, enough jest. Let's go, Richard," Zhoui said while being relived.
"Fine…" (my urge to tear that smirk apart is almost unbearable.)
(Your dad said that to me too before dying.)
Zhoui reached out — the space around them warped and bent — and the two vanished, shadows torn from the night.
A vast mansion unfolded around them, windows reflecting endless constellations. Richard drew in a breath; the cold, sterile air tasted faintly of iron.
"How did you follow me here?" Zhoui demanded, eyes narrowed.
"How would I know?" Richard's voice dropped. (Why fate tethered me to this fool… even eternity keeps its secrets.)
"Welcome back," a woman's voice chimed, playful, almost mocking. "Consider yourself blessed, boys. Athanase speaking."
(Forgive me, Zhoui. For once, you're not the worst shadow here.)
(No harm, brother. Even I fear her sometimes.)
"What are you two whispering about?" Athanase tilted her head, suspicion curling her lips.
{GET OUT—}
(This should do it.) – Richard
(It will.) – Zhoui
"Well, I just wanted to show my painting… my art," Athanase corrected herself, voice dipping into forced sweetness.
{Then show us,} the two answered, as one.
"Here it is!" Her hands trembled, just enough to see. (Please… please like it.)
{AI-made, hm? Hahaha…}
"How can you— never mind," Athanase snapped, frustration breaking through. "You boys are impossible."
"Says who? A woman named Athanase." Richard's voice was calm, yet edged.
"Watch your words! I'm also a True Eternal," Athanase bit back, a flicker of old power in her gaze.
*True Eternals = beings who were never born, never made — only were.
"And still," Richard murmured, "better than Lucius Amagrante."
"I have another piece," she offered quickly, desperate.
"Is it truly worth seeing?" (Even I couldn't force a lie sweet enough to praise this.)
"Both… both are good," Zhoui said, lying smoother than silk.
(Is this real, or am I trapped in someone else's nightmare?) Athanase asked herself.
"And this one?" Athanase asked, voice trembling at the edge of hope.
(Has madness finally gripped her hand… or had it always been hidden?)
{Ah, we have… urgent business with Reinhard.}
"But I'm free! What do you—?" Before he could finish, Zhoui and Richard turned, grabbed Reinhard by the sleeve, and pulled him along.
{Thank you, Reinhard.}
"Well, I'm off to my room," Richard said, exhaustion bleeding into each word. "Tomorrow's Sunday."
"You know," Reinhard called after him, "this place floats in the dark between stars. And you, Richard, are an Eternal in a mortal shell. Even so, you cling to human habits."
"Then why do you look so human yourself?" Richard shot back, heat rising behind tired eyes.
"Both of you, quiet," another voice ordered. "Richard, go rest. Reinhard, come with me, we're gonna have long chat about something weird happening."
{Understood.}
Richard turned away. He walked the hall alone, his steps echoing through marble older than any world.
He reached his room, lay on the bed, wallet tucked into his pocket — a meaningless habit from another life. His eyes slipped shut. A single, sudden slap across his face snapped him fully awake.
And the stars were gone.
"Huh…? Where am I?" Richard whispered. The windows showed a sunlit sky, clouds drifting lazily where planets once hung. "A fantasy world…? Am I transmigrated? Or am I teleported into a fantasy world?"
He looked at his reflection: same frame, same eyes — yet deeper, red as dying embers.
"This is both gift and curse. I've lost them… my shadows, my UnReals. My friends. Now I—"
A knock shattered his thoughts. "Are you ready, Arthur?"
(So… in this world, my name is Arthur. And I'm vegetarian, which might be the biggest of my troubles. Which is for now not a problem. My only problem is to make my way out.)
"I'm coming," He answered, voice hollow. (Why does this body feel both alien and painfully familiar? Wait, there was a pistol, must've been that pain. Why am I even here?)
The door creaked open. A girl stood there — seventeen, hair the color of dusk, worry threading her gaze.
"Well, you're ready at least," she said, forcing a playful tone. "Your crush accepted your proposal, huh?"
"Don't tease."
"Hehe, fine. But did she?"
"Enough." (From what fragments I've stolen, she is Alessia Mascarot. My sister. Arthur's sister. And Arthur… was twenty. Middle child. Dead, now. And I wear his skin.)
"Dinner's ready," Alessia said, voice softer now. "Come when you like."
"I'll come in an hour."
"That's strange for you…" she murmured, glancing back once before leaving. (After Father and Mother died… Arthur fell into darkness for three days. Is that trauma returning?)
Richard's gaze fell on the worn diary lying by the window. Fingers traced faded letters, cold and real.
He opened it. The first page was stained, ink blurred.
"What… if I revive Arthur, could I go back? Back to being Richard…?" Questioned Richard to himself, after reading the page. (No. Even he wrote that it was impossible.)
A paper slipped free, drifting to the floor.
Hands trembling, Richard picked it up.
