ESPERSIA: Requiem of a Revolutionary

ESPERSIA, YEAR 1889

Before I even opened my eyes, I knew something was off.

The air was crisp, too clean. Definitely not the stuffy, recycled air I was used to. There was this faint scent, something herbal, earthy... maybe wood? Wherever I was, it wasn't anywhere I recognized.

And everything hurt. Not like a little sore after a bad night's sleep, but like I'd been thrown down a flight of stairs. My muscles ached, bones felt bruised, and my head... well, it felt like someone had taken a jackhammer to it. Definitely not a good sign.

I flexed my fingers. They felt... different. Lighter. Too small. Wait, what the hell?

My brain started spinning, and I hadn't even opened my eyes yet. But something was wrong. Way wrong.

I cracked one eye open.

My heart stuttered.

This wasn't my room. This wasn't anything close to my life. Tall ceilings, tapestries on the walls, furniture that looked like it cost more than everything I owned. What kind of fever dream was this?

I glanced down at my hands, and everything screeched to a halt. These weren't my hands. They were smaller, softer—kid-sized. Panic shot through me, and I jerked upright, instantly regretting it as the pain in my head surged.

What the actual...

Then it hit me. So it actually happened. That weird conversation with God... wasn't a dream. Even though I was half-hoping it was. I guess reincarnation isn't just a plot device in fantasy books after all.

Great.

My heart was racing, my mind spinning, but before I could even begin to process this madness, memories that weren't mine crashed into me. Like an avalanche, they buried me. I wasn't James anymore. Not just James, anyway.

Zeliot. The name hit like a hammer, echoing in my skull.

I was both of them—James and Zeliot. And the two lives were colliding, trying to make sense of each other. Two names. Two pasts. One seriously messed up headache.

I opened my eyes wider this time, squinting against the light. Just as I started to grapple with the insanity of it all, a cool hand pressed against my forehead.

"Zeliot? Can you hear me?"

I turned my head—wincing at the movement—and saw the woman again, her eyes full of concern. Recognition hit me immediately—this was Amelia, my new mother. She had dark hair, intricately braided, and wore an elegant gown. There was a regal air about her, something distinctly old-world and foreign to James, but familiar to Zeliot.

"Yes... I can hear you," I croaked, my voice sounding younger and weaker than I remembered.

Amelia's eyes welled with relief. "Thank the heavens. You gave us quite a scare, my dear boy."

I took in my surroundings— definetely not a hospital room. This place looked like something out of a historical drama.

Amelia gently touched my forehead again. "You've been unconscious for days, Zeliot. We were so worried you wouldn't wake up."

Days? What the hell happened to me? I tried to sift through Zeliot's memories, but they were like smoke—slipping through my fingers whenever I tried to grab hold of them.

"I'm... sorry," I mumbled, not sure what else to say. The confusion of being James and Zeliot at the same time was too much. I needed more time to sort through it all.

"Don't apologize, my dear," Amelia soothed, brushing a strand of hair away from my face. "Just rest and recover. Your father and brother will be relieved to see you awake."

Father and brother. Another flash of memory—bowing before the stern man on the throne, a boy about my age kneeling beside me. The man's gaze was like a laser, and I had the distinct impression that he wasn't someone to cross.

I sat up suddenly, wincing as pain shot through my temples. "Ouch! That hurts!"

Amelia rushed forward, grabbing my hand. "Are you alright, Zeliot?!"

I took a deep breath, calming down. "I'm fine. Just... a headache."

Zeliot's memories continued flooding my mind —flashes of the same stern man accompanied by a sense of duty and intimidation. My father... Duke Valoria? I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep piecing this together, but right now, I needed answers about my current condition.

"Can you tell me how I got here?" I asked, forcing myself to focus.

Amelia's expression darkened slightly. "You were found at the edge of the forest, unconscious and badly bruised. We don't know exactly what happened, but... the healers did their best to mend your injuries. You're safe now."

I nodded, though the explanation didn't give me much to work with. Something was being kept from me, but I wasn't sure if it was deliberate or for my own good.

