"Even if all regrets pile up, redemption may never come. So why do we insist on it? Perhaps what saves us is not forgiveness, but the silent act of acting for who we are… and for those we love. For not even the densest pain is capable of blinding the love that still endures."
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The sun was already at its zenith when we entered the city of Sephira. I still hadn't grown used to that red sun. It was something entirely irrational to me… but, if magic exists, what could be so wrong with a red sun? Regardless, after Isabel paid the bribe to the guard in charge of entry control, we were finally allowed to cross the bridge.
The cart swayed from side to side. The wheels—which looked worn out by time—made an irritating racket that I had to endure throughout the entire journey. Well… not that I really had to endure it, since I spent most of the time sleeping. But in the moments I was awake, that noise managed to destroy any peace I tried to find.
And that wasn't all. The smell of manure coming from the two old horses pulling the cart was simply unbearable. The sound of hooves hitting the packed earth and stones brought a certain rhythmic comfort… but other than that, they stank more than anything. When I was still Conrad, I used to ride a few times—but those were purebred horses, extremely well-cared for. These here… well, I can't say the same.
Anyway, as soon as we passed the bridge and the gate, I realized we weren't entering through the main gate or even a secondary entrance. The area where we arrived was, once again, a slum. The streets were filthy, with water flowing from one side to the other, making the dirt road slippery. The worn wheels of the cart skidded as if they were made of soap.
And it wasn't just the filth. Children in tattered clothes, marked by poverty, ran through the middle of the street. At times, I saw some of them eating mud… or scraps of food found in the trash, or even food donated by someone who, perhaps, had a little more than they did. The stench of feces and urine dominated everything. It was the strongest, most present odor in the air.
— "[Mommy, what's that horrible smell?]" Emanuelle asked, covering her nose with her tiny hands. Well… I wasn't the only one feeling it, I thought as I looked at her, on the verge of vomiting while complaining to our mother. From the way she and our mother were dressed on the day I reincarnated, I am absolutely certain we didn't "come" from a poor family—or rather, a wretched commoner family like the ones living here.
I looked at the houses around us. They were all made of mud and wood. They were extremely similar to constructions from Earth's Middle Ages, I noted while observing. They followed no pattern; each was built irregularly, crooked, and misaligned. No engineering, no architecture. Then again, it wasn't something I could expect from this place…
We continued for approximately two kilometers into the city until we turned a corner. We kept going for another ten minutes until we finally stopped in front of an inn. Isabel and my mother gave a slight bow to the driver who brought us there, and then we entered the inn.
The rustic hall of the tavern was enveloped in a woody warmth, lit only by torches fastened to dark oak beams. The irregular stone floor absorbed footsteps and murmurs, while the scent of old wood, spices, and fermented beer mingled with the heavy air. Stacked barrels, hanging ropes, and open bags of supplies occupied the corners, giving the place an atmosphere of constant work and long nights.
Behind the counter, where green bottles lined up on worn shelves, a large, stout man served as the house receptionist. He had robust arms, a rounded face, and a thin beard, and his linen shirt seemed always on the verge of bursting at the shoulders. Despite his imposing appearance, his eyes conveyed a weary hospitality—the kind common in those who have seen too many outlaws, mercenaries, and drunks cross the same door.
At the side tables, scattered along the wooden wall, a few people settled in. Two hooded travelers talked quietly, leaning over their steaming mugs. Further on, a trio of villagers shared bread and some kind of stew, laughing softly between gulps of beer. The environment had life, but it was discreet—as if everyone there knew the tavern was a refuge, not a stage. The combination of deep shadows and warm light made the place both welcoming and mysterious, as if every corner held stories waiting to be told.
We walked toward the man serving as the inn's receptionist. Despite the evident exhaustion in his gaze, he was entirely attentive when attending to my mother and Isabel. — "[We are waiting for a man approximately five-foot-nine, with red hair and light blue eyes. Have you seen someone like that?]" Isabel asked, sliding two silver coins toward him. The attendant watched the coins intently, picked them up with his right hand, and pocketed them. — "[He was here until just a moment ago. About five minutes ago, he went up to a room on the second floor.]" He paused briefly, turned around, took an old key, and handed it to Isabel. "[Room twenty-three, to the right of the stairs.]"
