A splarkle returned to Sherry's eyes for the first time in a very long time when she saw that her father and the Demon Lord, the two people she hated most in the world, were about to fight to the death. A manic grin grew upon her face as she was transfixed. The last grace life had left to give her besides thw mercy ofdeath, was to see these two kill each other. She found herself realising, despite all that time in prison cursing her father's name, that she wanted him to win. She was rooting for him.

She recalled the shock and horror she felt when she realised she was not merely going to get a slap on the wrist for desertion. She remembered the humiliation she felt when her husband publically declared his divorce. But it was the gaze of her father's eyes intohers that truly broke her. All herpride. All her arrogance. In an imstant it was replaced with primal rage as she screamed and spat out every obscenity she could think of, directed at anybody unlucky enough to listen.

She had no idea how comparively pleasant those days would seem. She could never have imagined she could hate people more than that. She had merely been lashing out. Blaming others because she wasn't ready to face up to or take responsibility for her own actions. But her emotions towards the Demons, and especially their Lord.

That was hate.

The pain Sherry felt from being pierced in the head and chest by multiple Auric shards was nothing compared to the releif she felt that finally, it was all over. She smiled peacefully, and closed her eyes...

---

---

---

A bed.

A soft bed.

How long had it been since she'd felt a bed. She didn't know why this was happening. She didn't know if this was real. She didn't care.

Sherry curled her toes, and tears started to trickle from her eyes. Her legs were back. She didn't know that it was possible to miss being able to wiggle your feet,let alone how much joy such a simple act could bring her. She continued to blissfully doze, unaware of how much time was passing. This was too real to be a dream, and too nice to be the afterlife. Sherry was self-aware enough that she wouldn't have been sent *up*, but down. She opened her eyes and sat up. This was her old room in the Klaides estate, before she moved into the Palace. So before the war even started.

The door opened and in walked her maids. The head maid, Mildred, followed by Maria, who shrunk and averted her eyes when Sherry looked her way. Right. Maria was scared of her. Mildred was much more of a cross, disapproving no-nonselce lady who openly showed her disdain and disgust for Sherry but usually got away with it because Mildred had served mother, thus securing her place in the household heirarchy. Sherry remembered disliking Mildred, but right now, she was glad to see her.

"You're awake," Mildred droned dryly. "Please take your place at the mirror. If you stay in bed any longer, you'll be late for the Collegem Orientation."

Sherry couldn't remember how she used to respond, or how she would have responded back then. She was just too happy to be tended to by servants at all. She wordlessly and obediently took her place at the mirror with closed eyes and a content, serene smile playing on her lips. Mildred and Maria were taken aback, looked at each other, and both decided not to tempt fate.

"Please style my hair in a style befitting a Lady. I shall trust your discernment," Sherry told them with a smug tone, relishing in the experience of being pampered. She then studied her face. She looked to be much younger then before. Somewhere around the age range of eighteen to twenty. She was too focused to hear Maria whispering to Mildred; "Did she just say 'please'? Did I hear that right?"

Ophelia Noella Kaides -
Hadrum, Last stand.
@OwO@SilverPaw

---

The beast screeched.

An arrow, piercing it so perfectly and elegantly that left her in momentary confusion as to who could be so good of a shot. She hadn't even a chance to respond with her own counterattack. All she could do was follow the trajectory of the arrow, her grey eyes falling onto its source.

Silence fell amid the chaos. A momentary reprieve.

"...E-Estelle...?"

Her voice was weak, though not from physical or mental fatigue. Disbelief, and relief. She was almost certain the next time she'd have spoken her sisters name it would have been with derision, scorn, hatred...some manner of negativity. Even now, though, after all this time, as resentful, disillusioned and as angry as she had been towards Estelle when she had left her first feeling was that of joy.

"W-wait-what..." Estelle's hand clasped hers, pulling her away. It felt so worn. So cold. That strong, firm hand that once gave her comfort and security was so...worn. Tired. She could see the lines of fatigue and years of age showing on her sisters face as she was pulled away, stumbling over her feet as she'd come to terms with what was happening. She was running again.

Estelle was running again. That feeling of joy and relief was soon washed out by a feeling of irritation. Frustration.

"Wait...w-wait Estelle wait!" She would pull her hand away from her sisters. "Why...Why do you always run!?" Ophelia firmly shot back, her voice rising. Something she had never once really done to either of her sisters, or even to anyone really. In turn, it caused her to wince slightly. A pain in her ribs. Something was definitely broken, not to mention she was having trouble breathing well. "Look how well that's turned out for you!" Was it harsh? Yes, but she couldn't help it. She was tired, frustrated and it hurt. Seeing Estelle hurt.

Retreat? Where to? Where did they have left to go? The ships? There was nothing left.

"I'm not running, Estelle." She scowled. "So just leave me, like you always do. I am not going to run! Even if my body breaks entirely I will never be like you and run away-!"

What happened next, was probably too fast for Estelle to process. The droplet, her sister, moved fast. There was the sound of clanging metal, her Estoc driving itself deep into the eyesockets of an orc.

"Not...while I'm here, bitch-"

Their position was soon likely to be overrun...but it was not a path Ophelia was going to be able to take.

The orcs sword sat firmly embedded in Ophelia's chest.

"So...run, Estelle...live...for me, okay? I really...really...missed you..."

Ophelia collapsed.

Oh...was that Isana? How fitting, she supposed. Ha...ILA had a sense of morbid humor, perhaps...she tried to move her body. She really didn't want to die, after all. She had spent her entire life trying to live more, but as always - it never listened when she demanded it too.

Ha...maybe she could finally have a good, long, sleep, now...

---

"Ghk-"

"Aaaah!? My lady-!?"

The next thing Ophelia knew, was a soft, comfortable bed.

Followed by pain. Nausea. She felt feverish, to say nothing of the unpleasant memories rolling around in her head. Had she lived? She had died, hadn't she? Part of her wanted to laugh, but the other part-

"I-I have a bucket here, milady!" The excitable voice was familiar to her, but she couldn't place it immediately as she'd find the bucket placed in front of her...well, less placed and more almost thrown as the maid tripped over her own feet and landed in her lap as she retched up whatever contents were currently in her stomach into it. This...this whole situation was familiar wasn't it? She used to get sick all the time, hadn't she? It had gotten better as she had gotten older but back when she was in the collegem there were times when she'd wake up and just couldn't even get out of bed.

"...M-Margaret...?"

"Present ma'am -bweh?" It was instinctive, more than anything, that Ophelia reached out and pulled her maid into a tight, warm hug. She couldn't help it. Tears started flowing from her eyes as she buried her face into her maids chest. Margaret. That wasn't a name she had been able to say in ages. To say nothing of the memories still fresh in her mind, to hear the voice of one of the few people she had ever really known again... "Ah...uhm...d-did something happen, milady? Did you have a nightmare?"

Ophelia didn't respond as Margaret nervously chuckled, placing a hand on the back of Ophelia's head, gently holding the young Kaides.

"...ah...uhm...ma'am? Do I need to tell everyone you won't be attended orientation today?"

"Orien..tation?" The words sounded unfamiliar as she said them. Orientation for what...? "Sorry...Margaret...how long was I asleep for?" She'd say as the maid would use a tissue to help Ophelia dry her eyes.

"Hm? Oh, you slept rather soundly tonight! I was quite surprised you didn't call me once for something. In fact, I was really concerned for a bit because you weren't already getting ready for the Collegem orientation. So erm, a normal amount?" Margaret would hand her a glass of water.

"...I...I see. I feel like I slept...much, much, longer..." Ophelia shook her head, frowning as Margaret would help her off the bed after she rinsed her mouth out.

