Chapter 3 – The Garden Below
Morning light spilled across the floorboards of the noble chamber, brushing the curtains with gold. Haruto sat on the edge of the bed, still holding the diary from the night before. He hadn't slept well. His mind kept turning, page by page, through the darkness of Leonhart Elgrave's former life.
The boy whose body he now inhabited had been cruel. Manipulative. Powerful in title and feared in action. A noble by blood—yes. But far from noble in spirit.
And now, Haruto had inherited his name.
He rose slowly, the floor cold under his bare feet. The balcony doors were open. Cool wind drifted in, scented with pine and something faintly metallic.
He stepped outside.
Below, the Verdant Estate stretched outward in sweeping order. Trimmed hedges carved perfect patterns in the garden paths. Fountains shimmered in the morning light. Statues stood silent guard over the marble walkways.
But what caught his eye was the number of guards—men in silver-gray armor patrolling quietly in pairs. Some bore rifles strapped to their backs. Others held spears. Their movements were disciplined, unflinching.
A fortress, Haruto thought. Not a home.
Behind him, the door opened with barely a sound.
"Good morning, sir."
It was the old man again—Gaius.
As always, he moved with calm authority, a sword at his hip and that same unreadable expression carved into his face. Without waiting for instruction, Gaius approached the small table set on the balcony and poured a cup of dark tea.
"You needn't concern yourself with anything this morning," he said smoothly.
"The estate is secure. The House stands strong. Your focus should be on recovery."
Haruto sat across from him without a word. The tea steamed gently, filling the air with an earthy, bitter scent.
"What is this place?" he asked at last.
Gaius didn't hesitate.
"You are in the Verdant Estate—ancestral seat of House Elgrave. These lands belong to Duke Kael Elgrave, your father. You are his heir."
"This region falls within the western reach of the Kingdom of Eldrosia."
Haruto looked down at the cup in his hands.
Heir. Nobility. All of it… Leonhart's, not mine.
"And you're sure I'm… him?"
Gaius met his gaze.
"Your blood matches the sigil. Your face is unchanged. Your family believes it. That is enough—for now."
From within his coat, Gaius withdrew the same leather-bound diary.
"Read more. Let memory stir at its own pace."
Then he turned and left, leaving Haruto alone with the garden and the ghosts of someone else's legacy.
A short while later, Haruto descended into the garden. The stone paths were warm beneath his boots, and the wind tugged gently at his sleeves. He walked slowly, watching the guards, the servants, the distant flags.
Then he heard the sound.
Wood striking wood. Rhythm. Repetition.
He followed it.
At the edge of the training yard, inside a stone-ringed circle surrounded by marble columns, stood a white-haired girl. Her bare feet gripped the grass. Her tunic clung to her arms. And in her hands, a wooden practice sword moved again and again in determined arcs.
Eira.
She hadn't noticed him yet.
Haruto stood quietly, watching her movements—raw but focused. She was angry. Not at him. Not even at herself. Just… trying to push against something.
She's really been training, he thought. This isn't play.
Then she spotted him.
Her face lit up instantly.
"Brother!"
She dropped the sword and ran toward him, eyes wide with joy.
Haruto gave her the smallest smile. She didn't hesitate—just grabbed his hand and tugged.
"Come spar with me! You always do after breakfast!"
He blinked.
"Spar?"
"Yes! You're not dizzy anymore, right?"
"Come on. Just one round."
Before he could answer, she was already pulling him toward the center of the ring.
She handed him a wooden sword and took her stance.
It was almost perfect.
Her feet were angled right. Her shoulders relaxed. The blade steady.
She's really good, Haruto thought. Too good for someone her age.
He took position opposite her, mimicking her form. At first it felt awkward—but something shifted in his grip. His feet adjusted. A flicker of memory—or was it instinct?—settled into his posture.
That wasn't me, he realized. That was… Leonhart.
Eira smirked.
"You almost look like yourself now."
Then she lunged.
Fast.
Her blade cut through the air toward his shoulder—and he barely dodged it.
The wooden tip missed him by a whisper.
She's fast!
She recovered instantly and came in again, blade low.
Haruto didn't think—his arms moved on their own.
Clack!
The swords met with a sharp crack. The block was perfect.
Eira's eyes lit up.
"You remembered that!"
Haruto stared at his hands in disbelief.
I didn't. I didn't remember anything… I just moved.
He pushed her back slightly and reset his stance, focusing on her form, her movement.
Then, suddenly—
The air shimmered.
For a split second, he saw it—a transparent image of Eira's next movement. A ghostly double, stepping to the right, blade angling for his wrist.
What… is that?
The vision vanished.
A second later, the real Eira moved exactly the same way.
Too fast to react.
Her sword struck his hand with precision, and his weapon flew from his grip, clattering onto the stone.
"Disarmed!"
She beamed, but Haruto barely heard her.
He stood frozen.
That vision… that wasn't instinct. That was something else.
He stared at his empty hand, confusion and dread mingling in his chest.
Then came a voice from behind.
"What are you doing, Master?"
Haruto turned.
Gaius stood at the edge of the ring, arms crossed, watching them.
His tone was calm—but sharp.
"You should not be exerting yourself so soon after injury."
He turned to Eira.
"And you, young lady, should not be striking your brother in this condition."
Eira lowered her head immediately.
"I wasn't trying to hurt him…"
"You disarmed him with a live strike," Gaius said. "That's not play. That's technique."
Haruto said nothing. His eyes drifted once more to the place where the image had appeared.
A moment ahead of time.
A warning that felt like it didn't belong to either of them.
What did I just see…?
And why… did it feel like mine?
He followed Gaius in silence, leaving the wooden sword behind as the wind passed softly through the garden, carrying with it the weight of things still unseen