Year K404 of the Armoured Dragon King Calendar
Over a year had passed since my death and subsequent rebirth.
Now, that might sound like a substantial amount of time under normal circumstances, but I want you to take a moment to really think about how slowly time passes when you spend each and every day for months on end lying face-up in a crib.
I'd lived the same day over and over again.
Waking up to the same shot of the master bedroom's undecorated cream ceiling, receiving a morning visit from my parents, which, to my dismay, also included an early feeding. Then, as my father broke off from the family unit, my mother would take me on a walk throughout the house where we'd greet each maid that crossed our path, and I'd inevitably have my cheeks pinched at least once.
Our mother and son pair would move from room to room, setting up camp wherever we desired, whether it'd be the lounge, courtyard, library, or back in my home turf of the master bedroom. We'd sit ourselves down and occupy our time in whichever way we pleased, not that I had the chance to give much input on how that was.
At some point, this childish body would betray the adult mind contained within, allowing for 'my floodgates to open' if you catch my drift. Thankfully, my ever-present companion had a sixth sense for these things, often returning to my side mere seconds after the damage was done. Freeing me from my humiliation at record speed.
All without having to cry like the baby I was.
Truly, I owed her a debt of gratitude for her diligence in serving me.
Having evacuated my bowels and equipped a fresh change of poofy cloth undergarments, I'd start to grow drowsy; this body's energy reserves where short lived. Unable to hold a candle to my previous one, that could pull an all-nighter with limited support that came in the form of two sugar-filled energy drinks.
I'd rise from my slumber later in the day, at a time completely out of my control. Sometimes, I'd wake on my own; others, the maids or my mother would have to come get me. Then, we'd once again wander the halls, greeting maids, even those who'd seen me earlier that morning, who wanted a chance to chat it up with us.
From there, the cycle of finding a place to settle down would repeat itself, and we'd often make it through three to five full cycles in a single day, depending on my variable naptimes.
Although being the talk of the town and having an attractive young lady along with a cavalcade of maids to wait on me hand and foot was doing wonders for my ego, I'd quickly grown tired of the monotony and daily embrassements that came with the baby lifestyle.
If I were going to make it through my next life without having a psychotic break and becoming entirely dependent on my new mother, changes would have to be made.
It was most likely the human ingenuity and willpower, inherited from my adult mind, that allowed me to surpass the limits of the average baby and begin developing fine motor control and a deeper understanding of languages.
The latter was especially welcome, given that I'd been hearing people gush over me in gibberish since I arrived here. It'd really taken for granted just how much comfort came from the assumption that you'd be able to understand most of the people you'd meet.
With finer motor control established, I'd been able to work toward three exceptionally important goals that'd help me break the infinite cycle of monotony that I'd found myself trapped within.
Objective #1: Bowel Control - Or, in layman's terms. Potty training. Would be a firm step toward independence from my mother; she'd no longer need to appear out of thin air to change me. It'd also finally free me from one of the greatest embarrassments that came packaged with waking up as a baby.
Objective #2: Walking - It'd give me the chance to finally explore the absurdly big house we lived in, and would give me the freedom to avoid the horde of maids that have made my cheeks there favourite stress toy.
Objective #3: Talking - Potentially the most important of the three, as it'll help me to establish myself as a person with thoughts and feelings rather than something to be coddled. Being able to express myself and ask questions would also help me learn more about where exactly I am.
Having set myself some short-term objectives, I began working toward them day-by-day, focusing intently on what it was I wanted to achieve. Through a thorough demonstration of mind over matter, my body was forced to adapt, gaining the skills I desired in record time, so that this vessel could better handle the machinations of an adult mind.
The water's surface shifted and swayed as I sat in the wooden basin that acted as a bathtub, calming soon after I'd settled down. Part of me had come to miss the little things of my previous life, for example, the porcelain white bathtubs that filled Japanese houses were nowhere to be found here.
Sure, this tub theoretically did the same thing, but there was something about the ceramic material that felt cleaner, more sterile. Besides, the water in this bath could only reach up to my waist, leaving my upper body to fend for itself, unprotected from the cold winter air.
How was any self-respecting modern man supposed to enjoy himself like that? Better yet. How was an adult supposed to clean themselves? Surely, I'll have outgrown such a primative method of bathing by the time this body has matured. Or will I have to settle for only my feet being submerged in the water?
Still, at least I could take solace in the fact that this house had a toilet; in fact, it had multiple, all complete with indoor plumbing, something that, from what I'd gathered, was a rarity here.
I could thank whatever God, Goddess, or angel that oversaw my reincarnation for providing me with the closest thing to a modern toilet. Oh, and for making sure that I came back as a boy. Can't imagine how awkward life would have been if I'd woken up as a young lady.
Speaking of the young man I'd become. It only took a glance down at the water's reflective surface to see that I'd inherited my mother's good looks. Shaggy red hair sitting atop my head, borrowing traits from both respective parents; it worked in tandem with my chubby yet well-defined cheeks to frame my face.