Just then, the door creaked open, and a boy, about 12 years old, strode into the room. His messy brown hair looked as though he'd run a hand through it one too many times—or perhaps not at all that morning. Dressed in fine clothes that seemed a bit too mature for his age, he carried himself with a confidence that belied his youth. His piercing dark amber eyes scanned the room sharply, as though assessing everyone within an instant. Despite his noble attire, there was an edge to his lean frame, his movements deliberate and calculated, giving him the air of someone who noticed far more than he let on.

"Zeliot! You're awake!" he exclaimed, rushing to my side.

I blinked, the memories slotting into place. "Raamiz?"

He nodded, his expression a mix of relief and concern. "Yeah, it's me. You've had us all worried sick. Do you remember what happened?"

I shook my head slightly, careful not to aggravate the lingering pain. "Not really. It's all a bit fuzzy."

"You were found at the edge of the forest, nearly trampled," Raamiz explained, his tone serious. "If it weren't for Luca, you wouldn't have made it."

Luca. The name rang a bell—my trainer. He must've saved this body I've just inhabitated. Wish someone could have done the same for me in my old life, but oh well.

Amelia stepped closer, giving Raamiz a wary glance. "Thank you for your concern, Lord Raamiz. But Zeliot needs rest."

I frowned. Lord Raamiz? The formality stuck out like a sore thumb. Why was she calling him "Lord"? Wasn't he her son too?

And then, like clockwork, it hit me—hard.

Another jolt of pain shot through my head, like someone yanking open a door I didn't even know was there. Two wives. Two duchesses. Gaius—Raamiz's mother. And Amelia—mine.

Of course. Should've expected that.

I gritted my teeth as the headache dulled. These flashes of memory were brutal. It was like every time I tried to settle into my own thoughts, Zeliot's memories would hit me like a truck, forcing me to make sense of things I barely understood.

Still, at least now the awkward vibe between Amelia and Raamiz made sense. It wasn't just me feeling the tension—it was the whole setup.

Raamiz gave her a respectful nod, his expression softening. "Of course, my lady. I just wanted to check on him myself. Zeliot, take it easy, alright? We'll talk more when you're feeling better."

With that, he left the room, and the healers returned to tend to me. Their hands glowed softly with magic as they worked, easing my pain. I could feel the warmth and energy flowing into me, and it didn't take long for the aches in my body to subside.

So, magic was real here. A small smile crept onto my face. Now that was something I could get used to.

The healer gave me a kind smile as she finished her work. "You're strong, Lord Zeliot. Just take it easy for a while."

"I'll try," I replied, my voice stronger now.

Feeling better, I turned to Amelia. "Mother, thank you for your care, but I'd like to walk around a bit. I need to regain my strength."

Her eyes widened with concern. "But Zeliot, you need rest."

"I know," I said, trying to sound persuasive. "But some fresh air will help me recover faster."

She hesitated before giving a reluctant nod. "Very well, but please don't overexert yourself."

With Amelia's reluctant agreement, I slowly got out of bed, initially feeling a bit unsteady. As I get out of bed, I begin to notice something is off…everything in this world is huge! The bed was larger, the furniture taller, and even Amelia seemed more imposing.

Wait. It just hit me. I wondered why Raamiz talked to me like an older brother and why it felt so natural. Could it be…

 I glanced down at my hands, already aware of what I'd see—small, delicate fingers, the hands of a child. My hands now. I'd processed it earlier, but it still didn't feel right. I wasn't just Zeliot—I was James, stuck in the body of a ten-year-old kid.

"Zeliot, are you alright?" Amelia's voice snapped me back to reality. She rushed to my side, concern etched on her face.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I replied, trying to sound calm, even though my head was spinning. "Just... need a minute."

She studied me carefully, misunderstanding the real reason for my unease. "You've been through a lot, my dear. It's understandable to feel... disoriented."

Disoriented? Sure, let's go with that. I was just trying to get my bearings in a body half the size I was used to. But freaking out wouldn't help. I forced a smile, not wanting to raise more questions.

"No, really, I'm fine," I said, doing my best to sound convincing. "Just... need to clear my head a bit."

Amelia still looked worried, but she nodded slowly. "Alright. If you're sure." Her voice softened as she added, "Take it easy, Zeliot."

"I will," I promised, though the truth was, I had no idea how I'd take any of this easy. "I'll see you later, Mother."

She hesitated for a moment, then reluctantly waved me off as I walked out of the infirmary doors.