"Ive got a warm bath drawn for you, we'll get that pretty hair of yours all sparkly and shiny and you can forget all about that nightmare, alright?"

"Mhm, okay..."

What was going on, Ophelia didn't really know. She wasn't sure. Her mind was a mess right now, she was tired, but she figured if nothing else, she was alive and for now, that was fine.

Rodin could feel it, just for that moment. When the Demon King was so busy parrying from what he could see in front of him, the half-elf was able to slip past his field of vision and slashed his side with his glaive. A shallow cut all in the grand scheme of things, but he drew blood. It was his one act as a warrior and his final act of defiance against the encroaching end. As expected, the Demon King set his sights on the half elf and with just a command dark crystalized aura travelled down his weapon and creeped onto his arms. He was left frozen in place, stuck in the position of when he drew the one drop of blood against the demon king.

The monster reveled in mocking him, tears trailed down his face as he knew he failed both to save both heritages. No, he failed everyone. He failed his family, his friends, and every humble villager that had nothing to do with these conflicts but were pulled into them due to this bastard's desire from destruction. He failed everyone.

The sensation of cold steel was replaced by the splash of warmth trailed down his chest and stomach. Rodin's grip on his broken weapon loosened and dropped the two broken halves onto the ground. He stumbled back, his body's strength struggling to keep him standing upright. His vision was hazy, but he saw it, he saw Vincent earn his drop of blood from the demon king. If he had the strength to cry out to his cousin, he would've, but the only thing that he could muster was the blood he coughed up before his knees buckled.

Rodin collapsed onto his back; his lackluster gaze focused on the demon king's rage. He could only bitterly chuckle a bloody, gurgled chuckle that the only thing he could only amount to was to wound him. However, the patriarch stood in front of them and for the first time in his life he met eyes with the man and were not filled with contempt.

I am a Kaides... His focus shifted away the red, smokey sky above and he laughed, strained from choking on his own blood. I wasted so much of my life for what? Petty excuses? His gaze returned to the patriarch of his family and watched in his dying moments the two of them clash in a way that defied all sense of reason. I could've been like that too... Rodin you useless fool.

Rodin closed his eyes, feeling his final sleep call upon him. he had one more thought. It was stupid given the moment, but he could not help but to think about that function all those years ago when he saw her across the ballroom. One last regret, but a bittersweet what if. I wonder what my first words to her would've been.

Then white. Was he finally dead? He could see his kin stretched out as far as the eye could see. Were they dead too? His gaze focused on Martenos locked in together in death before the old man turned his gaze to all of them and... dissipated along with the demon king? The half-elf wasn't sure what was happening. A piece of auric light pierced him and...

---

Rodin's eyes fluttered open.

It was so warm, so soft. When was the last time he slept in bed this comfortable and why did it feel so familiar? His mind was in a sleepy fog as he slowly sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. As his vision became more focused, his eyes widened immediately as soon as he was aware of his surroundings. This was not the encampment in Hadrum he slept in with the other draftees.

"This is my room." Rodin said in disbelief. There was no mistaking it. How could he? It was home though this should not have been possible. "I died, I know I did. I'm supposed to be dead. The demon king-" He lifted his nightshirt only to see that there was no scarring or in fact any evidence that the demon king had exposed the half-elf's entrails for the world to see. Actually... was it just him or did he seem weaker than before, physically speaking.

Where were his abs, or any of his muscles for that matter? Rodin kicked off the rest of the sheets and stumbled off the bed, running to the mirror that hung on the wall to get a better look of himself. What his reflection showed him was the face of a teenager of about sixteen years of age. "I'm younger... What the hell?" His fingers trailed along his face, pinching and poking to see if he was just dreaming. He most certainly wasn't.

A loud knock from the door caused Rodin to jump. "Young master, are you awake? May I enter?"

Young master? How many years has it been since anyone has called him that?

"Uh, yes. You may enter!" He called out. The door opened to reveal a very familiar face that he had long thought dead, Helga, his old servant. A friendly, rotund old woman that was rough around the edges, but very good at her job.

She gave her young master a polite smile. "Up and early I see. Good to see you're up at it! I was figuring you'd be still asleep on this special day." Rodin had not responded as he just stood there in total stunned silence. Concern flashed across Helga's face, and she asked, "Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost. Are you well?"

Saw a ghost? That may as well be the case. The last time he saw her was before he dropped out of the Collegem. She gave him a basket full of his favorite foods as a parting gift. There was no doubt that she had perished in the war against the demons, probably among the first. God he missed her.

Rodin shook his head and smiled as reassuringly as he could. "No, no. I'm fine. I just had a bad dream is all." A dream? There was not a chance that was a dream. He did not dream the last ten years of his life up until his dying moments. "Um, anyway. What's so special about today anyway?"

He received a scowl from the old woman. "How could you forget? It's orientation day! Young master, are you sure that you are not unwell?"

"I'm fine, truly! Just, can we just move on from this and get a start with my day, please?"

Helga looked at him with a knowing look that something was up, but she just didn't know what. Very little could get past that old woman, but she was also his employee. "Very well. I have a bath drawn for you. Maybe that will put some life back into you."

A warm bath, now that was a luxury. Rodin smiled at her fondly. "Yes, a bath sounds lovely right now."

He was not exactly sure what happened. His mind was a swirling mess at the moment, but if nothing else he was glad to be alive.

It felt like they were saved when the light arrived. A huge flash could be seen from where Lucille was still fighting, having found a shortbow more useful for fighting the ogres in short distance. The smoke suddenly lit up, almost as if going aflame, and everyone started shouting and laughing, feeling a new happiness at the sureness that they were going to survive.

Lucille sighed, getting another arrow ready. They still had to survive, so celebrating could and should wait. There were now more bodies than people next to her, and even though she had no one close to her there, she could feel the tears in her eyes. All their might, their trying, the fight, everything, only to end dead right before they were saved? What a waste, a nightmare, a dark joke. The demons were closing in on them, they were so close, but they still had much to do.

At least that's what they thought. In between the smoke and screams, Lucille could barely hear a weird screech sound, something breaking. As soon as she took out the ogre right next to her, she spared a few seconds to look around, try to find the origin, make sense of that. She couldn't find anything, and tried to get back to battle, feeling someone too close to her for her comfort in this situation. She fought as best as she could, but tiredness was getting to her, her multiple bleeding cuts making her feel heavy and out of her mind. Against her own mind, she was closing her eyes, for longer every time, unable to do other thing. She felt herself falling into darkness, a weird voice talking in her mind. She fell down, but never got to touch the ground…

---

---

She opened her eyes, her heart quickening, the feeling of falling down waking her up with a startle. She looked around, surprised and scared, sure that the enemy must have taken her. Trying to move quietly, she got out of the bed and started walking to the door, as silently as she could. But a voice interrupted her.

"Huh… Milady… Where are you going?" She turned slowly, finding a maid. She was barely able to stop herself from screaming. It was Ingrid! The maid that took care of her at the Collegem. This had to be a dream, she remembered hearing around that she had died in one of the first attacks. Containing her surprise, she turned fully, and explored the room with her eyes before looking at Ingrid again.

"Huh… Nowhere, Ingrid… I just wanted to walk a little, I was feeling stubby and sore" She answered, trying to convince her. Lucille still notice the look in Ingrid's eyes: she didn't quite believe her. But she was far too intelligent to try to get her to tell the truth. Changing the topic, she started for the bathroom. "Is the bath ready, Ingrid? I wouldn't want to be late." Lucille's coldness coming back apparently appeased Ingrid, who soon started fluttering around her and getting everything ready.

After that preparation, a familiar bell sounded: if Lucille really was back at the Collegem somehow, it was time for orientation.