There was no denying that I was adorable, and hopefully, I'll be quite the looker once I've matured.
Though I did have one grievance with my appearance. My eyes. They were thin, sharp, and slanted; they looked shifty, almost menacing at times. Aided by the short, pointed eyebrows that hung above them. As my fiery red irises darted around, it gave off the impression that I was planning something uncooth.
My mother's eyes were sharp, yet they were comparatively rounder and more loving; they'd evaded me, leaving me to inherit my father's instead.
It wasn't ideal, but given everything that I'd been blessed with in this new life, I suppose it's only fair that one or two things didn't go too well. It's not like a person's eyes are that important anyway; they're only one of the most expressive parts of the body, acting as almost a window into a person's soul.
My continued disappointment with my eyes was then interrupted by a knock at the door.
"Lord Perseus!" A high-pitched feminine voice called out from the other side, speaking in the more common of the two languages I'd heard during my time here, which I'd learned was called the Human Tongue.
The doorknob turned, and a young woman walked in, her fluffy neck-length blonde hair and matching upward-pointing rabbit ears bobbed as she walked. She was dressed in the same maid uniform that the rest of the house staff wore, the tightly pulled white apron extenuating her thin waist, and her chest, which was on the more moderate side of the Beast People I'd seen.
"I've returned with your change of clothes," the girl announced somewhat unnecessarily, as she carried the aforementioned items of clothing and a fuzzy white towel in her hands. Her eyes then land on me, still sitting amidst the water, "Didn't I tell you to get out already? You'll catch a cold, you know," she said matter-of-factly.
She wasn't wrong. The water, which at one point had been warmed on the stovetop, had long since dropped below being even lukewarm. Still, the idea of standing naked in the open air with nothing to protect me from the elements didn't sit right with me. So, I'd elected to hunker down and ignore the maid's instructions.
The maid in question is Samara Rumigrandia. She's one of the many Beast Women who are employed here. Given that she was hired not long before my birth, the girl had been assigned as my handmaid. In other words, she's my personal assistant. Charged with looking after me on a day-to-day basis.
My apology came in the form of a sigh, "Sorry, Samara," as I stood up out of the water, revealing to her the full splendour of my naked form. Regardless of the shape and size of my body, it was still embarrassing to show myself off to an older girl, though it wasn't like I had much of a choice, as things are.
"It's not me you have to apologise to," she shrugged, marching past the bath and placing the pile of cloths on a nearby chair. "It's Lady Hilda who'll panic if you come down with something," the girl continued, referring to my mother. "Here," she pulled the towel from atop the pile, holding it out behind her.
Having exited the bath, I gladly accepted her offering, "Thank you."
"You're welcome," Samara responded without looking back. She then leaned forward, rifling through the pile to find the first article of clothing she planned to adorn me with, giving me an unobstructed view of her rear end.
No matter how hard I tried to avoid it, my eyes wandered, narrowing as they focused on the white cotton-ball-like tail that stuck out of Samara's uniform. Against my better judgment, I watched as it bobbed up and down with each movement. Every so often, when it twitched, I felt something, a primal urge bubbling up from within me.
During my time here, I'd learned that my new family, at least on my father's side, had a particular preference for women of the Beast Race. Some might call it a fetish, but personally, I wasn't one to judge so harshly.
This was the reason that ninety-nine percent of the maids, cooks, and waitstaff were women with animalistic features. It was so that my father, despite having a wife who would have been considered a bombshell back in my past life, got to sneak glances at them while he was working.
"Right, I think we're ready," Samara announced, turning around with her hands hooked inside of a pair of cloth underwear with the intention of helping me into them. Unfortunately, she seems to notice my lingering gaze, tilting her head, she innocently asked, "Is something wrong?"
I'd been caught. The jig was up, and under the pressure, I almost cracked, leaving me barely able to stutter, "N-no!" As I felt the heat that'd been forming in my stomach escape into my cheeks.
Thankfully, Samara didn't ask any further questions.
Now then. I think it's important that we give some context on the family that I was born into.
As I've alluded to up to now. They're filthy stinking rich. Capable of affording a large mansion in the centre of the region's largest city, and hiring a small army of Beast Race maids to deal with its upkeep.
In classic medieval fantasy fashion. Their nobles. Meaning that our wealth comes from the state, taken out of taxes paid by everyday citizens, and used to fund our extravagant lifestyle in exchange for my father's help in managing a part of its territory.
From what I've been able to gather so far, the state in question is a kingdom.
My father's name is Philip Boreas Greyrat; he's currently acting as the mayor of Roa, the city in which we live. It's the largest in the region and seems to have a wealth of history attached to it. Given that, I can only imagine that acting as its governor is a prestigious and sought-after position, yet they entrusted it to someone as shady as him.
Hilda Boreas Greyrat is my mother and somehow, Philip's wife. Objectively speaking, she's an extremely attractive woman, though I lost the ability to think of her that way a little under a month into this new life.
