Cecilus heard hurried footsteps echoing down the corridor. A maid came running, breathless and pale, her hand pressed to her mouth.
"I–I saw him jump!" she stammered, trembling.
"Did you see anyone else?" Cecilus asked sharply, his pulse racing.
She shook her head. "No. No one."
For her, the corpse was all there was — but Cecilus saw something more. A faint violet shimmer hovered above the broken body, twisting and rising like smoke. Then, a voice began to whisper in his mind.
It was Alastier's.
"What… happened? Where am I? I was just sleeping…"
"Why… why do I see my body? Huh?"
"N–no… this can't be… I'm dead?"
"I'm sorry, Alessia…"
The words echoed in his skull, distant and hollow.
Cecilus's mind raced. Suicide? Then why doesn't he remember? His memories ended in sleep. He was killed, then? But the maid saw no one, and Aldo hadn't sensed another soul nearby.
Could it be possession? What kind of magic could do that?
He clenched his fists. No, if I waste time theorizing, the real culprit will vanish.
"Alert my father. We'll both testify as witnesses," he ordered, his voice tight.
The maid fled to do as told.
***
Reymund lay awake beside his sleeping wife. Yeldove's breathing was soft, peaceful — a sound he hadn't heard in years.
Been too long since I've felt this calm… he thought. If only life could stay like this.
He had seen all his children earlier. Zylee and Ayas — no longer small, bright-eyed children but young adults he barely knew. They probably resent me for missing so much. But there was no choice. Their future depends on the path I'm paving.
A knock came at the door. He rose quietly, dressing before opening it. A maid stood there, shaking.
"Lord Reymund! Sir Alastier is dead! He… he threw himself from the stairwell. Master Cecilus and I both witnessed it."
Reymund froze. "Cecilus is there now?"
"Yes, my lord. He's waiting for you."
He exhaled sharply. Of course. He wouldn't know how to handle this alone.
He rushed through the halls, the air cold and heavy with unease. When he arrived, Cecilus relayed everything — the fall, the witness, the aftermath.
Reymund rubbed his temple. "We can't hide this. The best course is transparency. You and the maid will testify. The servants won't stomach the cleanup, so use your golems.
Cecilus nodded and summoned his constructs, silent stone figures that began to lift Alastier's body, carrying it away for examination.
Later that day, the household gathered. The announcement spread fast: Sir Alastier was dead.
Grief turned quickly to anger. His wife's voice rang through the hall, raw and trembling.
"Both witnesses are your family! How can we trust your word? My husband would never take his own life!"
Cecilus met her fury calmly, though the tension coiled in his gut. "Possession is a possibility," he said.
He had spent the hours after the incident researching — flipping through tomes and notes. Three types of magic fit what he had witnessed: Mind, Illusion, and Dream.
Mind magic — control of consciousness.Illusion — bending perception itself.Dream — unknown, but perhaps the most fitting. Alastier's last words had been those of a man still asleep.
The manor grew colder by the day. Suspicion festered. Reymund posted servants to watch every family, though trust had already begun to fracture. The great meeting of noble houses was postponed indefinitely.
A few days later, the funeral was held under a gray morning sky. Alastier's body would return to his homeland, but the rites were performed here, among the nobles who once called him an ally.
Incense drifted through the chapel. In this land's faith, funerals took place quickly — so that the soul, still lingering, might see the ceremony before departing.
Cecilus stood apart from the others, eyes fixed on the coffin. He knew better. Souls faded within moments. Alastier was long gone. But he stayed silent. The living needed their comforts.
Alessia sobbed against her mother's shoulder. Cecilus stared at the floor, thoughts spiraling.
There's no trail, no scent, no trace. There's no way he truly jumped.
He had seen Alastier's soul — confused, terrified. No liar could mimic that purity.
Then who killed him?
And what of the papers? He had planned to return them, but now… Would his wife even want anything to do with me? Her glare made that answer clear enough.
When the ceremony ended, Reymund met privately with the other heads. One by one, the guests departed — far earlier than planned. The halls emptied, leaving only silence and unease.
Trey Forwhilst, representing his father, lingered the longest. He spent his days mingling with nobles, and his nights crossing blades with Cecilus in sparring matches.