---

---

---

---

"...Did he really just say that to me?"

The Patriarch's last words, somehow carried across emptiness by the resonance between two Divine Auras, wrung Vincent's soul out until he felt as if every ounce of hateful rage, of tearful sorrow---anguish, rejection, vindication, retribution, ignorance, realization---all of it, as if all of it was being twisted out of him like dirty bathwater.

"How dare you.
How DARE you!
How dare YOU!?"

Everything was twisting around him, spiraling down and down and down. As he was pulled back, screaming every ounce of defiance against death and the world and demonkind and his own father, the last thing he remembered was the blazing gold and nebulous black crystal impaling his empty eye socket.

"After all of this...why that?"

His eyes opened. Both of them. Red silk, white curtains, a downy pillow. Sunlight through an open window; birdsong; the smell of lilies, violets, and lavender in the crystal vase the maids always had to leave on his table by his mother's orders. His fingers gripped the edge of the sheets as if he were going to tear himself free.

Where...? This is...my room? He rolled to his left, as he always did so that he could place his right palm against the ground and push himself up---But his left arm pinched against his body and the mattress, as pins and needles pricked his fingertips. For the first time in two years he felt it! With a gasp he recoiled, nearly tumbling out of the bed---with muttered curses and a great deal of thrashing, Vincent Kaides finally roused himself from the cocoon of sheets and throw-blankets.

My body---My body! He swept the thin curtains aside and stumbled on legs that were no longer the right length. He fell against a vanity dresser, and gazed into the mirror. ---How? What kind of magic...no, it's not possible, is it? And yet!

Vincent looked down at his hands. Young, barely calloused, intact. The room swam as he turned his head---he wasn't used to having full depth-perception anymore. He felt...not whole. Something was missing. Now closing his eyes, he sent his consciousness deep into the depths of self only to find it empty. Cold panic seized him, turning curiosity and a budding excitement into sudden fear. He could no longer feel his Aura! After so many grueling years of training, after everything he'd given up---!

No. There, between his navel and his spine, smaller than a grain of barley. A tiny, fragile, sputtering spark. An ember that needed to be fed before it could alight once more. In the past, it had starved, but now his past was his present. How far had he come back? He gazed into the mirror again, turning his left cheek towards the glass.

No dueling scar. So this is before Blaise's lackeys "put me in my place." He lifted up his nightshirt, revealing smooth, pale skin that had little fat on it, yet was soft and untoned. That old bastard's "training" never accomplished squat, either, so I must not have entered Collegem yet to get any real work done. So I'm...what, ten? Eleven? God, was I really this scrawny and pathetic?!

At that moment a knock sounded at his door. Three times, rapt and loud, but merely a courtesy before his mother asserted her authority by barging in anyway. And as always, that dog Balbys was at her shoulder. As soon as Vincent saw him, both fists clenched and a snarl twisted his face; the ember of Aura deep in his guts was replaced by hateful bile, a bitter indigestion that soured in his belly.

But his mother was all skirts and twirls as she swept him into her embrace, and suddenly the small, shriveled parts of him that were still human---emotions he thought he'd killed long ago---begged him to return the gesture and sob into her shoulder. He refused, but by god he wanted to just melt down more than anything he'd wanted in almost a decade.

"Good morning, my darling!" Amabilia Kaides said, her voice as loud and her noble accent as polished as it has always been---even in private moments like this, anyone passing by the halls had to know that she was a proper and outstanding member of high society. She had to turn heads, had to make sure the image she was presenting was always seen---

And yet, Vincent had missed her terribly.

"Are you excited for your first day of Collegem?" she beamed, not even waiting for his answer before she gestured to the manservant. "I've prepared the most wonderful outfit for you! We have to make sure your first impression is---"

"Oh fuck me, not that again!"

In the shocked, wide-eyed silence that followed, Vincent pushed himself away from his mother's bosom, which was rapidly paling in color just like her almost-bloodless face. Behind her, Balbys looked like he'd choked on something as he held aloft the offending garment. Vincent pointed at it, standing with feet spread and shoulders hunched like a guard dog with its hackles raised as he barked his refusal.

"Enough with those pansy-ass shortpants! God DAMN it, I forgot how much I fuckin' HATED those things!"

"V-v-v-v-v-Vinceeeeent---!" Amabilia's satin-gloved hands went to her cheeks in horror, even as her jaw clenched so tightly one of her perfect white teeth might have cracked.

"Language, young master!" Balbys suddenly snapped, using a tone reminiscent of a drill instructor bringing soldiers to heel. For an exact tenth of a second, Vincent felt a deeply buried piece of his muscle memory tremble at that voice. He remembered, in that instant, how this tutor had always berated and abused him, from the time he was seven years old until the day that---. No. In the end, he was an ant nibbling at my ankles. "How could you speak such filthy words in front of your noble mother---!"

"The same way you could always say my bitch of a sister "would look at lot better on her back," when you thought I wasn't listening, you derelict two-faced shit!" The instincts honed by years of grueling battle felt the blow coming, and he ducked under it. His mother, standing to her full height now, raised her hand to try and slap him again.

"Vincent, stop speaking like that this instant!" Her voice was broken and higher than usual. Vincent had rarely seen her make such a face in public, especially around him. But, as he looked past her and saw Balbys holding a facade as stiff as concrete while inwardly frothing at the mouth---he could tell because he remembered that, every time the man started grinding the toe of one shoe against the ground, that Vincent would be belted as soon as the coast was clear---he realized something:

He had been sent back to the past, and yet he was not the same. A mind that had learned, for the sake of survival, to think quickly and to seize on every opening no matter how unfair or underhanded, began to spin.

"...I'm so, so sorry, dear, lovely Mother---please forgive me." Bringing his bare heels together---goddammit, my pajamas are shortpants too!?---and placing one hand over his heart, he bowed deeply at the waist as he composed himself. "But please, let me explain why I couldn't help my shameful outburst!" For a moment, Amabilia's considerable chest heaved as she caught her breath. Then, she turned towards Balbys...and as her eyes narrowed, she nodded at Vincent.

"...Yes, please, do give an account for your behavior!" Her posh accent was fully back in control now. As the butler stepped forward, mouth on the verge of opening, she held up a palm to silence him. "And tell me, Vincent, what is it you claim to have heard Balbys say?"

Well, technically, he never said it around me. Head still bowed, Vincent grinned wickedly. But I damn sure know he's let it slip amongst other company by now. Because boys would always be boys, even as men sitting around the bar and saying things they thought would remain in confidence; and those men had little brothers who bullied even younger boys in the schoolyard. Sherry had never wanted for enemies---but she had never been as easy a target as her younger sibling.

"Of course, Mother!" He smiled sweetly as he raised his head, willing a childlike blush to come to his cheeks. As he did so, he reached towards a tall wooden wardrobe.

I'm still not wearing those godforsaken shorts.

---

Lucas could do naught but stare helplessly as the demon lord and his father met in battle, his limbs refusing to do more than twitch. He can't quite make out who the two men who scratch the fiend are, though father's reply makes it certain they're fmaily, perhaps if he'd made more effort to keep in touch the missing arm would have given something away, and that's the last thought he has before his brief trip to a world of white where a shard of blackened aura to the heart makes sure he's dead. He thinks father said something?