She's also an incredibly doting mother. One who, back when I was helpless, would spend as much of her time as possible coddling me, when she could have passed the job off to a maid. In fact, when it came to parenting, she seemed to ignore the nobility's usual way of doing things at every possible turn if it meant spending more time with me.
For example, I was under the impression that nobility didn't breastfeed their children, instead choosing to hire a wet-nurse so that they could regain their fertility faster than they would otherwise.
Hilda. Did not do this.
And that is all I'm willing to share on the matter.
The name given to me by my parents in this life is Perseus Boreas Greyrat.
And what a name it is.
I might not have been much of a Greek Mythology buff in my previous life, but I knew enough thanks to the sheer amount of media I'd consumed that used it as a source of inspiration.
Perseus, the demigod and hero who beheaded Medusa, was certainly present in my font of knowledge. I couldn't be sure if naming me after that legendary figure was intentional, after all, Greek Mythology might not even exist here, but the rush of confidence I felt when someone referred to me by my new moniker was undeniable.
Clearly, my new name dwarfed the all too common one I'd had in the past.
Even my family name was painfully ordinary, causing me to fade into the crowd when it came time to submit applications to jobs or universities. Conversely, Boreas Greyrat was a name that carried a lot of weight.
Supposedly, at least among Humans, having a second name was pretty uncommon, reserved for families of some importance, such as lesser nobles. Those with a middle name, though, ranked even above them.
Meaning that even among nobles, we're considered the cream of the crop.
Still, though, it wasn't as if we were at the top of the pecking order. Of course, there was the aforementioned king, presumed ruler of the kingdom in which we lived, but looking closer to home, there was also the fact that Philip wasn't the head of the Boreas Greyrat family.
No, instead that illustrious title belonged to-
"Where is my grandson!" A deep male voice yelled into the depths of the mansion without care, all while a foot connected with the two large double doors that served as our home's entrance, forcing them to part.
Walking in with the aid of a wooden cane was a tall, muscular man with a thin moustache, that you'd expect a villain to twist between his fingers. His hair was slicked back, the vast majority of which was dark-brown in color accompanied by streaks of white, a sign of his being older in age. As with all my family, he's well-dressed in soft, high-quality fabrics that must have cost a small fortune.
Having waited more than a few seconds since his arrival without receiving a response, the man grows impatient. "Bring him to me!" He yells, somehow dwarfing the volume of his previous outburst as it fills the empty air with startling efficiency.
Some would have sworn that the raw power of the man's howls could shake the mansion itself.
Worried about the potential consequences of keeping the man waiting any longer, we picked up the pace. Now, out of the bath and dressed in an uncomfortably tight pastel blue pantsuit, I turned the corner with a smile on my face and arms open as I ran toward the visitor.
"Grandfather!" I exclaimed, Samara, trailing behind me.
Seeing my approach, the man's lips curved into a Cheshire grin, "There's my boy," he joyfully declared, allowing the cane he carried for the sake of appearances to drop to the floor. He knelt and opened his arms, allowing me to run headfirst into the brick wall that was his chest. "Ah-ha! Looks like you've been missing your poor old grandfather," his strong arms wrapped around me, "It does my old soul some good to see you so eager to spend time with me." He laughed heartily, lifting me upward as he stood, resting me atop his shoulders.
This man was Sarous Boreas Greyrat. My grandfather, Philip's father, and he's the current head of the Boreas Greyrat family, as well as the current lord and ruler of the Fittoa Region.
He was a very eccentric individual, and though you may feel you're watching a tender family moment in which a young boy is reunited with his beloved grandfather. The fact is that I actually didn't like him very much.
Our personalities simply weren't compatible. I liked to think of myself as calm and logical, someone who enjoyed spending time on my lonesome, curled up with a good book, given that my other preferred methods of entertainment didn't exist.
Sauros, on the other hand, was a social creature and one with a short fuse. He was brash, boisterous, and quick to anger. Someone who sternly spoke their mind regardless of how it might affect others.
Despite our differences. I'd still play the part of the adoring grandson when needed. If only to keep the peace and allow him to indulge himself with his family.
He was, after all, my only grandparent. His wife, my grandmother, had seemingly passed some time ago, and I'd never even seen Hilda's parents. I wasn't privy to the entirety of the situation, but the gossip among the maids was that Hilda's family had set her up for an arranged marriage with a nobleman with better prospects than Philip.
After she refused and married the latter, regardless of her parents' wishes, they and any other family members she might have had cut her off entirely.
To think, she turned down a supposedly better man for the sake of marrying Philip of all people. Was she deeply in love with him, or was her other potential husband just that shitty of a guy?
Either way, it was that decision that led to my Boreas Greyrat blood, my relation to Sauros and potentially my reincarnation as a whole, depending on its underlying mechanics. Who's to say I would have even been born if Hilda had a child with someone else?