Adjusting to my new... dimensions, I moved down the hall, trying to get a feel for this body. A few strides here, a couple of awkward steps there. I even threw in a quick hop and some half-hearted jabs into the air. Yeah, everything seemed to be working fine—for a ten-year-old, anyway.

Leaning against the wall in exasperation, I let out a long sigh. I glanced down at my hands again, hoping maybe this time they'd be bigger or something. But nope. Still tiny. Still dainty.

"Why, God, why?" I muttered to the ceiling. "I was already short in my past life. Did I really have to restart as a literal runt?"

Was this some kind of divine joke? Is this what God meant by "restarting my journey"? A kid's body, half the height, none of the freedom? Great. Just great.

In hindsight, I should have expected that this was a possibility, but still…

Honestly, I never gave reincarnation much thought—seemed like one of those convenient fairy tales people tell themselves. And spirituality? Yeah, not exactly my thing, even having met God. Still, if reincarnation was real, I would've thought I'd end up somewhere closer to home. At worst, maybe I'd come back as an ant or something—I mean that could be fun. But this?

From what I've seen so far, this place is definitely not Earth. Which raises some further questions. For example, am I altogether in a different universe? Other unlucky souls dropped into worlds like this, somehow still carrying memories from wherever they came from? My head started to throb. An existential crisis was the last thing I needed on top of everything else. I'd worry about that mess another time.

Right now, I needed to get a sense of where I stood, what this world was about, and who I could actually trust—or maybe even use. Sitting around wasn't going to get me anywhere, and patience had never been my strong suit.

With a new found purpose, I take a forward step towards the central courtyard when I suddenly stop.

A wave of nausea suddenly hit me, making my head spin. "On second thought, exploring can wait," I muttered, clutching my stomach. "I should probably find my chambers and sleep this off first."

Then it hit me—harder than the nausea.

"I have no idea where the hell to go," I whisper.

Should I ask Amelia where my chambers are? No way, that'd definitely raise a few red flags. From what Zeliot remembers, its impossible that she'd let me wander the castle if I seemed disoriented. Better to play it safe.

We live in a castle, right? I could ask a guard. It might make me look like an idiot, but hey, I'm twelve years old now—plenty of excuses to fall back on. Besides, I can't hide forever.

I stepped out into the hallway, feeling the cool stone underfoot. It wasn't exactly unfamiliar—the corridors, the arches, the faint draft of air that slipped through every corner. It was like a word on the tip of my tongue, something I should know but couldn't quite remember. Maybe it'll come back with time, I told myself, turning a corner and scanning the endless halls. Still, even with the shock of this new life, being here felt weirdly… right. Like two puzzle pieces finally clicking together. It was still me, but every second, I could feel bits of Zeliot filling in the gaps.

I shook off the lingering thoughts just as I turned a corner and spotted Raamiz, watching me with that sharp, knowing look of his, like he was sizing me up.

Play it cool, I reminded myself as I turned a corner and spotted a familiar face.

Raamiz, who I now remembered just recently turned twelve like me, watched closely as I approached himthrough the courtyard.

"Glad to see you're not stumbling around like a newborn deer anymore," he said, his smirk in full force. "You looked half-dead just five minutes ago."

I chuckled, trying my best to get through this conversation, "Seems like I'm good at getting myself into bad spots."

Raamiz's smirk turned up a notch. "Lucky for you they called in the serious spellwork. That stuff's not exactly on the house, you know."

"Magic?" I tried to sound casual, though it sparked my curiosity. "I mean, I see healers all the time but… that seemed different."

Raamiz gave me a strange look, his brow furrowing. "What do you mean, you see healers all the time?" he asked, a hint of disbelief in his voice. "I seriously doubt that. You of all people should know magic is strictly regulated here in Indra. Most forms of it are banned unless you're licensed by the Crown, or if you're part of the royal guard or the healers. And even then, it's rare. You don't just run into it every day."

"Right," I nodded, filing the information away. It was another strange quirk of this world—my new world. Back on Earth, I wouldn't have had to deal with being magically licensed to stay alive.

Raamiz paused, his frown deepening as he considered me for a moment longer. "Magic healers are rare, Zeliot. They don't just show up for bumps and bruises. When those guys come around, it's because there's no other option."

I blinked, the weight of his words sinking in. "So... you're saying those healers were the real deal?"