Isabel and my mother nodded, and we began to climb the stairs. As we ascended, the creaking of the wood beneath our feet pierced my ears. Additionally, the smell of old yeast mixed with the scent of damp wood invaded my nose. Shortly after, I also began to smell mold—coming from the wall to the left of the stairs, where there was an evident leak that the owner had clearly decided to ignore.
But before we could reach the room, the shadow that enveloped me suddenly detached itself from me and slid to the floor below. The feeling that took hold of me was immediate: absence. A lack. An uncomfortable void, as if something essential had been torn away. I was no longer the same—and, at the same time, it felt as if I never had been. My body began to grow cold. A tremor ran through my tiny limbs. My mother must have noticed the sudden change, for she pressed me against her chest and covered me even more with the blanket I was wrapped in.
Even under all my tremors and the void I felt, we entered the room. As soon as we stepped inside using the key we got from the chubby receptionist, the smell of a closed-off room, mold, and old furniture invaded my nose. The room was, at most, about six square meters. Pushed against the wall where the wooden window was, there was a single bed with beige sheets, already showing some encrusted dirt marks. The pillow seemed to be made of straw, or perhaps some other simple material they used. To the right, there was a small desk of old wood, marked by drink stains. The chair, just by looking at it, seemed about to break depending on the weight of whoever dared to sit on it. On the desk, an iron candlestick with an unlit candle, likely used during the night.
The room was simple, clearly made for a few nights of sleep—a place where travelers rested only to recover strength from long journeys. It was also possible that poor merchants used that type of accommodation. When we entered, my mother stopped abruptly upon seeing the man sitting on the bed. Since he was sitting, I couldn't accurately estimate his height, but I believed he was somewhere around five-foot-nine. He wore a brown cloak that completely covered his body, leaving no room to imagine his physical build. The only visible parts were his hair and eyes.
His hair strongly reminded me of my mother's, and his eyes were also blue, though a shade lighter than hers. His face was that of a handsome man, appearing between twenty-seven and thirty years old. Before I could even begin to imagine who that man was, my mother handed me to Isabel, ran to him, and hugged him. — "[Claude!]" she uttered, crying. The man I didn't yet know returned the hug, squeezing her even tighter in his arms. Claude… so that's his name? I thought, looking at him. — "[Maria! How I missed you!!]" he exclaimed, wrapping his hands around my mother's back. His gaze carried an immense longing, as if he hadn't seen her in years… it even seemed like he had already lost hope of finding her again.
While the two were still hugging, satisfying the longing they clearly felt for one another, Isabel began to approach our mother. She carried me in her arms and, with her left hand, held my sister's tiny hands. We got close enough to notice that both were crying more and more. Isabel stopped a few steps behind our mother, and we stayed like that for almost a minute, until she and the man finally pulled away from the hug and turned to us.
After wiping her eyes and clearing her face, my mother took me back into her arms. Calling Emanuelle to her side, she introduced us to the man: — "[Claude, these are my children. Emanuelle, who is three… and Kaelion, who was born less than a week ago.]" Claude knelt down, running his hand through Emanuelle's hair with a small smile on his face. When he approached and touched her hair, she took a step back, looking at our mother for approval. But I noticed something else too… fear? What would make a three-year-old child have that kind of reaction? I wasn't the only one to notice. Claude, observing Emanuelle's attitude, also looked at my mother with a questioning expression. He didn't even need to speak—my mother, her voice still thick from the recent crying, said softly: — "[It's okay, honey. You don't need to worry,]" she said as she ran her hand through Emanuelle's hair. With a small nod and a timid relief appearing on her little face, Emanuelle moved closer to the man.