Maybe I needed to be a little more grateful to Philip after all.
With me now hoisted into the air, the only person left at Sauros' eye-level was Samara. He wasted no time in striking up a conversation. "You seem to be keeping well," he commented, innocuously.
Samara, a master of etiquette, bowed her head to the patriarch, "As do you, Lord Sauros."
This seemingly innocent conversation swiftly took a turn for the worse as Sauros reached around the girl, grabbing at her shoulder and pulling her into his chest.
Shocked, a stifled moan escaped from between her lips as blush tinted her cheeks. The faint red coating grew brighter and more prominent as Sauros' hand wandered downward, grabbing at her backside.
"Keeping well indeed," the older man repeated excitedly as his grip tightened, "You're getting firmer back there by the day," he whispered into the girl's juttering skybound ears, just loud enough for me to hear.
Once again, the quirk of the tainted bloodline I'd been born into reared its ugly head. Except that Sauros had shown a distinct and unique lack of self-control, unable to contain himself when his 'condition' flared up. Philip was at least decent enough to keep his perverse tendencies limited to just looking, out of consideration for both his wife and social status.
Unfortunately, neither of those factors existed to keep Sauros in check. As mentioned previously, his wife had already passed, and while he did hold a high-ranking position, the man was looking to retire and no longer had a reason to even pretend to care about what other people thought.
This had led to him having an obscene number of sexual encounters with the house's staff, a few rumours even suggested he'd started a full-blown relationship with a few of them.
Samara, as a new hire and someone who'd been spending an increasing amount of time with the family's new baby, was one of the few souls he'd yet to desecrate. Which he seemed eager to correct.
Now, you might think this a little too new-fashioned for this place. Bringing my modernised morals and sensibilities into somewhere that'd barely acknowledge their existence, let alone their merit, but if my memory serves me correctly, Samara was sixteen.
Sauros was pushing fifty.
As such, any kind of physical relationship between the two was something I could not allow on principle alone. Regardless of whether this world already considered Samara an adult.
I had to put a stop to this.
"Grandfather?" Reaching down, I grabbed at one side of the old man's moustache, yanking on it to ensure that I could pull his attention from the bunny girl he was holding in his arms.
"Yes, Percy?" He grunts in pain while referring to me by my familial nickname. Thankfully, he was too entranced with the young bunny girl he was whooing to fly entirely off the handle like he usually would, so instead he dutifully listened to his grandson.
"You can't play with Samara right now. Your too busy playing with me," I insisted, my tone carefully mixing childlike glee and a stern scolding. "Besides, Samara is 'my' handmaid, so shouldn't you be asking my permission before you go running off with her?" My question was aided by asserting ownership of Samara, not something I wanted to do, given that she was her own person, but needs must.
Sauros hesitated, grunting to himself for a moment. I thought he was going to try to double down, but instead, he released Samara, allowing her to step back. A smug grin painted across his face. The man tilted his head up and said, "Hah!"
He laughed. It started as a sort of snicker, but quickly evolved into a long, drawn-out, hearty laughing fit, only petering out so that he could cheer, "Barely a year old and you're already laying claim to a maid! You're a Boreas through and through!" While pumping his arms into the air.
So, that's how he'd taken it. That wasn't what I was going for, but if it worked, I felt no need to complain. As long as he's happy and Samara remains undefiled, I can consider my work here done.
"I do hope you're not filling Percy's head with impure thoughts," Hilda called out. Dressed in her everyday red gown, she elegantly waltzed forward, a group of maids following behind. "It's an honour to see you again, Lord Sauros. We're humbled whenever you take time out of your busy schedule to visit us."
"Think nothing of it," the man handwaved his daughter-in-law's gratitude, "I'm more than happy to drop in and see my grandson, and pay my respects to the woman whose working so hard to raise him," his genuine compliment of Hilda's parenting came as a surprise, along with a complete omission of Philip's efforts as a father figure.
He then moved to address the gaggle of maids that had entered with Hilda, "And of course, it's always a pleasure to see you girls," he grinned.
Much to my chagrin, the women squealed, huddling together as they began to chat amongst themselves. A bright red blush painted each of their cheeks; their eyes darted to the man, yet they were unable to hold their gaze for long before being overcome with embarrassment.
Though it was a fact that he was scum. It was also a fact that among the maids, he was something of a ladies' man.
Sleeping with him had become both a great honour and a rite of passage for those looking to serve the household.
It made me throw up a little in my mouth.
"Ah. Hello, Father!" Philip's voice cut through the air, causing the sea of beast maids to part down the middle, allowing their lord to walk right through. "I'm glad to see you're in good health. How was your journey from the capit-"
While Philip talked at his father rather than to him, Sauros grunted, gritting his teeth and balling one hand into a fist, using the other to grab me by the shirt collar, gently lifting me downward and dropping me onto the floor in one piece.
