Lucian stepped slowly out of the library, occasionally touching his pants pocket to make sure the folded old documents were still safe inside. His steps were steady, but his mind was busy replaying the events of the day. And just as his foot crossed the library's threshold, a name flashed through his mind, making him pause for a moment.
"Wait, Natty..." he muttered softly, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. "It feels like I've heard that name before..."
He lowered his head, trying to recall the details of The Luminous Hero of Avandor more deeply. His brain scrambled to remember the finer points of the game's main story.
Then, a memory surfaced. Natty was indeed one of the minor characters, but she had helped the protagonist quite a lot. If this really was her, she wasn't an offensive-type character, but rather a very useful support character during battles.
She possessed a magic called Telekinesis. This ability was quite helpful in combat, allowing her to move objects from a distance. To be honest, Natty was a huge asset in the early stages of the game.
Lucian raised his eyebrows, a smirk forming on his lips.
"Interesting... Why would someone like her be inside the Witte mansion?" His eyes narrowed. "Looks like I've found myself a useful pawn this time..."
He continued walking down the corridor. Suddenly, a sharp pain struck his head—a wave of agony that hit him so hard he almost stumbled. The world around him spun, his vision blurred, and his legs felt heavy, as if bound by invisible chains. He felt utterly exhausted, as if all his energy had been drained away.
"Damn... Why does my head hurt like this all of a sudden?! It feels like it's going to split apart..."
Lucian hunched over, clutching his throbbing head tightly. He tried to stay upright, but his body felt increasingly weak. His vision grew darker, and the world spun faster and faster. He knew he could lose consciousness at any moment.
The pounding in his skull grew unbearable until, finally, his body could no longer hold on. His knees buckled, and in an instant, Lucian collapsed onto the cold floor of the corridor. He heard voices calling out to him from behind.
"Young Master...!!"
"Young Master Lucian...!!"
His name was called repeatedly. He wanted to answer, but for some reason, his mouth refused to move. His vision faded completely, and the world went dark as his consciousness slipped away.
xxx
Lucian slowly opened his eyes. A blinding white light filled his vision, forcing him to blink several times until his eyes adjusted. He found himself in a large, empty white room, devoid of any furniture or decoration.
The walls were smooth and clean, giving off a sterile and cold atmosphere. He tried to move, but his body felt stiff and heavy, like a doll with rusted joints. Then, he caught sight of his own reflection, and his eyes widened in shock.
"Wait... This... Isn't this my original body?" he muttered, his voice hoarse and weak. He looked at his hands; this was the body he had possessed before entering Lucian's form.
As he looked around, he soon noticed a small circle of light floating in front of him. Inside it, a scene played out like a memory. He saw a small child, about five or six years old, whose body appeared only as a dark silhouette. The child was sitting alone in a dark, silent room.
Next to the child stood a grown man with black hair, wearing a stern and serious expression. He looked like the head of a family—handsome yet cold, radiating an overwhelming aura of authority.
"Lucian. Do you already know your mistake?" The voice was cold and firm, echoing within the white space, coming from within the circle of light.
"I'm sorry, Dad." The reply was quiet, barely audible—the voice of a child filled with regret. He lowered his head, burdened by immense guilt.
Inside the glowing circle, the scene became clearer. Strangely though, the child's face remained obscured, hidden within the shadow.
"Wait... Is this... the original Lucian's memory? But... why does his body look like a black shadow here? Like... just a silhouette?" he muttered in confusion, unable to understand why the figure appeared this way.
"Your face is a mistake, so don't show it to anyone ever again." The cold voice spoke again, this time sharper, laced with deep hatred.
Those words were like knives piercing Lucian's heart, causing him immense pain. Watching this, he couldn't understand why Lucian's face was considered a mistake. Was there truly something wrong with it?
The little boy—the young Lucian in the memory—shrank further into the darkness, trembling violently. Tears streamed down his shadowy cheeks, revealing profound fear and sadness.
He dared not look at his father; he could only curl up and weep. His small hands gripped his shirt tightly, as if seeking protection from the very wrath he feared. Even as a silhouette, his expression radiated utter despair. He looked so small and fragile, as if he could be crushed at any moment.
Another circle of light appeared, similar to the first. This time, Lucian recognized the memory instantly, his eyes widening. There, a boy with black hair sat at a study desk, exam papers spread out before him.
Standing in front of him was a man in a neat formal suit, his face etched with deep disappointment.