---

---

The loud rapping of hands upon a wooden door wakes Lucas, he can't help but feel that something is off, though he's clearly in his own bed, which is a nice change from more recent sleeping arrangement, he's still half asleep and has barely moved when a sharp voice calls in from outside "Master Lucas, it is past time for you to rise, you must be made presentable in time for Orientation." That could only be Helena, probably the sternest maid in mother's employ, he'd never seen her actually smile, only it can't be, because she didn't make it out of Kaidisyum.
It is as that thought enters his mind that he jolts fully awake as his memories come into wakeful focus, still trying to comprehend it all, he stands, which is when he realises how odd he feels, at once better than he has in months if not years, with none of the barely healed injuries or constant aches from hard bedrolls and harder fighting, yet his movement feels a little slower. He barely clamps a hand over his mouth to stop himself from uttering the sort of phrase only 4 years among soldiers could teach you when he sees his decidedly teenage body in the mirror, unblemished by scars and more tellingly, there's not so much as a hint of stubble, making him perhaps 15 and a half at most.
He's not sure what or how it happened, his memories feel more real than even the most lucid of sleep deprived dreams, yet this is also no dream. It's at this point he remembers Helena is still waiting for a reply and that the few times he didn't wake on time were invariable unpleasant. "If I am to be presentable, please have a bath drawn." It has been quite some time since Lucas has had a proper bath, more importantly it shall buy a little more time to think, if he is somehow reliving his past, then there's plenty to improve on.

ａｎｄ　ｔｈｅ　ｌａｓｔ　ｓｔａｎｄ

---

The sounds of combat became louder. Distant clashes became louder and more powerful. Something was culminating. But what did it matter to Estelle? When she had thought all was lost, she had found her youngest sister.

What came wasn't a sweet reunion. Instead, her sister had begun to admonish her. The words cut deep. Ophelia was right. Estelle only ran. She ran from her responsibilities as an older sister. She ran as the war continued. She ran from any hope at reconciliation even until the end times. It was a truth that Estelle could only acknowledge. But despite that, she wanted her sister to live. She'd easily sacrifice her life in exchange for either one of her sisters.

She couldn't see it. An ephemeral clash--one that ended in a blade piercing Ophelia.

Her hair stood. A cold wave ran down her spine. Immediately, she ran and cradled her youngest sister as she collapsed.

"I'm sorry..." She muttered, her voice hoarse. Tears welled and ran down her face, only to be absorbed by dirty bandages. This was the first time Ophelia had seen her oldest sister cry. There were so many things she wanted to say. There were even more that she wanted to apologize for. But no words beyond apologies came. Her hand intertwined with Ophelia's. It was becoming cold.

The sounds of uneven steps caused Estelle to turn to whatever approached them. It was a human. Another figure she could identify, no matter how weakened her vision became. A familiar voice shouted their names.

"I-Isana?" She exclaimed, though her voice would not permit a yell.

Isana approached. Estelle wished to spring forward and hug her middle sister, but she could not afford to do so. Not with Ophelia becoming colder. She wanted to beg for help getting Ophelia to safety. A distant flash of light cut her off before she could form the words. She looked towards the light. Clouds began to part away from the epicentre. The sound of cracking earth and continuing destruction. A wave of destruction began to form.

Words didn't form, but she grabbed Isana when she came into reach. Estelle pulled her two younger sisters into her chest and cradled the two of them as best she could. If only they had met at a better time. One before Estelle made the mistake of leaving her sisters.

The sound became louder and louder. Finally, the buildings that formed the alleyway were torn asunder. Auric shards pierced what negligible protection Estelle could offer.

...

ａｎｄ　ｔｈｅ　ｄａｗｎ　ｏｆ　ａｎ　ｏｌｄ　ｄａｙ

---

It was a rather uncomfortable bed, all things considered. After all, it wasn't made for relaxation. It was one to prevent sores. The rest of her room told the same story. It was closer to an infirmary than a bedroom.

Things were quiet. Ever since the incident, her room had remained locked and empty. She had been moved to a more private estate in hopes of aiding her recovery and, though perish the thought of someone betraying the Kaides family, one that was only accessible to her immediate family and most trusted servants.

What had happened? Estelle knew it was not a dream. She didn't need any physical test or confirmation. It was too real to be a dream. Too unforgettable. Too painful. But she lay in her old bed once more.

But that sense of quiet... it was more than usual. While her estate was quiet, she usually had her trusted maid to help her.

Ah. Wasn't this the day where the servants were busy with helping prepare for the College. Her maid would be out preparing one of her old outfits. The realization hit her as she recalled old memories. It was that day. The day of her biggest regret.

She would chuckle, but she remained silent as she stared at the ceiling, what little detail it had blurring together in a haze.

Of course, there was something she had to do this day. She had to see her sisters.

She crawled out of her uncomfortable bed only to immediately fall onto the floor. Her body didn't seem to want to move how she wanted it to. Was this how she was when she ran away? Or was this her body forgetting how to move as it once did in the past-future. It was a miracle that she made it to another town.

Like a newborn fawn, she clumsily stepped towards an old wooden wheelchair using whatever table or dresser she could reach to remain upright. She nestled herself in the chair before her hands--still cold and thin, but significantly less calloused and scarred--began to roll the chair out of the room. It was clumsy, but less so than her walking in her current state. She had somewhere she needed to be and she wouldn't pause or make detour. She didn't even put on a proper set of clothes, instead choosing to throw a basic shawl on.

She had her sisters to see.

There was no closure.

He hadn't witnessed anything.

To the end, all Ferrucio faced was the face of some mangy ogre, slobbering over his face as it prepared to crush his skull to pulp. There was no catharsis in this, no euphoria to be found in watching the Patriarch hold his ground. No acknowledgement, not when he had long lost personal attachment to the Kaides name. Inhuman might clashed against the demonic strength that felled the kingdom, while mere mortals scrambled in the muck, survival instincts reducing them to mere beasts. And when reality broke, when even legends shattered in that limbo between life and death, when his soul was rent by the fragments of Aura, what remained was still...

...a mongrel, unsated.

---

It was a beautiful day.

Birds chirping outside the window, sunlight illuminate the dust motes in the air. A bed that he sank in, and covers that smelled like nothing at all. His pillow was made of something much softer than canvas and stone; his clothes felt soft against his skin.

It was surreal. He rubbed his eyes. Felt his face. Rolled his tongue over his intact teeth. Sat upright, then practically hurled himself out of his bed in a hurry to roll up his sleeves, his pants, his very vision obstructed by bangs that were unfamiliar yet nostalgic. Thinner skin. Unscarred, uncallused skin. And the sight outside his window.

It was a beautiful day, blindingly so. Had Kaidisyum always looked like this? In the window, his own reflection was found, a transparent image of a self he no longer recognized. Gawky limbs and hair that masked half his face. A hunched neck and sallow skin, pockmarked by acne. Had he ever looked like this? Ferrucio swallowed, lost in this mirror image, lost in his thoughts. Had it been all a dream, a nightmare that was finally broken upon his imagined death?

He didn't want to dwell upon it.

He wanted to leave, now!

He reached for a light cloak to pull over his clothes, slipped his feet into a pair of boots, and left his quarters without a thought. Ten years passed, but he knew where the kitchen was still, knew where the cellar was. None of the servants batted an eye as he moved down corridors and hallways. Another errand perhaps, another order to be fulfilled by the mongrel of the Kaides for his betters. He slipped past the heat of the cooking fires, snatching a heel of day-old bread. Another few steps and he pocketed a bruised apple or two. His gaze lingered briefly on an assemblage of eggs, before he reached for the remains of a wheel of cheese instead. Enough for a breakfast in his youth. Enough for three days, in his 'yesterday'.

Ferrucio left through the servant's door.

Perhaps today was an important day, but at the moment, all he wanted was to bask in the sun in a place with a view.

---

---

Eryx cursed himself.

Why wasn’t he faster? The spell left his hand, his spear followed—movements drilled into him a hundred times—but it still wasn’t enough. It had never been enough.