Then, the minute I was no longer in the way, Sauros rocketed forward, yelling, "Philip, you ungrateful bastard!" Before throwing a full-force punch directly at his son's cheek. It'd connect with little resistance, sending the diplomat soaring into the air, where he'd barrel roll a record-breaking ten times before slamming into the wall on the other side of the room. "Leaving your son, wife and maids to greet your guests, have you no shame? Can you not even spare a moment of your time to come and see your father?"
This was another one of Sauros's negative attributes. A tendency to resort to violence, which, when coupled with his temper, was a deadly combo.
At only a year old, the man had already threatened me multiple times with corporal punishments, well-hated mascot, a bare-bottom spanking. Which I'd narrowly avoided at every turn thanks to a combination of quick wit and hiding behind Hilda when things got really dicey.
Used to this turn of events, Philip powered through the pain, sitting up against the wall and brushing the accumulated dust off his expensive suit. "I apologise, Father, but your visit was somewhat sudden. We only heard about your oncoming carriage an hour ago," he reasoned.
"Sudden?" The man grumbled in disbelief. "Sudden!" He repeated louder, "You're the one who called me here, you dolt!" Sauros yelled as he began marching through the still partitioned maids.
"Yes, of course," Philip nodded, not flinching in the face of another beating, "But I was under the impression that you'd be tied up with urgent business back in Ars."
Sauros spat in the face of such an excuse. "That business wasn't urgent. Just rubbish about imposing more restrictions on the merchants entering Fittoa, of course, I'd push it off on someone else to come spend time with my son and his family."
Is it just me, or does that sound pretty important?
"No matter," the older man groans, relenting and cancelling his planned assault of Philip, instead reaching for Philip's coat collar, handling it with much less care than when he'd been manipulating me. "Let's just get this consultation over with, so that I can get back to spending time with my grandson," the man grunted, dragging his son behind him as he marched toward the study.
Philip didn't resist, only nodding, "Of course," as he ragdolled, allowing himself to be carried off.
Hilda and I then watched in mild disappointment as her husband and my father is uncerimoniously dragged away. The maids, except for Samara, followed the two, intent on 'attending' to their lords.
The three of us stood in a stunned silence, only to be interrupted by Hilda clearing her throat.
"Err…Well, then, why don't I keep you occupied until your grandfather is done? I think I've found another book you'll enjoy. I'd be happy to read it to you." Despite her nonchalant attitude, the woman's bright red eyes practically sparkled as she extended her offer to spend time together.
"Yes, please," I responded eagerly, always willing to stick my nose in a good book and equally ready to push whatever just happened out of my mind.
Samara pitched in to the near-perfect arrangement, suggesting, "Why don't I make you two some tea?"
To which Hilda happily nodded, "Please do."
Reading had become something of a sacred activity to the two of us. Mother-son bonding at its finest.
At least once a week, due both to Hilda's insistence and my continued interest, the two of us find ourselves picking a book out of the expansive shelves of the estate's library and sitting together as we read it.
And given that I'm still only a toddler, when I say sitting together, I mean I'm sitting on Hilda's lap, and 'reading it' is code for the woman reading to me while I try to use pattern recognition to match written characters to letters, and groups of letters to words. Though there were also the odd pictures scattered amongst the pages that helped set the scene.
All in all, it'd become quite a cathartic experience, allowing the two of us a safe space to destress from the pressures of being a noble lady and a misunderstood baby, respectively.
It might not have been the most comfortable at first, after all, it was embarrassing for an adult man to be sat in a woman's lap, especially when leaning back meant making contact with the two boulders that hung from her chest, but I'd soon pushed past that mental block so that I could just enjoy my free time.
Today's tale, which had been specially selected by Hilda, was a storybook that supposedly chronicled the tale of Perugius Dola. The Armoured Dragon King, a man of tremendous power who fought alongside the Seven Great Heroes in order to defeat and subsequently seal away the Demon God Laplace.
As someone foreign to this place, it was hard to tell if any of this had really happened in the past. Was it a one-to-one retelling, based on real events, or was it the equivalent of a fairy tale or piece of mythology? There was really no way to tell as I sat there in the moment, especially when my life experience from modern-day Japan skewed my views further.
Sure, a race of humanoid people descended from dragons that had been almost entirely wiped out sounded somewhat cliché and unlikely to exist, but then again, this was a place where Beast Women existed. The Seven Great Heroes and Demon God Laplace were also somewhat dubious titles, and I'd been unable to verify if the magic that these books talked about was real, either. Surely it was all fantasy nonsense, but then again, this entire place was filled with such things, and even the books that mentioned it offhandedly went into detail describing the process and likening them to real life principals.
I'd bitten the bullet and just asked, but the answer I'd gotten only made me more uncertain. Hilda had said, "Why, of course it's real." Which should have been definitive, but she said it in such a way that she could have just been humouring a child, protecting me from having to lose my innocence and face the real world too soon.