"What is this, Kalandra? You failed your test again?"
The voice was flat yet piercing, filled with demanding eyes. The boy—who was actually his past self—gripped his pants tightly and looked at the paper. In the upper right corner, the number '85' was written clearly and brightly, yet to the man before him, it was a sign of failure.
"I-I'm sorry, Dad. I tried my best. But the teacher said... that score is more than perfect enough..." the boy whispered, trying to explain.
However, his words only made the father clench his fists, his expression hardening with barely contained emotion.
"'Perfect enough'?" He scoffed, staring intensely at the boy. "If you are satisfied with just 'enough', then don't ever expect to become the successor of this family."
The little boy lowered his head deeply, his lips quivering as he held back tears. No matter how hard he worked or what he achieved, his father never acknowledged his efforts in the slightest.
The circle slowly faded away, leaving only the vast white void. Soon after, faint whispering sounds began to echo around him.
"... You've seen everything, haven't you?"
The voice sounded calm, growing closer and closer until it felt like it was whispering directly into his ear.
"... You and I are the same. Both here, and in the place you came from."
The voice whispered in his ear, and he felt a weight on his shoulder, as if someone was touching him.
"So... Do you think what you planned will work?"
He froze. His entire body tensed up. The words pierced deep into his soul. "Who... who are you really?" he muttered. "Are you some kind of architect or entity...?"
There was no answer. Only silence filled the empty room.
"Damn it, just answer me...!!" he shouted in frustration, his voice bouncing off the white walls. He clenched his fists tightly.
Still, there was no reply. No one appeared. Only silence remained.
Lucian slowly opened his eyes. Faint light filtered through the gaps in the curtains, casting soft shadows across his room.
He blinked a few times, adjusting to the light. His head still felt heavy and throbbing, reminding him of the sudden pain that made him faint. This time, he was back in Lucian's body.
He looked around the familiar room, then sat up slowly, trying to recall what happened before he lost consciousness. He remembered leaving the library, the excruciating headache, and then that strange white space.
"Ugh, what the hell was that dream..." Lucian rubbed his face, still feeling the lingering dizziness.
He tried to remember the details—the empty white room, the circles of light showing the past, the face of Lucian's father, and his own past life.
There was something different about it; it felt like more than just a simple dream. It was like... Fragments of Souls. Both his, and the real Lucian's.
He stared at the ceiling, replaying the mysterious voice in his mind. Suddenly, Ivan's voice broke the silence.
"Young Master! You've finally woken up!" Ivan's voice sounded panicked, yet filled with relief.
Hurried footsteps approached, and a moment later, Ivan appeared at the doorway. His face was pale and covered in cold sweat. His hair was messy and his suit wrinkled, showing just how anxious he had been. Ivan's usually calm eyes were now filled with genuine worry.
"Ugh, you're being too loud, Ivan! My head hurts even more..." Lucian grimaced, holding his throbbing temple.
"I'm sorry, Young Master," Ivan bowed deeply, looking guilty.
"I... I was so worried. I'll call the doctor immediately." He looked restless, pacing back and forth.
He was about to rush out, but Lucian stopped him.
"No need. I'm fine," Lucian said, his voice still weak but firm. He tried to show strength, that he could overcome this.
However, the pain in his head was a reminder of the terrifying experience he just had. "And also... I have something to discuss with you."
Ivan paused, looking at him with concern. "What are you saying, Young Master?! I was terrified when the maids told me you collapsed in the corridor! You looked so pale back then!" He let out a long sigh, trying to compose himself.
"You were unconscious for seven whole hours! How could I not be worried?!" True concern radiated from every word. He felt truly responsible for Lucian's well-being.
"I told you, I'm fine now," Lucian sighed softly, trying to ease the tension. He was slightly annoyed by Ivan's fussing, but he understood his loyal servant's heart.
"Hah..." He took a deep breath, then spoke in a softer tone. "I don't want to talk if you're standing that far away." He emphasized the words "that far away" with a subtle gesture—a signal for Ivan to come closer.
Ivan, who had been standing nervously a few steps away, instantly understood. He walked quickly but carefully, stopping right beside the bed. A short silence filled the room.
"Ivan," Lucian began, looking at his servant, seeking understanding. He knew this question might sound strange, perhaps even absurd, but he felt compelled to ask.
"What do you think... about my face?" The question came out, carrying a weight far heavier than it seemed.