Raamiz nodded. "The big guns. They only come out when it's serious—life or death. Whatever happened to you, it wasn't some minor accident. Someone thought you weren't going to make it."

Well, that's charming, I thought, rolling my eyes. Good to know God dropped me into a world where my new life could've ended after two minutes.

We kept walking for a bit, and the courtyard felt way too open for my liking. Too much to take in all at once. My head was starting to pound again, like my brain was trying to remind me it wasn't exactly used to all this. Between the magic, the castle, and trying to remember how to be Zeliot, my brain was working overtime.

"Yeah, I think I'm done for now," I muttered, rubbing my temples. "I'm gonna head back to my chambers before my head explodes."

Raamiz glanced at me, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he nodded. "Take it easy, Zeliot. You need time to recover."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll get right on that," I replied, waving him off as I turned back toward the castle. My legs felt like lead, and my headache had gone from a dull throb to full-on hammering. Fun times.

The headache wasn't letting up, and every step felt like walking through mud. Still, Raamiz has provided with some helpful clarification. However, still one problem remains - How the hell do I get back to my chambers?

 The castle was huge, and at this point, I wasn't about to ask anyone and look like an idiot. But as I started walking, something strange happened.

Without even thinking, my feet started moving in a familiar pattern, like muscle memory. I turned left down a narrow hallway, then another right through an archway that led to a staircase. It wasn't me doing it, not James. It was Zeliot. His instincts, his memories—buried somewhere deep—were guiding me.

I guess Zeliot's still in here, after all, I thought, half-amused, half-absolutely confused. At least his body knew where to go, even if my head didn't.

By the time I reached my chambers, I felt like I'd just run a marathon. The door was already open, and I stumbled inside, too exhausted to take in the surroundings. The bed looked like it had been waiting for me forever, and without a second thought, I flopped onto it, the cool sheets soothing my aching head.

So much to figure out, and all I want to do is sleep, I thought. The answers could wait. Right now, my brain needed a break.

After what felt like an hour, the headache finally started to fade, the pounding easing to a dull throb. Between the healers' magic and the fact that I'd stopped trying to think about everything, the pain was manageable. Now, maybe I could start piecing things together... later. Definitely later. After a nap.

As I reawoke, the initial panic about my age had mostly worn off. Was it because Zeliot's memories were more merged with mine? Maybe. I wasn't sure. What I did know was that these new memories were starting to fill in some gaps. Apparently, I—Zeliot—was the first son of Duchess Amelia, who, judging by the way she hovered over me like a mother hen, was the definition of overprotective. Could be worse, I guess. At least she seems to care. My mom back on Earth? Yeah, not so much. Small blessings, right?

I rolled over, pressing my forehead against the cool pillow as fragments of Zeliot's memories trickled in. The Valorias—my family now, apparently—had ruled over Indra for more than 300 years. That sounded impressive, sure, but being part of a grand old dynasty came with a nice, suffocating web of expectations and politics that I didn't fully understand yet. Fantastic. Because my history with politics? Let's just say it ended with a bullet in my head, courtesy of some "rulers" who didn't appreciate my views.

And now, here I was, reincarnated right back into the thick of politics, a potential 'ruler' myself. My head throbbed. Yeah, self-loathing is already kicking in strong.

But as the fog started to clear, another thought crept in, something a bit more interesting than all this noble baggage. What about magic? I'd seen the healers do their thing, and I had to admit—it was pretty cool. But could I do magic?

Unfortunately, the answer wasn't clear. As Raamiz had reminded me earlier, in Indra, magic wasn't something just anyone could mess around with. It was tightly regulated—strictly prohibited for most people unless you had a specific license granted by the Crown. They probably had some long-winded explanation for it—maintaining order or something like that—but it all boiled down to one thing: my own family was stopping me from becoming a kickass wizard.

Typical.

It made sense in a way. Too many people running around casting spells could cause chaos, but still, hearing that I wasn't allowed to do magic just added to the frustration of this new life. I couldn't help but wonder if there was a way around it. Maybe I can find a way to train behind everyone's backs? That could be fun. We'll see. I wasn't about to give up on the idea of being a wizard just because of some royal red tape.