Even with the questions of the story's legitimacy lingering in the back of my mind, I was still more than capable of sitting back and enjoying the book. It had everything: a tight, intriguing narrative, well-written and portrayed characters, action that had you sitting on the edge of your seat, and even a light romantic sub-plot between two of the side characters.
All of this was heightened by Hilda's reading, as she put a surprising amount of effort to act out the book rather than just recounting it. Speaking fluidly without breaks as she read long passages, changing her tone as the narration became more serious and even giving the important characters' voices.
She'd have made a hell of a theatre kid back in my past life.
Honestly, I was a little worried about how attached I'd become to Hilda in such a short amount of time. Not that it was bad for a boy to love and care for his mother, and as I said before, I'd long lost the ability to see her as a woman, so it wasn't as if any inappropriate or illegal feelings would be bubbling up anytime soon. It was just that spending time with the queen of doting mothers seemed to be turning me into something of a momma's boy.
Which wasn't necessarily bad, just another thing to add to the list of 'embarrassing things that came with being a reincarnated baby'.
"And so, with Laplace sealed away, Perugius secluded himself inside Chaos Breaker along with his twelve servants so that he could watch the world from on high, waiting for the day the Demon God would return. The end." Hilda read aloud dutifully before closing the book and placing it alongside the cups and teapot, which had been empty for some time.
"Mother?" I asked, tilting my head upward, half of my line of sight blocked by the woman's chest.
"Yes, dear?" She responded, her bright red lips curled into a smile.
"Does Chaos Breaker really exist?" The idea of a floating castle truly was fantastical, and not entirely impossible upon the assumption that magic was real. However, its name left something to be desired and threw the entire concept into doubt. Didn't it sound a bit too edgy?
It sounded like something I'd have come up with back in middle school, when I was still a chuunibyou deep in thralls of delusions of grandeur, making up stories about finding the legendary sword Excalibur and proving myself worthy of being Japan's king.
Hilda answered without a moment of hesitation, "Why, of course it's real," she revealed, continuing, "In fact, it passes above the city every decade or so. I think the last time was…" She paused, bringing a finger to her chin as she hummed to herself, "Two years ago, actually, it might have been a few days after your father and I-Nevermind."
The woman brought the conversation to a swift end, an unusual blush appearing across her cheeks as she looked away. I had half a mind to keep digging, feigning innocence while asking, 'What were you and father doing?' But something was warning me that doing so would lead to me hearing the story of my conception, which was something I'd much rather avoid.
"Then do you think Perugius still lives up there?" I asked my pre-preapred follow up question to move the conversation along.
Hilda recovered from her embarrassment quickly, giving my proposition some thought, "Potentially. Not much is known about the Dragon Race, but if they have a lifespan comparable to Elves, I suppose he could still be alive up there." She pondered.
So Elves existed here as well?
What am I saying, of course they do; they're a fantasy staple after all.
"I think I'd like to go there someday," I resolved, nodding my head, while imagining myself flying up to the gigantic castle in the sky. Standing atop its legendary grounds and looking down at the world below.
Hilda hesitated, "I'd…Prefer if you didn't." She admitted, a hand drifting through the air and resting on my heart. "It'd probably be dangerous, and I wouldn't want anything to happen to you," the woman began, ruffling my hair, "As exciting as I'm sure adventuring sounds. All you need to do is live a nice, quiet and especially safe life."
Though enjoying the tender moment would have been nice, I soon became distracted as something washed over me. A general feeling of discomfort began to spread from within as my forehead grew hot, and a splitting pain concentrated in my head began pulsating. My nose felt blocked before I had time to react, turning each of my breaths into a loud sniffle.
And then, "Achoo!" The final blow. A loud, unobstructed sneeze confirmed it.
I'd contracted a cold. Just as Samara had warned. One earily familiar to the one I had on the day of my death, was it back? Had it returned to kill me once more? Not satisfied with claiming my life the first time, it felt the need to travel here all to snuff me out once and for all?
Probably not. No, as fun as the idea sounded, it probably was just a fever. I'd had a few during my time here, most likely due to a combination of lacking medieval hygiene and my childish body still developing immunity to the more common afflictions of my surroundings. Not that this place would recognise the ideas of modern medical science.
I'd been fine, I just needed to ride it out and take it easy, which wasn't hard to do as a toddler.
Hilda, though, wasn't as laid back, having heard the few sniffles that led to my first sneeze, she looked down with trembling, wide eyes. "Percy? Are you alright?" She asked, worry already present in her voice.
Still, in the hopes that this didn't have to be a big deal, I nodded, "Yes, I think so. I might just have a co-"
"Samara!" Hilda yelled, summoning my handmaid, who she'd ordered to stand outside the door so that we could enjoy reading together without prying eyes.
Always the diligent one, the rabbit maid flung the door open on account of the frantic nature of the call. Hurrying in, she'd exclaim, "Yes, Lady Hilda," standing ready to serve.
