The next few months were strange. My mother encouraged me to learn reading and writing from an early age, but I came to realize something unsettling: this world was not where I belonged. Through various books, I learned that only five kingdoms existed in this world—Aether, Durgheim, Velidia, and two vanished kingdoms.
"You look adorable with that book. Who gave it to you?"
"I did, my lady. He reached for it, so I couldn't help but hand it over," the butler said. I didn't know his name yet.
"Well done. Thank you for looking after my son."
My mother seemed to find it "endearing" that I was holding a book nearly as large as myself.
Another world. It should have been astonishing, surely. Should I have been afraid? Excited? No such emotions stirred. Just... new information. Another piece of data to process. As always. That's how I function, I suppose.
Back to the kingdoms—apparently, all of them were plagued by internal conflicts. Ideology? Historical grievances? Or simple arrogance? Probably the last one.
If politics taught me anything, it's that many situations stem from truly petty causes, like tantrums between adults. Come to think of it, I learned that at eight years old. After that, I just... repeated the same patterns. Like a machine running the same code over and over.
I was frustrated by my inability to speak. For now, all I could do was read the books they let me use. The butler seemed devoted to my family, though he absolutely refused to hand me certain books.
I placed my finger on a page, pointing to a particular kingdom.
Durgheim was a fascinating kingdom. My family often discussed it during dinners when everyone gathered. From what I gathered, they sold metals that were distributed here. My family managed massive ships, transporting medicine from the Kingdom of Velidia and, above all, supplying weapons to the royal army.
That's why they had so much wealth and high status. Still, I'd always found it curious that a noble family held more economic power than the king himself. But I didn't want to jump to conclusions yet. I'd learned that making assumptions without evidence causes problems. Or perhaps I'd learned nothing at all—just observed and recorded. Like books gathering dust.
At two years old, my hips developed enough for mobility. Finally, what I'd been waiting for—the ability to walk without constantly being carried.
That first step was... liberating. Yes, that's the right word. I could go anywhere within the permitted boundaries. I could reach things. I could explore.
But something was off.
Not the walking itself—that felt natural, like remembering something I'd always known. It was something else. A sense of... absence. Something that had been there was suddenly gone.
It took me several days to realize what it was. I missed being held.
How pathetic. Twenty-nine years across both lives, and I missed being picked up by my mother. But it was true. I'd look up at her from the floor, seeking her gaze more often than before. I'd stop beside her even though I could go anywhere on my own. I'd reach up for no particular reason.
I didn't understand why.
No—I did. I just didn't want to admit it.
Safety gates had been installed on the stairs, so I couldn't go above the second floor. This place had six floors in the south wing alone. And that was just one of four wings.
"Darian, hello!"
My cousin Valeria came running down the hallway. Somehow, she was the only one who could dispel my boredom. She always retrieved books I couldn't reach without complaint. She just... existed there. As if it were the most natural thing.
"I'll tell you about Durgheim," she said, fidgeting restlessly. "I know you love it when that comes up. Look..." She pointed to my necklace, the red gemstone. "You have that necklace because our family made a contract a long, long time ago."
She paused, wrinkling her nose in thought.
"There was a leader... I don't remember the name... but we helped them so they wouldn't starve to death. We gave them a huge seed, like this—" She spread her arms dramatically. "And to say 'thank you,' they sell resources to our family. That's why you have that necklace. It's like... proof of magic."
My necklace. What I'd thought was just an accessory for the "heir" was actually...
She simply hugged me, stopping my thoughts.
And I... didn't move. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds.
Then, without thinking, I hugged her back.
Not mechanically. Not out of obligation. Just... because I wanted to.
When was the last time I'd held someone like this?
"When we grow up, we'll make a wonderful couple!"
It wasn't the first time I'd heard it. I'd assumed that here, marriages between relatives were normal to preserve "bloodlines" and maintain the family's noble status. But that went against the legacy of Stonehall's founder: "If you can help, then help."
What I'd understood from that was: regardless of weakness, status, or skin color, if you can offer assistance, you're welcome. Perhaps that's why my family had so many servants. If each could handle a specific task, they'd become the best-treated household.
But I didn't think of myself as a leader. I never had. At eight, I'd just wanted to run faster than the other kids. After that... after that, I just existed. And now, in this new world, at two years old, I... didn't know what I wanted to be.
The butler was truly peculiar. I couldn't understand why he was so devoted to the Stonehall family, to me specifically. No matter what "mischief" I got into, no matter what I broke, he always smiled and treated me like an uncle would his nephew. He got along remarkably well with my father, as if they'd grown up together.
"Cousin? Are you still here?"
Valeria was watching me with those big, curious eyes.