The ground beneath him was already red. His body screamed, and the pain didn’t fade. There was no swift, clean end for him. Every heartbeat was agony. Worse than the pain was watching the man he’d tried to save die anyway.

He didn't care about the patriarch, unlike moments before. He could only feel regret. As the shards of gold and black Aura pierced him, he still felt regret. Regret that he hadn't tried harder. Kept his promises.

Regret that he let himself be invisible.

---

This room...

This bed.

Eryx blinked slowly, lying still as the ceiling above gradually came into focus. Morning light slanted in from the tall windows to his right, fractured into golden rays by gauzy curtains. There was no shouting. No screech of demons. No smoke. No blood.

He reached up with a trembling hand, brushing his palm over the center of his chest.

No pain.

The sheets were soft. The scent of lavender hung faint in the air, mingled with aged cedar from the furniture. His legs weren’t shaking. There was no weight of armor, grime, or exhaustion clinging to his body.

“What the hell...?” he breathed, his voice hoarse. Not from screaming. Just morning rasp.

He sat up slowly, pushing the sheets aside and planting his feet on the polished floor. His hands flexed, turning over before his eyes. The calluses he’d once worn like armor—thick, cracked, ugly—were gone. A young man’s hands again.

He stood, unsteady, and made his way to the mirror by his bed. What stared back at him wasn’t a soldier.

It was a boy.

Around sixteen, maybe seventeen. Messy blonde hair. Clearer skin than he remembered. And eyes, still his own, wide with a complicated mix of awe, confusion, and unease.

I look... younger.

He stared for a long while. Then, filled with an energy to figure out what had happened, he turned towards his wardrobe. He grabbed the first outfit he could find, not caring how it looked. It fit, at least.

He was halfway to the door when it opened suddenly with a soft creak. A small maid with long, dark hair entered with a polite knock that came a second too late.

“Master, you must wake u—oh!” She nearly dropped the towel in her hands, blinking at the sight of him fully dressed. “Y-You’re awake!” she stammered, blinking in obvious surprise. Then, with professional speed, she composed herself.

“But—what are you wearing, Master Eryx?” Her brows furrowed with real dismay. “You can’t wear that to Collegem orientation! It’s completely wrinkled!"

Orientation?

That was enough to tell him where he was. Before the war. Before the frontlines. Before the death of his friends. Before he learned what guilt could do to a man.

He turned back to the mirror. His reflection looked unburdened. But only on the surface.

Underneath the skin—beneath the boyish face and softer frame—he could feel it. The weight of his promises. Still with him. Still real. He looks down at his outfit and chuckles to himself.

“...Yeah,” he muttered, almost to himself, almost to her. “I guess I can’t.”

---

---

Sherry examined herself in the mirror. Her dress, hair and makeup were immaculate. It had been several years since she felt so human, but it had seemed a lifetime. With a satisfied smirk, Sherry dismissed both her maids with a wave of her hand. They were, in a way, relieved that she had started acting a little more familiar. There had been something slightly off about Sherry ever since she woke up.Not that they ever particularly wanted to be around regular Sherry either. They quickly vacated the room. Sherry followed suit, after adjusting her accessories one last time.

She was hungry, and went straight to the dining room for breakfast. She wasn't usually the first one here back in her distant memories. What was different?

Oh, a bath! She hadn't had a bath today! She usually bathed twice daily, so she didn't smell. But the last time she had ever had any form of bathing had been the buckets of cold water in prison, that she was graciously allowed to pour over helself. The only liquid she ever had available in the demon's camp was dirty, metallic-tasting well water she was too thirsty not to entirely drink.

Sherry took her place at the table. The size and grandeur made all the more striking by Sherry being the only person in the whole room, until the chef came out. At the Palace, Sherry was always consulted beforehand on what she'd like to eat and that was then prepared fresh for her. Sounds nice on paper but it would frequently leave her waiting, hungry. She was more than grateful that Sherry had not been given a choice in what to eat. The chef placed a plate in front of her that contained a spread of folded cured meats, cheeses, scrambled eggs and buttered toast on which toassemble the aforementioned ingredients. The last thing she had eaten before this had been a cold, bloody hare carcass.

She took a bite. It was like a flavor explosion in her mouth. In her head, she knew this was a plain breakfast. One she may have even kicked up a stink about. But the saltiness of the meat. The tang of the cheese. The crunchof the bread contrasted with the pillowy eggs. She swallowed and took another bite. The chef turned white as a sheet, and Sherry wondered what he was reacting to when she felt the warmth trickling down her cheeks. She was crying. She dropped the toast and wiped her eyes.

No.

Oh no.

She couldn't stop them now they'd started.

Sherry Klaides didn't cry. At least not earnestly. She could shed crocodile tears at the dropof a hat but she always kept a handle on her emotions. There was no point vocalising them. The demons would only hurt her more if she gave them a reaction.

The...Demons...

Sherry started to shiver uncontrolably, and her eyes dialated. Her breathing became fast and sharp gasps. She sat up sosuddenly that the chair fell with a loud clatter behind her. She grabbed her chest. Her heart was beating sohard it was startingtophysically hurt. She couldn't breathe. The plate of food in front of her defocused, and looked both sharp and blurry, both near and faraway, at the same time.

"H...." she wheezed, before trying again to shout outher panicked plea. "Help me!"

She didn't know how she could be helped. She didn't know what this poor quaking chef could do for her. But she was scared. It may have been a panic attack but it felt like she was having a heart attack. She tried to focus on something. Distract herself to try and calm herself down. But she couldn't find any puchase in the raging rapids of her mind.

Ophelia Noella Kaides
@SilverPaw@OwO

---

The water was warm.

How long had it been since she had last had a bath like this? Far too long. Ophelia relaxed, letting out a deep breath as the warm bath water ran over her body. She had sent Margaret out, wanting to be entirely alone for the moment. She wasn't sure how long she could keep a straight face for, let alone how she was going to react to see Isana and Estelle again. She sighed, shaking her head. It was something useless to think about, but how could she not?

She'd stand, getting out of the bath as she'd take a look at her body. No scars. No blemishes. Muscles that would tire at just a brisk walk. All her years of training and hard work, reduced to nothing. Well, mostly, but what use were such skills with a body as frail as hers? She'd frown. Perhaps she'd need to start actively training harder, sooner.

Once she was done with the bath, she'd find herself sitting in front of her vanity, Margaret fixing up her hair and applying the light makeup she used to wear. It was rather tiring, honestly. Had it always been this tiring? After spending so many years on the battlefield, putting her everything into training -

"There we go! You look lovely, my lady. A pretty little snowflake."

"Snow...flake?"

"I know people outside of the family talk about it, but they just don't get how pretty you actually are! Look," Margaret pointed to her reflection in the mirror. It was something she had seen hundreds of times, but it was always something she never liked lingering on. She didn't hate her appearance, per say, but she did wish she didn't look quite so...dour all the time. Not that she could help it, really. She barely had the energy to maintain proper decorum and etiquette most of the time.

"More like a ghost," Ophelia responded as Margaret finished the final touches on her dress and hair. "Maybe I'll actually start doing something about those who talk too much this time..." She never really did much to dissuade such rumors or problems in her apparent past life...and After Estelle and Isana left, she simply let her anger and frustration get her into far too many fights and misunderstandings.

How did she act before then? It was all too fuzzy.

"This time...my lady? Well, it doesn't matter if you are a ghost! You'll be the cutest ghost!" Ophelia couldn't help but to laugh lightly at the statement. How absurd. "Ah! Almost forgot! Breakfast is being made for your mother and your sisters."