The red-haired woman stood from her seat, taking a moment to press the back of her hand to my forehead before holding me in her arms. "I need two buckets of water, one cold, one hot, some towels and a healer, immediately," she declared, rattling off each item in the list like she was a soldier at war.
Lacking the situation's prior context, Samara stood in the doorway, her head tilted in confusion as she wondered why the woman would need those things.
Hilda soon got impatient. "Get moving! My Percy is sick. Should we lose him because of your incompetence, I won't hesitate to take your head." She yelled, showing off a side of herself that rarely came into view, though its presence should have been obvious given the rest of her personality.
In times like this, she was something of an overprotective mama-bear.
Our matriarch's usual mistreatment of her seemed to kick Samara into high gear, the girl stuttering, "Y-yes, Ma'am! On it right away!" Before giving an uncharacteristic army salute and hurrying off,
"Mother, I'm fine, really," I tried to reason with the woman, as was my duty, since I was the one who had indirectly started the turmoil.
As expected, though, she refused to listen. Gently hissing, "Shhh." While placing a finger to my lips, "Don't worry. I'm here," she said as if trying to calm me, though I imagine it was more for her own benefit. "Now, why don't we get you down for a nap? While we wait for the nice doctor?"
It was then, as Hilda was carrying me out of the room, that my body gave out, losing its battle with the cold, and I passed out.
When I next woke up, I was lying in my crib. On account of still being too young to be given a real bed, though I'd at least earned myself a room to call my own. A real who's who was looking down on me with varying levels of worry present in their expressions.
Of course, as the leader of this meeting and the one who most certainly called the gathering together, Hilda was present. Her lips quivered slightly as she dipped a folded towel into one of the buckets of water she'd asked for and carefully draped the cold compress over my forehead.
Having either finished their business or been pulled from it prematurely by the red-haired worrywart, Philip and Sauros were both standing over me. The former, retaining his ever joval close eyed grin, while the latter fell back on his stoic nature, crossing his arms over his chest and remaining unmoved.
Samara was also in attendance, though instead of swarming the crib with everyone else, she was standing back by the door.
Then there was the one unfamiliar face I found in the room. A balding old man, probably around the same age as Sauros, dressed in a long white robe and a belt noticeably decorated by all kinds of shiny metal tools that look like they could be used for prodding and pulling.
He must be the doctor. I thought something as simple as a routine check-up at the dentist was nerve-racking back in my old life, but that has nothing on this guy's myriad of tools.
"And you're sure it's nothing serious?" Hilda asked.
Doc chuckled, "Yes, I'm quite sure it's just a common cold. Keep taking care of him as you have been, and the boy should be right as rain in no time."
"Honestly, Hilda," Philip sighed, briefly wiping your brow, "Was it really necessary to make such a fuss of something so inconsequential?"
The woman soon became defensive, "How was I supposed to know?" She asked sarcastically while placing her hands on her hips, "Our child could have been dying, and I was not about to take that chance."
Sauros grunted, nodding along, "She's right, it's better to be safe." His stern, uncaring patriarch act starting to slip.
Despite being right, Philip was left with no ground to stand on.
Again, the doctor laughed, "Well, if you're still worried, I could alleviate his symptoms…For a price, that is." He looked to Philip, the corners of his mouth curling into a smug grin; he'd found an opportunity to make some coin, and he was going to capitalise on it.
Though, how exactly was he going to treat a cold? Please tell me it doesn't have anything to do with his well-polished metal implements. Actually, why don't we take a moment to really think about this? There's no reason to be rash about this.
"Yes, please do," Hilda answered. "We'll pay you whatever you want," she continued to insist.
And as if to add fuel to the fire, that was the moment Sauros's mask shattered, "Indeed!" He yelled, dynamically grabbing his wooden cane and thrusting it forward, and holding it inches away from the doctor's face as if it were a sword. "I'll empty the entire Boreas Greyrat treasury if it means my grandson will recover," the man declared.
His family having made the doctor two very lucrative offers, Philip groaned, left to pick up the pieces. Briefly looking at his wife, watching her face scrunch into a menacing glare at the idea he'd refuse. The man realised he had little choice but to relent.
"Very well," Philip exhaled, "We'll take your best service. All of the bells and whistles included, though we will only be paying your standard rate."
"Of course," the doctor grinned. "I wouldn't dare exploit an ill child to rustle some extra coin from your pocket," he claimed, but I wasn't convinced. "Now then, let's begin," the man announced, pulling his sleeve up and reaching into the crib, leaving his open palm hovering over my head.
Then he began to chant. "Divine power is rich and nourishing. It offers the strength to rise again to those who have lost their strength. Healing." As the words spewed from the man's mouth, a green glow began to emanate from his palm.
The bright light filled my field of vision, mesmerising me. A childlike glee fills my heart as the loose sparks drift downward, landing on my skin, dissipating before I could get my fill. It was almost as if I had a front row seat to the famed Aurora Borealis.
This was it.