— "[She reminds me so much of you as a child, Maria,]" he said, standing up and looking at my mother. A nostalgic expression took over his face before he directed his eyes toward me. His gaze seemed to pierce through me, loaded with curiosity—as if he were seeing something strange, out of the ordinary. Then he looked away from me and asked my mother: — "[Why is he so pale, Maria? Haven't you been feeding him right?]" Shaking her head, my mother replied in a low voice, heavy with pain and apprehension: — "[It's a long story, Claude… but to summarize, Kaelion was born dead…]" she paused and looked at me before continuing. A small smile appeared on her lips. "[While we were fleeing, nearly twenty minutes after the birth, he opened his eyes in the middle of the alley, just when I was about to give up on everything.]" She paused again, now looking at me and Emanuelle. With a slightly firmer voice, she concluded: — "[But when he opened his eyes… and I looked at him and Manu, I couldn't give up. It was because of them that I managed to get here, Claude. I know I strayed a bit from your question… I just… I just needed to get this out of me!]" As she finished speaking, she began to cry again.
The room remained silent for a long time, broken only by our mother's crying. Emanuelle looked at her while crying as well. Isabel remained a step behind, as if on guard, but her gaze was fixed on the floor. Claude, for his part, placed his hand on my mother's shoulder, as if trying to convey the security she so desperately needed at that moment. He began to move closer, as if he were about to say something encouraging—or perhaps give her a hug—when suddenly, an agonizing pain shot through my entire body, and the metallic taste of blood returned to my mouth.
I began to cry and writhe in pain, which made my mother look at me with indescribable despair. Claude, who had been facing my mother, immediately averted his gaze to me. Isabel, who was behind, ran forward, her eyes wide. — "[What is happening to him, Maria?]" Even amidst the unbearable pain, I heard his question, but it was Isabel who answered: — "[We don't know, Lord Claude,]" she said. A light baby-blue glow began to emerge from her hand. When she pointed her hand at me, I felt a calm energy course through my body. I recognized that sensation… It was the same one I felt in the alley, when I started screaming in pain while the shadow fed on that soldier. The pain on that occasion was so excruciating that I could barely remember it, but now, feeling this energy again, the memory returned. Is this healing magic? But why isn't it taking effect?
It was then that screams began to echo from the floor below. — "[What the hell is going on here?!]" — "[What is this thing?! Why is your arm gone?!]" — "[Someone help me, please! Something is feeding on me!!]" The screams were so loud they echoed through the floorboards, as if something terrible were happening down there. Claude, who was beside my mother, turned and ran toward the door. My mother screamed, asking him not to go, fear blatant on her face. Claude stopped at the door, turning to her. — "[I have to see what's happening, Maria! I'll be right back, and soon we'll leave!]" he exclaimed, exiting the room.
Meanwhile, my body continued to hurt more and more. It felt as if my bones were breaking and rebuilding themselves with every pulse of pain that shot through my body. The pain was so great that I vomited blood. My mother's eyes filled with despair, fear, and distress. She didn't understand what was happening—and neither did I. The only thing I could understand was that it was linked to the shadow that coiled around me. Looking at me, my mother began to cry as she cleaned the vomit of blood I had just expelled. Observing her face, I could see how much she loved that baby. Even if I wasn't her true son, she loved me deeply.
I didn't want to bring sadness to her. I didn't want to see her suffer. Perhaps I couldn't bring her happiness—because of hands stained with blood, contempt, regret, and prejudice—but I didn't want her to suffer because of me. Looking at her, even with the pain consuming me, I forced myself to stop screaming. I stared directly into her eyes, which sought some kind of answer, which seemed to pray to the gods for me to be okay, and then I forced a smile. Forced. Not real at all. But still, I made it look real. Seeing me stop crying, her expression seemed to soften. I knew, however, that behind it, there was still worry.
I can't say how much time passed—minutes or hours—but soon the commotion downstairs ceased, and "my" shadow returned to me. The pain began to subside. My body felt lighter. I turned to my mother once more, and my eyes began to close. My eyelids were heavy, as if they had pounds of sand upon them. Flashing one last smile at her, I fell asleep. It was then that I opened my eyes… and found myself in an ethereal field.