"Breakfast? What's the occasion?" She couldn't remember there being a breakfast gathering during Orientation.

"Eh? I thought you'd be happy. Apparently Lady Isana requested it. Oh, but uhm, if you're not feeling well I'm sure they'll understand."

"...Isana requested it?" This definitely didn't happen last time, as far as she could remember. Perhaps she had just forgotten. Considering how ill she was previously it wasn't a stretch to say she had. "No, no, its fine. I feel...well, honestly kind of terrible but I'll go."

After sending Margaret away and spending a few minutes psyching herself up for this and trying to get her tone of voice and body language right, she'd head off to the dining area with a fast step. Once she arrived, the smell of food and the light chatter of the servants felt so...nostalgic. She missed it.

Perhaps she was feeling a little happy about being back, after so long.

She'd slow her pace to a walk, before stopping just at the door to the dining room. Okay, she could do this. She could do this-

"Ah. Isana. Mother...!" Just her luck, she'd arrive at the dining room just as her Mother and Sister did. Her breath caught slightly as she looked at her mother. The last time she had seen her...Ophelia couldn't meet her mothers gaze. Thankfully, that was something that wasn't unusual for her in the past. "We're...ahem, having breakfast together? Is Estelle feeling well enough to join us?"

---

---

---

---

"...And on TOP of all that, he's barely taught me any actual swordplay, because he lied about his qualifications!" The veins in Balbys's neck and forehead were fit to burst. Through bloodshot eyes and a jaw tense enough to crack his teeth, all he could do was stand stoically as Vincent outed every one of the man's flaws---and even invented a few new ones he knew the butler couldn't afford to dispute, because explaining how his young "ward" had twisted the truth would in fact expose more truths. "He might've come from Geviel, but he's never even met Fors Darkwood! Everything he claims he learned about the Kastell style comes from a treatise he bought in some secondhand shop!"

Vincent had been weak as a child, and clumsy, and a crybaby. All of those things were true. But being caned by his tutors---a smack on the hand when he answered a question wrongly, a stripe across the legs when he failed to perform a technique---and shamed by other members of the family like his sister and that bastard Sylas's brood, as well as the bullying he'd experienced in Collegem, had all done just as much damage to him as his lack of talent. Balbys had often forced him to do ridiculous drills, like performing a basic technique one thousand times, not because he truly believed in the proven power of repetition, but because he only knew a handful of actual attacks, blocks, and stances. Even if Vincent completed the tasks he was given in a satisfactory manner, the man would only come up with some other excuse not to teach him other things. Even if practicing the fundamentals over and over was itself a fundamental method, learning through repetition still required using those techniques in different contexts, understanding how they flowed into or interacted against other techniques, or studying the tactics and principles behind them. Just blindly swinging a stick in the air had never done him any good.

So this time, he was going to get rid of Balbys, and everyone else who'd gotten in his way.

The man couldn't beat him in front of his own mother, no matter how badly Vincent embarrassed him. Even if Amabilia did allow him to administer a "punishment," he wouldn't be able to do much more than spank the boy a few times in her presence. And by making every accusation he could possibly remember at once---Balbys's perverted comments towards Sherry; his falsified claims to be an Expert swordsman; his frequent day-drinking; his occasional purchase of illicit drugs from slum dealers (granted, for his own recreational use, but Vincent left that part out); and a hushed-up harassment of one of the younger maids, whose dismissal he arranged when she refused his advances---the heap of crimes would outweigh the demand for evidence that Vincent was, admittedly, lacking.

But Vincent, even through rose-tinted memories, knew the kind of person his mother was, deep down. More than likely, she already knew about some of these things. Perhaps she had even covered for Balbys at one time or another. Yet, a noble lady of her standing absolutely could not have such bad influences around her precious children. If Vincent knew about these things, and if it were known that her little baby boy was being mentored by such a scumbag, how would that reflect on her as his mother?

It simply couldn't be allowed, now could it? It would tarnish the pristine Kaides reputation!

"...I see." Amabilia had produced a fan from somewhere, and used it to hide any expression from her mouth or nose. Vincent knew that look in her eyes well enough, though, to see that he'd won. He smirked devilishly at Balbys as his mother turned to face the man. "Balbys."

"M-my lady, the...the young master is m-mistaken!" The butler immediately began to flail as he was going under the water. "He's, he's just a little boy, and he's always had such a vivid imagination!"

"Be silent." Amabilia was not a warrior; she had never awakened an aura. But, as the sole heiress of a merchant empire known for its ruthless negotiations, and holder of titles that were bought and paid for with silver tongues, her words alone carried the power of a blade. "Balbys, by order of myself as First Wife of the Lord Patriarch, you are to be temporarily relieved of your duties pending an investigation into my son's accusations. Until then, you are to march yourself back to your quarters, and remain on strict house arrest until I send for you." Her fan fluttered as the butler's face spasmed---he shot Vincent a look that, even without his Aura, the boy could tell held a sickening level of murderous intent.

He smiled wider at the man---and matched that killing intent blow for blow. He had returned to childhood, but on the inside he was still the man who'd fought in the worst war humanity had ever lost, a man who'd carved off his own arm before killing the Wyvern that made it necessary. Balbys, by comparison, was some drift-and-grifter who had lucked into a well-paid position wiping the backsides of nobility--despite his claims to the sword, he had probably never fought anything more vicious than a half-starved highway bandit. Vincent's hateful, spiteful, concentrated malice was projected through his eyes and into the butler's soul.

Go ahead, kill me! I'll drag you through the mud, and into the grave with me!

The man reeled back as if he'd been punched in the face. Blinking like a kicked puppy, Balbys looked back at Amabilia's unflinching gaze--no doubt wondering if she was aware of the monster standing behind her skirts.

"Balbys? Shall I have you escorted, like a proper criminal?" Amabilia demanded, snapping her fan back together and pointing it at the servant, who flinched back from it like an animal retreating from a torch flame. "Or do you have enough dignity remaining to you to do as I say? Surely you, as a loyal servant of the House, know what will happen to you should you run from me?"

The butler made a choked, high-pitched sound in his throat, before he brought his trembling legs together and managed a shaky bow.

"Y-yes, m-my Lady...buh, by your order, I, I shall...t-take my leave...My, my d-deepest apologies..." He managed to hold himself together until he had backed out of the room...and then his rapid footsteps beat a terrified flight down the halls.

"...Really, Vincent!" Amabilia sighed, before turning back to her son, eyes now beginning to tear up. "What has gotten into you this morning? You really don't like the outfit Mummy picked for you?" Vincent's wicked smirk immediately turned to exasperation.

That guy's been working for you for ten years, and you're probably gonna have him lashed at the stocks until he can't walk. But you're concerned about some damn shortpants?!

"...Mother, I've had a dream." He turned away from her, folding his hands behind his back as he stood at his bedroom window. "And in that dream, I realized just how...childish, and weak, I've been until now." If he really had come back to the past...if this was Collegem Orientation Day...That meant he was freshly fourteen years old (By ILA's name, if this was how I looked at fourteen bloody years old I guess I deserved to get bullied!). Ten whole years before his own death. Almost half his entire lifetime. What could he accomplish, in that span of time, with knowledge no one else had?

"And so I've decided that, from this moment on, I'm going to be different. I'll train harder, I'll outwork all my brothers and sisters and cousins! I'll study harder than anyone else at the Collegem! I'm going to remake myself, in the true image of a Kaides!"

And real Kaides don't earn respect. They take it--by whatever means necessary! They rise, by stepping on the backs of those beneath them! Isn't that right, dear Father?!

