Alexander's POV:
"We are home!" Lily shouted cheerfully while running into the house, not even bothering to take her shoes off.
"Welcome home!" Mother replied from inside.
Judging by the smell, she was cooking something in the kitchen with a lot of garlic in it.
"Did you lose your brother somewhere outside, Lily? You have to watch out for him, poor thing is hopeless sometimes." Mother teased, her tone playful and loud enough to hear properly, even as I was taking my shoes off.
Ouch...
"I looked out for him! Made sure he ate!"
She didn't mention the fact that she ordered so much ice cream that I had to eat most of it.
I walked into the living area and saw Lily sitting by the kitchen counter, swinging her legs back and forth, while Mother was busy in the kitchen.
The Headmistress wasn't here anymore, thankfully...
"You spent more time outside in just two days than the entire month before, Alex. Starting to like Summer?"
I scoffed loudly at Mother's teasing.
"Fuc-" I stopped before the word left my mouth. "Nope. Just...no. Not even you like it, Mother. In fact, I doubt any of us really does."
"I do!" Lily replied.
"Yeah, but you love every season, Lily. Do you really like it more than Winter, when you can play in the snow? Or more than the Fall with Hallow's End and going trick-or-treating? The flowers in Spring?"
The little girl held her chin and closed her eyes, humming loudly as she thought the question through. After a few seconds, she opened her eyes with a bright smile.
"Summer has the best ice cream, so I love Summer too! Alex is just grumpy. Like a cat!" Lily said with a bright smile.
"...I give up."
Mother chuckled from the other side of the kitchen counter.
"Lily, go take off your shoes. Then you can help me cook if you want, alright?"
"Okay~"
And with that, my sister jumped off from her seat and hurried away. I walked to the kitchen, pulled out the drawer with the medical supplies, and took out the black roll with the knives and other tools.
"I will just go to my room and do this quickly. Might take a nap after."
"Lunch will be ready in 30 minutes or so."
I dodged to the side as Lily almost crashed into me while running back here. She went to a cabinet that had a small, pink apron hanging on it, putting it on over the light green summer dress she wore.
"Not really hungry. I will have some later. Hear that, Lily? Don't eat all the food."
"I wouldn't!" My sister snapped at me, a small pout on her face.
"Sure, you would if it's a dish you like."
As Lily grumbled something under her breath, Mother patted her head.
"Don't argue. Come and help, Lily."
The two of them started cooking together, with Mother showing Lily some simple steps she could do. I turned around and went towards the stairs.
"Oh, Alex!" Mother called out.
"Yes?" I replied, stopping in my tracks and glancing back at her over my shoulder.
"I left the book we were talking about on your bed."
That sentence left me feeling both excited and a bit worried. Taking a deep breath, I composed myself. There was only one thing she could have talked about. The codex made by Father.
Here we go, huh?
"Thanks. I will take a look at it."
"Have fun."
Walking up the stairs and through the indoor balcony, I turned to the hallway with our rooms and entered the first door on the right.
As I stepped inside, I took a long, deep breath, slowly exhaling. Perhaps only here did I feel truly relaxed.
This was my little sanctuary, where I could be myself with all my worries and doubts — things I didn't want others to see, not even my family.
My room was still dark, the large windows tinted black to keep light out. Next to them was a small console on the wall. Pushing it with a finger and swiping upwards, the windows slowly changed, turning translucent on this side but still tinted on the other, letting sunlight through.
The walls were white, as were most of the furniture, the floor a creamy colour. It was mostly clean, save for the messy sheets and the bunch of papers and books still scattered across my desk.
I put the books back on the shelf and then gathered up the papers. They had some notes and drawings on them, half-decent sketches of sights I saw in the city and beyond when travelling here with Mother. Snowy mountains and forests, vast bodies of water, buildings reaching for the skies.
Once the desk was clear, I pulled out a towel from the dresser and draped it on the desk, rolling out the set of knives onto it. Pulling up my sleeves, I sat down and got down to removing the "lovely" parasite in my arm.
If only I could get rid of the other, talking parasite this easily, too.
Come to think of it, the annoying spectre didn't show himself in a while. Whether that was good or not, I wasn't sure.
This time, the process went more smoothly. Locating the thing wasn't easy—since I'd worn it only briefly, it almost slipped my notice. Eventually, something shifted beneath my skin, and I began cutting.
I got lucky, it seems. I found the Centipede on the first try and pulled it out with relative ease.
Feeling bile rise up my throat, tasting it in my mouth, was still a pain. Thankfully, I managed to hold it in this time, while also catching the little purple gem with my teeth.
I spat it out into my palm, the Centipede immediately curling around it, returning to its dormant state.
Once the lotion was applied to my hand, the bleeding soon stopped.
Guess I'm getting good at this. Better be after so many years. Maybe that's why Mother lets me do it myself now. A few months ago, she would do it herself.
I took a lock of my hair into my palm, watching as the colour slowly darkened into its true colour.
True…
What made this the true hair colour, my true face? Why this and not the other one?
Alexander Weissmann had a mother and a father, but nobody else who really knew him. Alexander Rosegrave has a mother and a sister, a single friend, a dozen people who might say they know him, and papers to prove he exists.
But what made Weissmann who I really was? I have no memories of how he spent his days. No thoughts he might have had. No skills he learned or failed to. Feelings... That matter is better left unsaid.
At least I know how to be Rosegrave.
When we came to Veritas, there was a... interview of sorts. A blank room with a table and two chairs, a man in a suit, and the view of the city from the window. That memory is one I made. Not someone else. The wonder I felt looking at the sights, the small tinge of fear when the man asked questions. Those were mine.
When the man asked what my name was. I answered simply: Alexander Rosegrave. It was what Mother told me to say, even though she called me by a different name before that.
Late, I learned that they were testing whether I told the truth or tried to lie. They happily told Mother that I did great and told no lie.
Rosegrave. Weissmann. Alexander. Did it matter? How could I lie about who I am if I don't even know it myself?
Back then, I was just "born". Sure, I had aged fast mentally — maybe too fast — learning and absorbing knowledge like a sponge. But that didn't mean I knew myself.
You can fill an empty notebook with all the information you want, all the raw data and drawings. But would it ever make up for the actual feelings and experiences? The real sights you witnessed, the events you lived through?
I don't believe so.
Now, having spent more than 3 years living under these two names, which one would it signal as a lie? Or perhaps they were both true — or neither.
I stood up from my chair, gathering up the bloody towel, knife and forceps. After wiping the instruments clean, I put them on my desk. The towel I just threw on top of a pile of clothes I should take to the laundry room.
"Later..." I mumbled to myself
Walking to the bed, I was just about to collapse onto it, but a certain book, lying in wait there, caught my attention.
It looked the same as the one I delivered to that girl, Alice. Matching white colour, runes, size, everything. Hesitantly, I sat down and picked it up.
It was cool to the touch, not uncomfortably so, more calming than anything else. There was a small clap on it, with something etched into it. When my finger touched it, there was a faint crackling sound that made me pull back.
The symbols on the clasp shone a subtle purple, soon followed by the whole cover lighting up. It lasted for but a few seconds, and when it passed, the clasp opened.
I tried just opening the book on a random page, but it didn't let me.
No reading forward for spoilers, huh?
I opened it on the first page.
This page was filled with text, seemingly handwritten. It was neat, but there were signs the pen had been pressed down too hard in some spots. I put my fingers on the text.
"My father's words, the words of the most notorious criminal in the country, written just for me."