I stared into the mirror. There it is again. Again? That zombie-like face had returned—but it was different now. Different? My scarred brows, sunken cheeks, and jawline looked thinner. My pupils were dark, tinged red. My hair hung long and unkempt, streaked with a few strands of light blue I couldn't explain. The skin around my eyes was still raw from crying. I splashed water on my face. "Begone, walking corpse…" Once. Twice. Still there. Now that I'm in a world of magic, I hoped there would be a spell that could fix this. Just one spell to clean you up—face, heart, soul. I feel like I'm forgetting something… I dried off, got dressed. My stomach twisted with hunger, reminding me I was still alive. I limped the stairs.
The aroma of warm, sweet bread hit me and pulling me toward the dining room like a leash. There were about seven people gathered at the long wooden table, kids mostly, including Miss Althea. To my right was the front yard, sunlight filtering through a giant tree that cast cool shade over the house. There were clothes hanging outside, dancing slightly in the breeze. Straight ahead was the living room. Toys were scattered on the floor, as if recently abandoned mid-play. Past that, the laundry room where baskets overflowing with clothes. The house was cluttered, but warm — almost too homely compared to the basement.
Lune… I stood frozen at the bottom of the stairs, the weight of guilt and memory sinking deep. Was it okay for me to have this? A roof, a chair, a smell of bread, a home, but without her? Then a little voice shattered the silence: "Big brother! Are you eating? Mama's soup is tasty! Eat, eat!" My stomach grumbled again, louder this time, like it was agreeing to her. "Mhm…" I mumbled. I turned to the left, slowly scanning each face at the table. "Riven, dear," Miss Althea called gently, "come eat with us." As I took a seat, a slap landed on my back. "Sleepy-head, you're finally awake!" a boy laughed.
His hair was a wild, fiery red. "Mama made special food today just for you. Time to get back on your feet, yeah?" "Rowan! Don't disturb big brother, you're making him cry!" Lily barked at him. "Shush, children," Miss Althea said, her voice kind but firm. "Let's eat our breakfast in peace. Shall we, Riven?"
I couldn't speak. Couldn't look at them. So many faces I didn't know. So many eyes I didn't think I deserved to meet. I just nodded, quietly, and stared into the bowl of mushroom soup in front of me. The soup's warmth seeped in slowly, like sunlight forcing through storm clouds. I didn't say a word while eating, but I felt the strange knot in my throat loosen with every spoonful. Not because it was filling. But because it reminded me of something I'd long forgotten, care. Or the illusion of it.
Still, my hands trembled as I ate, and my eyes, traitorous as always, welled up. "Are you crying, big brother?" Lily blinked up at me, her cheeks stuffed with bread. "Rowan, look what you have done!" Rowan dropped a small piece of his bread into his soup, "Hey, I didn't do anything! Mama's soup always does that." Miss Althea chuckled. I laughed softly through my nose. "Yeah… maybe it's that."
Later, Miss Althea asked for a hand with brewing tea. I followed her to the kitchen, unsure if I was ready for the company or just avoiding my own thoughts. "It's not hard," she said gently, showing me how to rinse the leaves, swirl the hot water, and wait. "You don't force flavor. You coax it. Like children. Or… grief." I didn't answer. But I watched. I memorized her movements, quit and practiced like they'd been done for years.
From the hallway, Rowan's loud voice echoed in, "Hey! Are you hiding from chores, Riven?" I flinched. "Yeah, no hiding!" Lily teased, suddenly beside me. "Mama says if you live here, must help!" Miss Althea snickered. "Don't worry, they're harmless. But Rowan might hand you a wrench when you need a broom." Sure enough, Rowan dragged me outside to help fix a loose hinge on the gate and patch a broken drawer. My fingers worked slower than before… but with every task, I felt the dull ache of my limbs lessen; like the house itself was healing me.
Rowan, unlike the rest of us, wasn't resting. Under the shade of the tree, he kept swinging a wooden sword, sweat beading across his fiery red hair. "Fifty… fifty-one… fifty-two…" Each strike cut through the air with surprising sharpness. "I'm surprised, Rowan. Who taught you to train like that?" I asked, my tone half-curious, half-teasing. "Fifty-three… fifty-four… fifty-five—oh, Mr. Crow did. He visits sometimes." He grinned between swings. "All he told me was to swing a thousand times a day, so… I do."
His swings weren't clumsy repetition. Each arc carved the air with intent, as if etching discipline into the wind. For his age, the determination was almost frightening. If this were a storybook, he'd be the destined hero — not me.
Is this the birth of the main character? Main character? Past?
Still, I couldn't help but feel a flicker of envy. His growth was simple: swing, sweat, repeat. Mine was just… survival. Lily, on the other hand, didn't give me a moment's peace. She perched nearby, firing questions without pause—my favorite color, why my hair was messy, why my eyes looked tired, what kind of food I liked. One after another, like arrows with no aim but endless supply. Her curiosity had no brakes. Finally, I sighed.
"Lily, is it okay if I ask you something now? You've been asking me everything under the sun." Her eyes widened, sparkling with excitement. She puffed her chest like I'd just knighted her. "Ask away!" "Are you able to use magic?" "Magic?" Her grin stretched wide. "You mean this?" She crouched down, dragging her finger across the dirt. Lines connected into a small triangular rune, intricate yet childish in its roughness.
"Grow!"
A tiny sprout pushed through the soil, trembling as it reached for the light and green under the shade. Alive. Real. My jaw nearly dropped. "That's… awesome! How did you do that?" My voice cracked like a kid at a magic show. I knew I sounded like a nerd, but it didn't matter. This was the real thing—magic. "Hehe—It's the only one I know" She wore her pride like a crown. "Lady Hare taught me. She said it's called a rune. You can draw it anywhere, but not everything works. When you write, you leave mana behind from you finger."