"So, in light of that...I apologize, again, for my behavior thus far." He turned back to Amabilia, having composed himself into the proper, sweet, precious little boy he she expected him to be. He wondered if she was so used to putting on her own masks that she would recognize his at some point, but nonetheless he gave her a bright, dimpled smile. "But, I think, for a moment like this, perhaps it'd be more suitable if I chose my own outfit?"

Her hug surprised him with its genuine warmth. In the unexpected embrace, his head nestled on his mother's shoulder, Vincent again felt emotions he'd thought long dead yearning for life once more.

"Oooh, my sweet baby! You really are growing up!" The noble woman was practically bawling. "I'm so proud of you! I understand why you were failing now---that terrible, disgusting Balbys! Mummy's going to deal with him, don't you worry your darling little head!"

"Why I was failing," huh? Does she even realize she was blaming it on me? Or have I always been just some doll for her to parade around?

"Very well! You're right, you're a big boy now, getting ready to be a man just like your wonderful father! Oh, you've always looked so much like he did when he was young!" She released him from the hug, and patted his head with one gloved hand. "Why don't you pick something to wear, then, and come show me? I'll go check on your sister, and leave you to it--just remember, don't be late!" Holding her skirts, she flounced out of the room all smiles and waves. The door slammed behind her rather forcefully.

"...Fucking finally." Vincent let his fake smile fall, and glowered at the contents of his wardrobe. "Alright. Orientation day. Which means..." The corner of his lip rose, exposing a glittering canine tooth that hadn't been knocked out yet.

"I need something that'll hide bloodstains..."

---

---

@ERode

---

---

As Ferrucio made his way out of the Main House and away from the well trimmed gardens and walkways, as well as any servants or noble siblings who might be out and about on the bright morning, he would find himself on a well worn dirt path. From the servant's doors into the Kaides manor, this road was used to unload carts full of goods for the kitchens and other supplies that the butlers and maids would further sort into their proper places. It passed between two rows of delicately trimmed hedgerows of white cedar, just barely taller than a man, hiding it from the wide open plots of the Estate. But, as he came to the impressively fortified brick walls that surrounded the Kaides properties, he found himself faced with a gate that would, of course, be guarded. Two men-at-arms in the family's employ, barely higher ranked than the household staff themselves and of no blood relation to the Clan, noticed his approach.

"Ah, g-good morning, Young...Master?" The two glanced at each other, then back at the youth who wore a cloak and boots, but still had on his night clothes while carrying a basket of foodstuffs. One raised a gauntlet over his chin as he hissed at the other one, _{"Which one is he?"}

"What brings you out and about so early? Shouldn't you be getting ready for, uh, the Orientation at the Collegem?"

While he could freely roam the Estates themselves, if Ferrucio wanted to leave the grounds entirely he would likely find it more difficult than simply sneaking out of the manor. For their own safety, noble children rarely left their homes without an entourage of some sort. And, in Ferrucio's case, rather than getting permission from his own parents his...unique...circumstances would require that he be allowed to go on whatever journey he desired by his own "young mistress," or--even worse--her mother.

---

---

---

---

A bath, a proper warm bath. When was the last time he had a bath like this? One where he didn't sit in the equivalent of a wooden barrel getting splinters in his ass cheeks and other places if he was willing to shed some serious cash. Otherwise, it would've been those crowded public bathhouses where he came out feeling dirtier than when he went in. This, however, was a proper porcelain tub where he could stretch his legs out and have a proper soak. Rodin could feel the heat sink into his muscles and bones, the tension from his morning seeped out of his body.

"I feel like I should be freaking out about this more. Just... kinda surreal." He lifted his arm out of the tub and looked at it as droplets of water fell from his arm. "One moment I'm racing to my death and the next I'm, well..." He dropped his hand down and splashed the water in the tub.

Rodin took a deep breath and dipped his head below the water. Memories of that battle with the demon king replayed in his mind. He could still remember the sensation of his glaive meeting glancing his body, drawing just a drop of his blood. If I was stronger I could've killed him right there and then.

After a while, the half-elf finished bathing and with a towel wrapped around his waist he looked over himself in the mirror again. His hand trailed down where the wound that the demon king gave him should've been in what felt like thirty minutes ago. Instead, his body was unblemished. No scars. No bruising. No evidence of years of effort. Just the skinny body of a teenager. "I guess that's the price for coming back to life. Gonna take time to get back to where I was..."

Or maybe he could even do better.

"Don't get greedy Rodin. Let's just get readjusted first. There's time to ascertain and plan." A knock on the bathroom door caused to jump from surprise.

Helga called out to him with concern. Master Rodin, are you okay? You're taking an awfully long time there. I know boys at your age have, uh, certain needs to take care of but-

From his cheeks to the tips of his long ears a red hue hummed. "What?! No, I'm-! I'll be right out!" He called back in fluster. Rodin dressed himself in a robe and rushed out before his maid could spout anymore. Roughly he dried his long black hair with a towel and then combed it enough to prevent any mats and knots.

"Master Rodin, you will find your clothes laid out on your bed." Helga informed him. Rodin looked at his bed and had been expertly made without a wrinkle or hair with clothes that were neatly folded laid on top. "Lady Myrrh personally picked it out herself. I dare say, your mother does have excellent taste though I say this after having the misfortune of witnessing Lady Amabilia brag about the attire she chose for Master Vincent. Money can buy you many things, but good taste isn't one of them. And those shorts certainly do not befit a boy his age or the occasion."

Rodin rubbed his chin in thought. Something about that description felt oddly familiar. Wait, that outfit? A stifled laugh escaped his lips as he physically held himself back from laughing, his arms wrapped around his diaphragm as if to force the air in. While Rodin had very little interaction with him in the younger years, he was all too aware of who Vincent was in the future. That surly, brutish asshole was going to wear that?! All he could imagine was future Vincent wearing that god awful outfit.

Like a dam, Rodin's laughter spilled out. He bent forward, clutching his stomach. His maid just watched in abject, silent shock as he watched him just laugh. However, it went as quickly as it arrived. Taking deep breaths, Rodin regained his composure partly. He could not help, but to be a bit giggly due to the mental being so fresh in his mind.

"Oh my God, I think I'll get a stomach ache if I laugh anymore!" He said as he wiped a tear away though he was quick to catch the look of surprise on Helga's face. "Are you okay?"

The elderly maid realized that she was staring hard at him. "Oh, um, I'm sorry. It's just I haven't heard you laugh like that in a long time."

It was Rodin's turn to have a look of realization. Right. I'm acting very differently than the version of me yesterday. Though it was also true that he really could not remember the last time he laughed was either. "I guess it's been awhile. I'll be okay with dressing myself, Helga."

"Very well. When you're done, your mother wishes to meet you in the parlor." Helga bowed and then left the room.

"...Oh god I'm gonna have to meet mom." Rodin's face went white. What would he say to her? It had been so many years since he had last seen her. The last time he saw her was before he left, no, ran away from home. Except that hasn't happened yet. In fact, he most likely saw her yesterday, but he couldn't remember anything about it because it was over ten years ago, but ten years ago is today! Why did time travel come with emotional baggage?!

No, he needed to calm down and act normal. Rodin heaved a sigh and dressed himself in the outfit that his mother prepared for him. He gave himself a look over in the full length mirror. "I remember wearing this..." The half-elf muttered to himself with a smile. Leave it to his mother to know exactly what he liked. Nothing flashy, but it was elegant.

He stood in front of his bedroom door and took a deep breath. "Well Rodin, it's time to live the rest of your life again." Slowly he pushed the door open into the familiar halls of his youth. Everything looked exactly as he remembered it.