"Dear Alessia,
This is Arthur Mascarot. It might hurt you, but don't cry. Forget me. I had so much fun living with you. Before our parents died… it was good. I don't have more to say. I've always been bad at words. So forget me, as soon as you can.
Warm Regards,
Arthur Mascarot."
"No," Richard whispered, the weight of another man's love and despair settling into his chest. "How do I face her, knowing I wear the shell of her brother?"
(I have to burn it.)
He lit the candle. The flame devoured the words, curling paper to ash.
Yet his eyes caught on something else: a small book Arthur had hidden away. A single scrawled line inside:
"All will die, including me. 30th Klein. 3 A.M."
(What did he know? Why are his final memories locked from me? Was he…no, that can't be.)
He pushed the book back into the drawer, shadows swallowing secrets once more.
Richard forced himself downstairs.
She sat at the table, shoulders hunched, bruises blooming across pale skin. Her eyes lifted, trying to wear a smile that had forgotten how.
"So you came. Late, as always," Alessia whispered.
"I was reading some documents," he lied, voice low.
"I know. Sit. Eat."
"Your face… did someone—?"
"I just slipped on the stairs," she answered too quickly, hands trembling over empty plates.
(Still clinging to innocence, even as the world crushes her.)
"Here's your food. Enjoy… I'll go to my room."
"Good night, Sister."
"Good night, brother." (These moments aren't truly mine… yet why do I cling so desperately?)
He took the first bite. It tasted of ash and guilt. He took the second bite. It tasted like a grave-dirt.
(I'll sleep. Maybe dreams will be kinder.)
Night came, and Richard's dreams twisted into dark seas, voices whispering through the waves.
"Thief… imposter…"
He saw Arthur's final breath, lips cracking, eyes unfocused. "Alessia… please forgive me… pleaae forget me…"
Morning clawed at him.
"Wake up!" Alessia's voice snapped, brittle with fear. "Kyte will be furious."
"Why must we bow to that tyrant?"
"I agree… but what choice do we have?"
"WHERE ARE YOU, ALESSIA?!" Kyte's roar cracked through the walls.
"Oh no… hide, Arthur!"
"No. I'll stand here."
The door slammed open.
Kyte Mascarot, eldest, loomed — rage simmering behind dead eyes.
"Why is the rent still unpaid?" His words fell like stones. "If it's not paid by tomorrow… you'll regret it."
"We're sorry, big brother," Alessia whispered, voice thin as paper. "We'll pay it. You don't have to worry about it."
"That's more like it. Crawl, if you must. Remember your place. Beg for mercy."
He turned, leaving silence and splinters in his wake. Slamming the door real hard.
"Do you have money?" she asked, eyes wet.
"Yes… about two thousand zynx. And another five hundred in fynx." (It amazing to see this world too has digital currency and cash currency too!)
"How did you get that?"
"I just saved." (Well she doesn't know it yet, these 500 zynx came from Arthur's pocket. While the rest 2000 zynx? That's a whole different story. I was in depth of 2000 rupees, while transmigrating I was in touch of my wallet,the wallet had my credit card. The system misunderstood and thought of it as 2000 zynx.)
"Give me the five hundred. Rent first."
"Here. Go." (Once I get a job and get some money. We'll all live in a mansion.)
She hurried through empty streets. At the rent center, a clerk took the coins silently, returned twelve zynx.
"Brother, see? I got cashback!" she beamed, a child's pride shining through bruises.
"Keep it," Richard whispered. (Still hoping for small miracles. What kind of brother am I? Since she's 17, she'll be 18 soon. Arthur couldn't be here, to see his sister become 18.)
Kyte returned, unseen, a fist catching Richard across the jaw.
"Maybe this will remind you where you stand," he spat, before vanishing with a bag of clothes.
"Brother, are you hurt?"
"I'm fine," Richard lied, tasting copper. "At least he's gone."
"And you…?"
"Don't worry for me."
Evening draped the house in dying light.
"Dinner's ready!" Alessia called, voice softer.
"Hey, brother… I passed. 640 out of 700."
"Incredible," Richard forced a smile. (Inside, only emptiness answered.)
"So… what will you give me?"
"Anything."
"One hundred zynx?"
"Take it." His voice felt rusted, dry.
"Thank you, brother. You're the best!"
"Now… my food?"
"Yes!" She moved, quiet pride beneath her bruises.
"Tastes good," Richard murmured. "Do you enjoy cooking?"
"Yes. How did you know?"
"You told me… days ago," he lied, borrowing Arthur's fragments.
"I'll be going out," Richard said, coat over weary shoulders. "I might be late."
But Kyte hadn't truly left.
"Little sister," his voice slithered from darkness. "You thought I'd vanished? Repentance won't save you now."
She turned, terror sealing her lips.
"What will you do? Scream? Beg? Fight? You chose Arthur over me. Now you'll join him… and our parents, too. A family reunion… in hell."