Either they're crazy for not being stricter with someone they see as a threat… or that gold-haired guy is just absurdly trustworthy. Either way, clearing my name would take effort they clearly don't expect—or even want. So if they'd rather misunderstand me, fine. I'm not wasting energy correcting what they've already chosen to ignore. Andreas sighed.
When Andreas stepped outside the building, the mist clung to his hair and uniform like a damp veil. The walk back to the hospital was less than ten minutes, but he had no intention of going.
From here to home is about an hour-long ride by carriage, he thought. But if I run, I won't even need twenty minutes.
As he stretched his limbs, his complexion grew lighter and lighter.
Feeling more tired than before his little exercise, he ran.
He turned down the narrower side streets, past gaslamps glowing dull amber in the fog. His boots left a cracked trail on the cobbles. When he finally reached the narrow brick row house, he slipped his key from his pocket and let himself in without ceremony.
The air inside was cold. He moved through the little sitting room and struck a match to light the nearest sconce. The flame wavered against the rose damask wallpaper and the wooden trim that reminded him, faintly, of coffin lids.
He took out some leftover food from the fridge, sat on the old couch, and ate.
---
Nearly an hour later, he heard the latch turn. The door swung open, and the voices of his family floated in with the damp evening air.
"…I know, Mother, but his younger look isn't something we should just ignore," Julian's voice sounded as petulant as ever.
His voice trailed off the moment he stepped into the sitting room.
Their mother followed a heartbeat later, her shawl bundled tight around her arms, her boots damp from the fog.
Then Clara stepped in—and all three of them stopped.
The plate on the table was scraped clean, and the cutlery neatly stacked. Beside it, Andreas lay flat on the old couch, one arm draped over his chest, boots still on, breathing slow and deep.
"He's… here?" Julian blinked.
Clara frowned. "How did he get here before us?"
Their mother stepped forward, setting her things aside with care. She knelt by the couch and gently brushed a bit of dried food from his chin.
"We'll ask him later," she murmured. "He looks exhausted. Just let him rest."
"Okay, Mother," Clara added, eyeing the sweat-damp edge of his collar.
"Seriously, he's getting weirder by the second," Julian muttered, crossing his arms.
Clara shot him a look. "He looks like he hasn't eaten in days. Let him have the bread, Jules."
Their mother stood again with a soft sigh. "He shouldn't be lying here like this. Help me prepare something warm for when he wakes."
---
By the time Andreas stirred, the scent of rosemary broth and baking root vegetables had filled the apartment. He blinked awake, disoriented by the softness of the couch, the flickering light from the sconces, and the clatter of utensils in the kitchen.
His mother noticed first.
"Up already?" she asked gently, peeking around the corner with a ladle still in her hand.
He rubbed at his eyes. "Smells good."
"Ah, still a glutton, I see," Julian grumbled from the table.
Clara set another bowl down.
Andreas sat up slowly, joints aching. "Didn't mean to fall asleep."
"Don't worry about it. I'm sure you were very tired," his mother said.
"Thanks for letting me stay," he muttered, brushing crumbs off his shirt.
"You live here," Clara replied, amused.
"Ehh…" Andreas exhaled and sat at the table. He glanced at the steaming bowl—thick stew with lamb, potatoes, and strips of carrots.
Julian squinted at him. "I guess he's sleepwalking now."
"Andreas!"
A moment of silence.
Andreas blinked. "...What?"
"Tell me—how did you get here before us? Didn't you have a meeting? We left first."
Julian's mouth fell open. "But here you are."
"I ran," Andreas said dryly.
"That answers nothing. And obviously, you're lying. You've never been that fast," Clara said carefully.
"That's because I've been hiding my true power," he admitted. "It's okay if you don't get it."
Technically, I'm not lying, he thought. Me and this world's Andreas are super quiet by nature—it's horrifying how similar we are. But thanks to that, we've developed a bit of mystery around ourselves. So they'll believe me... sometimes.
Their mother set her spoon down. "Well, you've always been an oddball. I'm relieved you're still the same."
"...Hmm." Andreas tried to speak, but was too lazy to start the first word.
Julian leaned back in his chair. "True enough, my brother is odd. But this time it's not so simple."
"Hmm… yes. Magic… I have benefited from one of the many wonders of magic, dear brother of mine."
Julian raised a brow. "Since when do you talk like a wizard?"
Andreas didn't reply. He just kept eating, slowly, like the food grounded him more than conversation ever could.
---
A few minutes passed in near silence—the gentle scrape of spoons, the muted hiss of the stove. Andreas felt the heaviness in his limbs start to ease, though a dull ache still throbbed behind his eyes.