The thing that I'd read about alongside Hilda.
Looking at it now, I almost felt stupid for doubting its existence in the first place.
This was magic.
I was so captivated that I hardly noticed as the throbbing pain in my head began to somewhat dissipate.
After what felt like an eternity, the spell stopped. "And now for the next," the doctor announced before speaking again, "May the cleansing light of the skies wash over this body, so that the darkness from within may be expelled. Detoxification."
A more subdued white glow flashed in front of my eyes. It faded by the time I'd blinked, my sinuses beginning to clear.
"And there we are," the doctor announced triumphantly, causing Hilda and Sauros's expressions to ease. "Shouldn't be long now until he's back to his old self."
"Thank you," Philip stepped forward, pulling out a charcoal pencil and a small pocket book, he'd swiftly yet neatly jot something down. "Samara," he called for the maid, pulling the piece of paper from the metal rings of the notebook.
"Yes, sir," she replied earnestly.
"Take this note and lead the man to Alphonse," he ordered, handing the paper to the bunny girl before turning back to the doctor, "He'll handle your payment."
The doctor nodded, "A pleasure doing business with you." Bowing his head to the rest of the room, he then followed Samara outward in pursuit of his rightful coin.
As the door closes, Philip clasps his hands together, "Now then, why don't we leave little Percy be? I'm sure he needs some beauty sleep."
I'll say. I don't know if it's the illness, magic or the excitement from seeing the magic, but some combination of the three has really drained my limited stamina.
I need a nap.
"Maybe in a minute," Hilda's head shook lightly, "At least let me stay until he falls asleep," she asserted, fully aware of the resistance she was about to face from her husband.
As had seemed to become habit, Sauros agreed with his daughter-in-law, "A fine idea. We need to make sure the magic won't lead to any unforeseen side effects." He nodded, walking up and leaning against the rim of the crib.
Was that something that could happen? Did magic often come with side effects?
It didn't take long for Philip to relent. "Fine. What kind of Father would I be if I abandoned my son in his time of need?" He sighed, sneaking up behind Hilda and placing a comforting arm around her, settling in to watch me drift off to sleep.
Seriously, what's with these people? I know I'm not exactly the most robust thing in the world right now, but is all of this really necessary?
Though I'd be lying if I said that the attention wasn't welcome, or that I wanted them to leave, I suppose I just wasn't used to having such attentive parents. My previous ones were, let's say, results-oriented. Their only concern was my lacklustre performance in school, or the fact that I joined the Anime and Manga club instead of a sport that'd look good on applications.
By the time everyone else was starting to seriously study for entrance exams, I got hit with a serious case of burnout and ended up failing to get into the university my parents had chosen for me. It was then that they dropped me entirely, throwing me and a box filled with all my merchandise out on the curb.
I managed to bounce back well enough to afford rent each month in a crummy apartment complex, but barely hanging on, thanks to a job at a convenience store that wouldn't let me take a sick day when I needed it most, wasn't ideal.
Reflecting on that as my eyes grew heavy and the three adults stood, watching me drift off to sleep, I began to wonder if they weren't so bad after all.
Notes:
Didn't really have anything to say at the start of this one, so I figured I'd just meet you at the finish line, figure that'll be the case the majority of the time. Which will give you less of my deranged rantings to read, if you even do. I admittedly tend to skip notes most of the time, but they can give really interesting insights into an author's mindset, so I probably shouldn't.
How did everyone feel about meeting the family? Did everyone make a good impression? Well, I imagine you all knew who the majority were ahead of time. I'm not exactly expecting people unfamiliar with the original story to read this, even if I do write it that way just in case.
Saying that. There is an original character here. Well, two, if you count Perseus himself, but you knew that coming in. I think I'll wait a little longer before diving into them fully. So, let's talk about a character who became one of my favourites while writing this.
Hilda.
She's always been a personal favourite of mine. No idea why. It's not like she's particularly important to the narrative, nor is she a character we get to spend that much time with, but she, along with the rest of the wider Boreas Greyrat Family, has always felt like characters that could have had more to them.
I'm not sure if I'm exactly the best person to explore that, but hey, might as well give it a go.
Saying that, my thought process while writing her has been incredibly simple. In the small window of time we spend with Hilda, she's really only assigned two character traits: she's stubborn/feisty, a trait that'd be passed onto her daughter, and she's something of a doting mother. As you can probably tell, I chose to turn that second one up to elven, which was put on full display toward the end of the chapter.
It's not exactly an original character archetype, and it means Hilda isn't going to act according to how she did during the majority of Rudeus's stay in the Roa, but given that she hasn't lost custody of her children, that's what makes the most sense to me.
What can I say? She's fun. I really enjoy writing a doting mother.
...
Hopefully, that doesn't say anything about me.
Hope to see you in the next chapter.
P.S. Apparently, I'm the first person to want a PhilipxHilda tag? There's always the chance I spelt it wrong and didn't notice, but really?
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