Vencian was in a dream, standing on a shoreline he had no memory of reaching.
The air was heavy with salt and cold enough to sting. Each breath scraped through his chest, damp, and metallic, until the taste of blood crept across his tongue. Each cough sent crimson droplets onto the black sand, where they disappeared as if the shore itself was hungry for them.
The sky above was neither night nor day, but a dim twilight that made every shadow stretch far beyond reason. They pulled away from their owners, creeping across the water, moving so slowly it felt like he could watch them for hours and see almost nothing change.
So slow, he thought, watching a shadow creep across the sand toward his outstretched hand.
He wandered the godforsaken shore without direction, searching for something he couldn't name. His steps started slow, then quickened into a frantic pace until he stopped, breath ragged, hands on his knees. A deformed, misshapen hand seized his shoulder. He turned around…
… and woke up to the familiar yet unfamiliar ceiling of his room. He closed his eyes and exhaled, the pull of sleep gone.
Looking towards the side he found Quenya gazing outside the window. Her small frame outlined against the glass. Her black dress swayed despite the still air, yet her silver hair remained unmoving. She turned at the sound of him stirring and smiled faintly.
"Finally awake."
He rubbed his temples, sitting up. His body felt whole again, no ache in his muscles.
"How long was I out?"
"Seven days."
His eyes widened. "Seven days?"
"Luckily the reinforcements arrived early, otherwise you would have died from the cold."
"That wasn't the only time I was lucky." He paused considering his words. "I… I ended him, didn't I?"
"Considering you drove a twelve-inch blade through his chest and threw him into a hundred-foot drop, I'd say so."
He stared into the flames in the hearth. The fire snapped quietly.
"Lucian," Quenya drifted closer, her tone edged with concern, "it's not your—"
"I know." His gaze shifted to her, and he gave a short nod. "I know it wasn't my fault." He repeated it once more, slower.
"He tried to kill me. I answered in kind. That's all."
But his mind pulled back to that night. He'd faced death before since coming here, but that time had been different—closer, more certain. And then there was the weapon he'd summoned, unlike anything he'd seen before.
His eyes narrowed slightly at her. "You're keeping something from me, aren't you?"
"I was going to—" she began, then stopped as the door opened.
Quenya vanished before he could press her further, her presence gone as if it had never been there. A flicker of frustration tugged at him. He smothered it, knowing Lumea wouldn't see her anyway.
Lady Lumea stepped inside. When she saw him sitting up, her pace quickened. She crossed the room and pulled his head into her embrace, her voice breaking as she kissed his hair. Her auburn locks — the same shade Jeriko bore — brushed against his cheek.
"Blessed be the Luminance… I thought I'd lost you."
Her arms tightened for a heartbeat before easing, as though she feared holding him too hard might shatter him. The faint tremor in her hands betrayed how close she had been to losing hope.
Relief shone on her face. A week without a single response from him must have been unbearable.
"I'm fine, Mother," he said, though the distance in his tone undercut the reassurance.
She drew back enough to cup his face, studying him closely. "Are you?"
The sudden closeness caught him off guard. Part of him wanted to step away.
"I am. I promise."
"I'll fetch the physician—"
"Wait. Any word from the capital? Did Jeriko make it in time?"
Lumea exhaled, some of the strain easing from her features. "The false charges against your father have been dropped. Thanks to Jeriko, the Abbot reached the capital and testified against Sarvos Ortega."
The weight in his chest eased at once. Still, another question formed.
"When did the trial conclude?" Vencian asked.
"Three days ago. Your father, Moses, and Jeriko began their journey home the following morning." Lumea's expression brightened slightly. "They should arrive within the next day or two, assuming the weather holds."
"What about Ignacio Montaro?"
"Nothing…" Her brow furrowed. Vencian guessed she had heard it from Gramox. If so, Jeriko likely knew as well.
Not surprising. We had no proof against him. He thought, piecing together the likely course of the trial in his head.
Sebastian's testimony alone shouldn't have been enough to clear Caesor, yet somehow, it had worked. Maybe something else had happened in court.
I will need to ask what really happened there when Jeriko and Moses return.
One way or another, Ortega was finished. But Montaro remained. And until he was dealt with, the danger hadn't passed.
Lumea's hands lowered from his face, but she stayed close, as if afraid he might vanish again. "We're proud of you, Ven. Always have been."
Me too.
He gave a small smile and a nod but said nothing.
This was the first time since coming to this world he felt this way. A feeling of accomplishment.
However small it was, it was one more step toward his goal. Living a fulfilling life in this world without care. The thoughts of Quenya's existence and the supernatural irregularities within him surfaced but he kept them buried.
Rest had eased the worst of his exhaustion, but his mind still carried the weight of the past days.
He replayed the memories since his first day in this world. The more he recalled the more absurd he found some of his decisions to be.
I'm not the type to go poking around for trouble, yet here I am. Ever since I inherited Vencian's memories—and his body—something in me has definitely changed.
The respite after his adventures made him more aware of the changes in his thought process.
Soon his musing came to an end when a servant knocked at the door with a letter in hand.
She bowed and handed the letter to Lumea, who shifted to read it
Vencian stayed quiet, watching the slow movement of her eyes over the page. The room's warmth seemed to thin with each passing second. Then her expression shifted—first a blink, then a tightening around the mouth—before her face fell entirely, as if the world had tilted beneath her.
The letter dropped from her hand as she gripped his arm to keep her balance despite sitting at the edge of the bed.
Confusion clouded his face as he crouched to pick up the letter while steadying her.
It reported the discovery of several bodies along the main road—some in Vicorra uniforms, others unmarked. The dead had been arranged with military precision, each killed by a single blade thrust. No valuables were missing.
Among those identified were Moses Vicorra, and Caesor Vicorra.