Cecilus never shook his hand afterward.
Worst instructor ever, he thought bitterly. He flinches at the thought of touching me — like I'm something foul. Fine by me. Let him stew in it.
Despite his exhaustion, Cecilus found no rest. His father's presence had tripled his workload, leaving him with only the night — and every night, he returned to the strange documents.
Page after page, the purple text bled secrets into his mind until finally, he reached the last one.
At the top, there was giant bolded text.
"The Final Preparations for Reincarnation."
"I have found the location. I might be the first human to accomplish this feat. The mythical world has been sought for decades. Creatures who escape there come to torment us, yet we have never reached it. However, today represents a new day for humanity as I have finally arrived.
Day 1:
Avoiding the giant dragons and massive abominations has been a tough task. However, I have yet to find the origin of soul manipulation. The floating islands that seem to defy physics have intrigued my curiosity; however, I need to quicken the acquisition of that creature.
Day 2:
I haven't found it, but there is a chance it can sense me. My soul is bound to many. One with this much power must be an idiot to think they wouldn't get noticed. Summons seems to have no luck with it as well.
Day 3:
Time is short; every day I waste is a chance of everything going to ruin. I will leave and continue the plan without the safety net if I can't find it in three more days.
Day 4:
One of my summons seems to have found it. It's sleeping at the peak of an inverted mountain. Getting there will be challenging with the distorting gravity. The mountain starts at the bottom of a giant sky island. There is a large void stretching endlessly below it; the force the void ejects appears to counteract the gravity. I will start the climb tomorrow.
Day 5:
I found it. The mythical creature who represents the soul. This type of creature must've entered the mainland as a testament to my own existence; however, I don't recall anything that looks like it in the kingdom's bestiary. So I have to be the one to name it.
The creature looks curious. Almost cute while sleeping. No more than three feet tall. White scaly skin. And two purple horns emerging from the head. I shall name it White Devil."
Cecilus stared at the final words. White Devil.
Reincarnation? The mythical world? His pulse quickened. So he entered the birthplace of creatures? This is impossible…
But there was no mention of the First King of Ascension. None of the supposed origins.
He groaned, running a hand through his hair. The one man I could've asked, Alastier, is dead. Of course.
Still — the ruins Ramon mentioned tugged at his curiosity. Maybe… after I leave this place, that'll be my next adventure. I don't see any other way to get answers.
He finally collapsed into bed, exhaustion overwhelming curiosity.
***
Morning came with orders from his mother.
He was to deliver donations to the nearby village — winter was approaching, and hunger followed close behind.
As Cecilus entered the square, he spotted Trey surrounded by a small crowd of children.
"Thank you, Trey! You helped so much rebuilding the houses!" one child chirped.
"I want to be a swordsman like you!" another said.
Trey smiled, ruffling the boy's hair. "Then remember — a true swordsman is not only strong, but kind. After a duel, we bow…" He demonstrated, lowering his head slightly. "…and then, we shake hands."
He extended his left hand, clasping each small one with an easy warmth.
Cecilus stopped in his tracks. His jaw tightened. He saw me. He's mocking me.
But there were more pressing matters. He turned away and made for the village elder's home, carrying a bag of gold.
When he knocked, the door creaked open to reveal an older man who smiled faintly — until he saw who stood there.
"Ah, Trey, you finally—oh… Cecilus. It's you."
"Here are the donations for the winter," Cecilus said curtly. "The harvest wasn't kind this year."
He dropped the bag onto the floor with a dull thud.
"Yes… thank you. Have you seen Trey, by chance?"
Cecilus's brow twitched. You're not even hiding your anticipation! Why is an old man like you fumbling around about Trey anyway?
"Saw him a while ago. Surrounded by children," he replied flatly.
"Ah, good lad," the man said with a sigh. "He makes us old folk and commoners feel seen. Always shaking our hands without contempt."
Cecilus froze. He's doing it on purpose. How has he gotten the entire village to band against me? Am I going insane?
As if sensing the fury behind his silence, the elder quickly scooped up the gold and shut the door.
Cecilus stood there in the cold street, staring blankly at the wood before him — unsure whether he wanted to laugh or scream.