"Bloody eerie," muttered Rodin. His steps echoed through the corridors as he traversed the familiar manor. Well, what was strange was one of the servants walking down the hallway in a panic. Actually, he recognized the man. If memory served him correctly, that was Balbys and if he remembered correctly he typically acted more dignified than this. Well, dignified in the way that someone was overcompensating for their lack of character. Except now this man looked like he was running for his life. This felt off. Rodin felt like he would have remembered something like this from his past life.

"Mr. Balbys," Rodin said as he laid a hand on the man's shoulder. "Good man, you look like death is right around the bend. What could possibly be the matter?"

ａｎｄ　ｔｈｅ　ｄａｗｎ　ｏｆ　ａｎ　ｏｌｄ　ｄａｙ

---

Estelle's plan to find her sisters had, unfortunately, not gone well. Her maid, Edith, had caught the unprepared Kaides as she had wheeled into the estate. Edith was of the hardworking and orthodox sort. She was aghast to see Estelle in such a state. Immediately and despite Estelle's protests, her chair was commandeered from behind and she was nearly thrown into the bath.

After the brutal scrub-down she endured, Estelle was dressed in an outfit that was put aside for the orientation. A belted pair of pants, a laced shirt, a corset (which in her current state, she would have preferred to go without), and an ornate jacket. While she didn't care for being so dressed up, Estelle knew that trying to fight Edith on this matter would take more time than just putting the outfit on.

And so she was ready for the day--but more apparently, the breakfast with her family that Edith had informed her about. There, she could see her sisters, mother, and family.

...

Ophelia's question was answered soon after she asked. Soon after her sisters and mother arrived, Edith had wheeled Estelle into the room before immediately leaving. Estelle could only turn back and offer a look that screamed "don't leave me here like this".

As much as she was willing to cradle her sisters in the end and as much as she wanted to leap into them for a hug when she had awoken, Estelle didn't know what to do now that she was face-to-face with everyone. It was a mixture of shame, anxiety, excitement, and longing. In truth, she practically hadn't spoke to her sisters in 10 years. Without desperation pushing her, it felt like she faced an insurmountable wall.

"H-hello." Estelle said meekly. Estelle's eyes welled, but she closed her eyes before they could tell. All she could offer was a nervous--but joyful--smile.

Estelle paused as she heard a whimper from across the room. It was Sherry? And she was crying? It was certainly strange, unless...

Estelle gave a nod to her sisters. Their hug would have to wait, even if for a moment. With some effort, she wheeled herself across the room to where Sherry and the chef were waiting. Without so much as a word, Estelle leaned over and pulled the panicked Sherry into her chest for a tight hug.

Ophelia Noella Kaides
@SilverPaw@OwO

---

Ophelia winced lightly at Isana's patting her head. Nngh, she didn't like that. She was fine with it previously, but now? It kind of irritated her a little. Not that she could do anything without being suspicious, though.

"Ehehe. I wouldn't miss this if I could help it, sister." She responded with a small, though genuine smile. A short lived smile as Estelle wheeled herself into the room. She hadn't had enough time to completely sort through everything...but it was just as well. Estelle didn't seem to want to speak with her, and she didn't really want to do that right now either. She was going to leave, anyways, and she doubted there was anything she could say to stop her.

Hm.

"U-huh?" Lost slightly in her own thoughts, she hadn't heard Sherry. She frowned, taking a seat next to Isana. She didn't have the best memories of Sherry. Spotty at best, disinterested at worst. "Maybe she had a bad dream? Maybe something sweet..." She focused her attention on the food in front of her and Isana. "How are you, sister? Margaret said I slept pretty well last night, though I uhm...did get sick when I woke...I don't know how long I'll be socializing."

Well-trimmed. Well-worn. Well-traveled.

His fingers brushed against the leaves of the hedgerows as he strode through familiar paths. Back in his childhood, back when his place in the House wasn't so certain, he would slip into the estate from the servant's path, ducking underneath the shrubs to avoid the gaze of his pure-blooded siblings. There hadn't been a sense of shame, just of anxiety, of being perceived and of being judged. Now? It was almost...endearing, this path. He had been worried about so little before, huh? So worried that he couldn't even admire how lush the greenery was, how exacting the lines were. The way the sky opened up ahead. How even the walls that surrounded the property had a form of beauty to them. They endured.

Until they didn't.

Ferrucio's expression shifted slightly, the stark sunlight casting sharp shadows across his features, only for those shadows to disappear when he lifted his head up once more when the men-at-arms spoke up. This was new, wasn't it? He never did go anywhere without permission before, at least not when he had stayed at the estate. There was no need for any questions, when the staff had been informed ahead of time of his destination. And then there was...

Huh, so fate had given him the 'first' day?

Orientation. He hardly recalled anything of it now, so certain he was that none of the speeches or performances were things that applied to him. There was Sherry, basking in attention and expectations, and there was Ferrucio, tucked away in the shadow, a somber, shrunken boy simply waiting for her next order. Fouler memories sprung from that relationship, a frown settling briefly upon his lips, before he let that grudge go. He had been her accomplice in the end. No matter what had transpired over the last ten years, she'd have ultimately met the same fate as all the rest. There was no reason to dwell on it. Until this pleasant dream ended, he wanted to enjoy what he could.

"Yes, I should," Ferrucio spoke. "The faster I can get this done, the better. So open up the gate and let me through."

---

---

Sherry could feel a prescdnce pulling her back from the abyss. She was being hugged by somebody. She could sense the feeling of unconditional love. She ws safe here. There were no demons. There wouldn't be demons for a long time. Her heart beat beganto slow as she grounded herself with the sensation of Estelle's hug. Finally, when her panic attack subsided, she opened her eyes.

She remembered the feeling, ten years ago, when she saw Estelle's condition for the first time. She felt pleased and vindicated. She remembered thinking that this was what Estelle deserved for daring to take the spotlight. She could remember the euphoric, twisted satisfaction from seeing the one true prodigy of this family reduced to a depressed cripple, and that now nobody could stand in her way.

Seeing her now. The warm, unconditional love clear as day on her face. Anoverwhelming wave of negative emotions flooded Sherry's heart. She felt suffocating guilt and remorse over the fate of a sister who, looking back, had always cared for her and played with her. She felt rageful regret over the waste of talent this was. The squandered potential of how Estelle could have fared against the Demon threat in her prime.

Tears streamed down her face stronger as she pushed away from Estelle in revulsion and sprinted out of the dining room. Her other half-sisters were not even acknowledged. The water Crescence has requested for her never reached her, and her breakfast plate sat half-eaten. She ran. No destination in mind. She ran until her legs started to burn. Only then did she stop and brace herself against the wall, panting. All her life, even when she was in prison, she had never felt guilt until this very moment. But she couldn't let it stop her. She steeled herself and wiped her face with her dress sleeve. She had a lot she needed to atone for, but that could wait until after every last Demon out there lay dead. It wasn't redemption. It was revenge.

---

---

The bath had been the right idea, Lucas had forgotten how relaxing a tub of warm water with expensive soap could be, more than that it gave him the privacy to think without appearing out of sorts. He was disappointed, but unsurprised to find himself unable to call up his Aura, he certainly hadn't been close to 1st rate at 15, but he's optmistic that time and training will fix that readily enough, he still remembers all the drills. There's more to it than that, but an awakened aura within six months seems a worthy first goal for improvement.
Of course he could hardly keep his mind focused entirely on such easy topics, he'll miss the friends he may not have a second time through, and there's not many people he was really close to at this age.

Before leaving the bath he calls out to the servant outside the door "Please have breakfast brought up to my room along with todays outfit, make it the one with the silver trimmed doublet."

He remains in his room, eating a small platter of cured meats, bread and cheese before dressing, putting off further interaction until it's time to present himself for orientation.