Even a child like her could summon life from dirt. Meanwhile, I—void-spawn—had nothing. Still, her joy was contagious. "Wow… that's really cool, Lily. Let me try." I crouched beside her and copied the rune carefully into the dirt. A triangle. A swirl. A notch. For a moment, I held my breath, waiting. Nothing. The ground remained dull and lifeless.
But something itched in the back of my mind. The shape was… incomplete. Like a line of code with a missing bracket — it looked fine to the eye, but my gut screamed it was broken. I caught myself tracing invisible lines over her rune, trying to connect edges, rearrange curves, fix the "logic."
Lily tilted her head. "Huh. Maybe big brother need more… prat—prat-taise…? Prac-tisss… practice! Yes, practice."
Her triumphant grin at getting the word right hurt more than my failure did.
I forced a smile, though the sting was sharper than I wanted to admit. "…Yeah. Maybe." I brushed her hair gently, and she leaned into the touch with a happy hum, as if I hadn't failed at all. Somehow, her reaction softened the weight in my chest. Even if the magic rejected me, maybe her smile didn't. I looked back at Rowan. His blade kept singing through the air. Same arc. Same rhythm. Not perfect, but sharper each time.
Lily's rune, too. Messy, incomplete, yet alive enough to grow. And me… all I saw were gaps. Bugs. Missing pieces. Still, maybe if I kept searching, kept debugging, I'd find a way to bring something living into this world too.
It was night. The air had turned colder, whispering for blankets and rest. Dinner was done, and the children were already scattering toward sleep. "Mama… Lily wanna go sleep-sleep," the little girl mumbled, scrubbing her eyes. Miss Althea brushed her hair and guided her gently toward the stairs. "Sleep tight, my dear." Lily nodded drowsily, step by step vanishing into the upper floor. Rowan hadn't even made it that far. He had collapsed straight after wolfing down his dinner, no doubt spent from training.
With the house quieting, I lingered in the dining room, savoring the silence. The kitchen beyond glowed dim under lantern light, shadows flickering on the walls. The smell of yeast and baked bread still hung in the air, warm and comforting. A soft hum carried through: the low, wistful tune of Miss Althea as she worked another batch of dough for tomorrow's bread. I hadn't meant to interrupt, but she noticed me anyway, as if she always did.
"Riven, dear, is that you?"
I stepped into the kitchen archway. "…Yeah." She turned, flour dust on her apron, eyes gentle. "Are you not tired?" I shook my head. "I just wanted to enjoy the quiet for a while." Her lips curved. "Then perhaps you could help me with the dough? I promise it will be enjoyable." Baking had never once crossed my mind in my past life. Why bother, when fast food and cup noodles could be bought for cheap? But some part of me—the part that had wanted to, once—stirred.
"I've never done this before."
Miss Althea smiled, already fetching a second apron. "I wouldn't expect you to. Come, I'll show you." She guided my hands: push with the palms, fold, turn, repeat. The dough clung at first, sticky and uncooperative, then softened, stretching elastic beneath the pressure. The rhythm was strange but steady. "Think of it as caring for something fragile," she said softly. "Don't force it. Guide it." My throat caught. Fragile. Like Lune.
The motion circled on, fold and press, fold and press. Without noticing, the looping rhythm dulled my restless thoughts. The nightmares quieted. The gentle thud of dough against wood mingled with the hearth's heat brushing my skin. "Riven, dear, you're too stiff," she chuckled. She wasn't wrong, though. My dough looked like it had been mauled by wolves. She filled the silence with small talk. "How was your day? I heard Lily followed you everywhere." I smirked faintly. "It was nice. I helped around the house. Rowan handed me a string instead of a wire and didn't even notice. And Lily… honestly, I'm shocked she even felt sleepy tonight."
Miss Althea's laugh was soft, warm. "Oh, that's only a small taste of what you'll experience here." We worked side by side, shaping tomorrow out of flour and patience. At some point, absentmindedly, my finger traced symbols into the flour dust—shapes too familiar. They resembled the rune on my necklace. I shook it off as habit, until…
The next batch of dough shimmered — faint, fleeting, like a firefly in the dark.
I froze. Did I see that? A trick of the lantern light, maybe. But Miss Althea paused too, her brow furrowed as though she had sensed something. She said nothing, only went back to kneading. When the first loaf came from the hearth, the kitchen swelled with its warm, sweet scent. I pointed at it nervously. "That… that one's mine, right?" She nodded, slicing a piece. "I've been waiting to taste your first bread. I hope it's edible." Her teasing only made me more anxious.
She tasted. A second later, her eyes welled. Not with joy, not exactly. Something heavier. Her shoulders stiffened as she quickly wiped her face, but it wasn't fast enough, I had seen the look. A grief long held. A regret she couldn't speak. "Riven…" Her voice cracked before she steadied it, forcing warmth back into her tone. "Thank you. You did wonderfully." The room hushed, save for the fire's crackle. Her hands were gentle, motherly; held mine for a moment, trembling slightly. Then she released me, almost too quickly.
"Will you help with the rest of the dough? I'll be in my room if you need me."
She left before I could ask. The kitchen was mine again. Yet my thoughts weren't. My gaze dropped to the counter. On the dusted wood, faint shapes lingered: runes. My runes.
Was that it? Was it me?
I pressed my palms into another ball of dough, half-terrified, half-hopeful, waiting for the shimmer again.