I realized I wasn't alone. I simply nodded, returning her embrace as confirmation. Honestly, I liked making her smile. This was... discovering something I thought I'd lost. Or something I'd never had. Or something I'd only possessed for a brief moment before everything burned.
Another year passed.
At three years old, I could speak perfectly, though I tried not to say too much.
"My little adventurer is such a clever boy. Don't you think so, Valerius? I still remember when you used to sneak into my little shop. He seems to have inherited that from you."
"I was..." He blushed. "It was your mother's fault. I could smell it even from my own room."
"Just the smell?"
She said in a seductive tone.
"Elara..." He turned even redder.
I observed it all from my high chair. I was confined to the kitchen for "adult reasons" like "it's dangerous for children," yet at eight months old, I'd been allowed to read political books like a tiny library scholar who could recite the genealogies of five noble houses. Apparently walking was dangerous, but that was safe.
Adults and their priorities... Every day I was reminded that this world operated on its own logic.
Were they flirting? Really? After being together this long? They were like teenagers trapped in responsible bodies. That was... well, a good sign, I supposed. They still loved each other. Not just out of duty or convenience.
It was real.
Suddenly, my stomach growled, interrupting my thoughts.
"Mama... I'm hungry." I rubbed my belly.
She stopped teasing her husband and immediately switched to "mother mode."
"Oh, I'm sorry, sweetheart. The chocolate will be ready soon."
Father picked me up in his arms. He was clearly relieved.
"Come, little savior," he whispered. "Thank you for the rescue."
I... what? Well, I'd helped my father out of an embarrassing situation. I must have done something good, probably. ...It felt nice. Helping someone without dying.
Elara took the tray and placed several cups on it. She carried it to the breakfast table. Yes, the breakfast table. There was a different table for each meal. Breakfast, lunch, dinner... and probably a dessert-specific table too. This house... or palace, functioned like a small city.
Father set me in a chair, and as soon as he brought the cup close, I began drinking the hot chocolate.
And for the first time in my life... how long had it been...
Something felt complete.
"This is... the taste of home..." I murmured without thinking.
The words came out on their own. As if they'd been waiting years to be said.
Damn. What did I just say? Three-year-olds don't talk like that. But it was true... for the first time since the fire, something...
"I-it's delicious, Mama," I tried to correct myself clumsily.
She said nothing. Just stroked my cheek. The tenderness made me want to cry, though I didn't know why. Then she left to prepare breakfast.
I'd forgotten about the "old soul." So I didn't need to hide my "strange maturity." They thought nothing was wrong. Still, something tightened in my chest. Uncomfortable, warm, strange.
Was this the feeling of being part of something? Of someone?
—Several hours later—
"Mama..."
"Yes, darling?" She sat on my bed, arranging the sheets around me.
"What are those other two kingdoms that are erased from maps and books?"
Her expression changed. Just slightly. But I noticed.
"Son... that's not something you need to know right now."
"But you said I'm an old soul, right? Doesn't that mean I'm ready?"
"No, Darian... When you're older, I'll answer all your questions. Okay?"
"But..."
"No buts. If you won't accept my request, I won't make chocolate for you until your fifth birthday."
I nodded immediately. Almost panicking. Losing her chocolate—one of the few things that kept me from feeling empty—was the worst threat possible. Because it was more than chocolate. It was those moments in the kitchen. It was the warmth of the cup. It was the feeling of being part of something.
It was home.
The door to my room opened, and my cousin, now seven years old, appeared.
"Valeria, perfect timing," Mother said. "I have something to take care of. Can you watch your cousin?"
"Yes! Of course I'll take care of my future husband!"
Elara patted her head as if it were perfectly natural... which, here, it was. Then she left.
"Hello."
"Hello."
I didn't know what to say. She always started the conversations. I just... followed the script. As always.
"I was... wondering if you know about the kingdoms that are erased from maps and books."
"I don't know much, cousin. They didn't tell me either. Probably because they thought if you asked, I'd definitely answer."
She smiled with that brutal honesty only children possess.
"Yeah, I think so too."
Ah... yes, that's exactly what adults would think. Hand Valeria a cookie and a question, and she'd give you the exact address of a castle plus a hand-drawn map.
"But who cares about all that!"
She interrupted, taking my hand.
"Let's go to the garden, it's a beautiful day."
And just like that, my grand existential question was buried beneath the simple impulse of a seven-year-old girl who wanted to play outside.
And strangely... I didn't mind.
In fact, I wanted to go. I wanted to see the garden. I wanted to run a little. ...I wanted to play.
When was the last time I'd wanted to play?
Oh, right. Eight years old. Before the fire.
Maybe... maybe it was okay to want that again.
Maybe that's why I was here.
To finish being the child the fire never let me be.