Eventually, he set his spoon down with a soft clink and exhaled.
"...I should've told you sooner," he murmured, voice clearer now, though still low. "I... got promoted."
Clara's brows lifted. "Promotion?"
Julian squinted. "Wait, that wasn't just a routine debrief?"
Andreas rubbed his thumb along the side of the bowl, eyes dropping to the table. "…"
The silence that followed was heavier than before.
Their mother spoke first, her tone cautious. "Promoted to... what, exactly?"
He looked up finally, his face pale but not quite so drained. "I've been made a Golden Knight."
Julian nearly choked on his broth. "What?"
Clara's eyes widened. "You're serious!"
Andreas nodded, shoulders rising a little defensively. "They said it was in recognition of my talent. But…" He trailed off, searching for the right words. "They have other reasons."
"So…" Julian echoed, incredulous. "You mean... you're Awakened?"
Their mother set her hand gently on Andreas's wrist. "Is it true?"
He swallowed. His voice was almost a whisper. "No… it doesn't seem so."
Clara sounded more awed than accusing. "Then... what about a wage increase?"
Andreas nodded. "Obviously, they gave me one."
Julian leaned forward, studying him with a mix of suspicion and wonder. "My brother is one of the Golden Knights. Huh. Truly the Golden King has blessed us."
Andreas looked down, flexing his pale fingers against the table. "Since when were you a believer of the Golden King?"
Their mother glanced at Clara, then back at him. "Come on, Andreas—you shouldn't judge other people's religion. Especially your siblings."
He hesitated, then let out a slow breath. "...Yes. I won't."
Huh... why do I feel so tired? I just woke up. Was I always this lazy?
His mother's face softened, though worry still creased her brow. "Andreas." She reached over, resting her hand fully on his now. "If you ever become Awakened... please don't change."
Change...? What does that even mean?
"...Yes. I'll make sure of it," he said quietly, managing a small, tired smile.
Julian blew out a long breath and sat back. "Well. A Golden Knight." He shook his head, incredulous. "Mother, this means our idiot brother outranks half the military now."
Clara's mouth twitched. "This calls for a celebration."
Andreas let out a hoarse laugh. It sounded rusty, but real. "Right. We should celebrate."
His mother gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "Great idea. I should invite my friends to join us."
"No, please wait a few days. I need time to heal up and rest..." Andreas murmured, though something in his expression eased at last.
And for a little while, as the last of the stew was shared, the room felt almost peaceful.
---
The conversation faded to small, satisfied murmurs. Andreas eased back in his chair. Clara was already clearing the bowls, and their mother wiped down the table with a soft cloth.
"Go rest," she said without looking at him. "You've done enough for one day."
Andreas stood with a soft grunt, half-lifting a hand. "You sure you don't want help with the—"
"Nope," Clara cut in. "You looked like a corpse an hour ago. Don't push it."
He managed a crooked smile and gave a small nod of thanks, then turned away, his boots soft against the worn wooden floor as he moved down the hall.
---
In the dim light of the back bedroom, Julian was already sprawled on one of the twin beds, one leg hanging off the side, snoring softly. Andreas glanced at him with mild amusement.
He lay back on the other bed and stared at the cracked ceiling, the familiar pattern of peeling paint and hairline fractures like constellations above him. The quiet hummed around him.
Another world, huh? He thought. Feels so different than what I see in shows… And is it okay for me to play pretend like this...? No—I shouldn't think too deeply about that. For now, let's accept this beautiful sense of purpose. Heh.
He rolled onto his side, eyes half-lidded. The hallway light faded as someone gently pulled the door nearly shut. Warmth settled in, and for the first time in what felt like weeks, Andreas let himself relax.
I should read those books tomorrow. They might mark the start of my path to magic.
He glanced again at Julian's shape in the dark—his brother's rising and falling chest, the twitch of a hand in half-dream. They used to share this room as boys, and back then, the quiet had felt like safety.
He felt a deep love and respect—and frowned, as an uncomfortable sense of those emotions began to dull.
"This is my chance. I can at least try to live a life I'm proud of."
Then came the sound: a faint, muffled scream and the shattering of glass.
Andreas sat up immediately, heartbeat thudding in his ears. Moonlight bled in through the cracked curtain, catching the glint of dust in the air.
He heard his mother's voice—muffled. Then Clara's startled gasp from the main bedroom.
Julian stirred on the other bed, waking in an instant.
Andreas was already on his feet, heart racing now with fear.
Someone's inside.