For now, these memories seemed like the important ones to hold onto. It was a lot to process, sure, but still, I couldn't deny the opportunity I'd been handed. A fresh start as a high-class kid in a magical, fantasy world? Not bad, all things considered. If I messed this up, well, I'd have no one to blame but myself.

Feeling a little more oriented, I leaned back, letting out a long breath. Things were starting to make more sense, but I needed a way to organize my thoughts. A plan. Yeah, a plan. I got up, walked to the door, and peeked out cautiously. A guard stood just outside, looking half-bored.

"Excuse me," I said, clearing my throat. The guard straightened up immediately, looking down at me with a mix of surprise and curiosity. Clearly, it wasn't common for the young lord to be so direct.

"Yes, young master?" he asked, sounding a bit puzzled.

"I need a quill and some paper," I said, trying to sound as authoritative as possible. "I have some... letters to send?" 

Sure, that sounds convincing.

The guard blinked at me, clearly taken aback. "A quill and paper, Your Highness?"

"Yes, that's what I said. Please fetch them for me," I replied, maintaining eye contact and hoping I was exuding confidence.

"Uh, right away, my lord," the guard stammered, bowing slightly before hurrying off down the hall.

I smirked to myself. From Zeliot's memories, I could tell he wasn't the demanding type—rarely asking for anything or standing out. I'd have to find a way to balance being me and playing Zeliot's part. While I waited, I glanced around the room, curious to see if anything interesting caught my eye.

As I waited, I glanced around the room. It was well-decorated, luxurious even, but nothing stood out—no secret maps, no mysterious heirlooms, just the usual trappings of nobility. It was going to take more than wandering around to get answers.

The guard returned a few minutes later, holding a quill, a small ink pot, and several sheets of parchment. He handed them to me with a respectful bow.

"Thank you," I said, taking the items and retreating back into my room. I sat down at a small writing desk by the window and laid out the parchment.

Alright, Zeliot, let's get serious. I dipped the quill into the ink, tapping it against the edge of the inkwell, thinking. Where to start?

The first thing was obvious: I need to figure out this world. Zeliot's memories only went so far—what I could actually hold attention to wasn't exactly enough to understand the full political landscape or even my own position in it. I was living in a castle, in a powerful family, but I barely knew the first thing about how things worked here. That needed to change, fast. Education was key—there was no way I'd survive without knowing the lay of the land.

I scribbled a few notes, my thoughts speeding up. Next, my skillset. Zeliot's strengths were still a bit of a mystery. Was he good at anything? I had no idea. But I couldn't rely solely on Zeliot's talents. I'd have to integrate whatever skills I'd had as James. Strategic thinking, problem-solving—maybe even magic if I could figure out how to get around those restrictions. Physical fitness, too. This body felt weak, but I could work with that.

I paused, twirling the quill between my fingers. Most importantly—survival. My gut told me that this wasn't just a case of bad luck. The accident, or whatever it was that landed me in this situation, might have been deliberate. An assassination attempt? Maybe. I couldn't rule it out. Which meant I needed to keep my head down, gather information, and watch my back.

I jotted down more notes, then stopped. The last line I wrote stood out:

Survive.

That was the key. None of this mattered if I didn't make it. I had to be careful, play things smart, and stay one step ahead. This world might be dangerous, but I wasn't exactly helpless. I had my mind, my memories of being James, and now Zeliot's body and status. That had to count for something.

I looked over the notes one more time, folded the parchment, and tucked it into the drawer. My head felt a little clearer, like I was finally getting a grip on this strange new reality. I lay back, letting the exhaustion from the day catch up with me, and before I knew it, my eyes were closing.

"Get away from me!" 

I jump up, my heart racing with panic, fists clenched, and sweat dripping off my brow. I look around, ready to run or, if I have to, fight for my - wait a minute, what the hell is going on? 

I remember a flash of movement—a blur, something heavy and fast—flickered at the edges of my mind, but it faded too quickly to grasp. All that remained was the echo of fear, still pulsing through my veins.

I sat up in bed, catching my breath, eyes darting around the room. Nothing seemed out of place. No shadows lurking, no strange noises—just me, alone in my pajamas. But something still felt... wrong. My gaze drifted to the wardrobe across the room, its door slightly ajar. Probably nothing, but my nerves were on high alert.

Slowly, I slid out of bed, tiptoeing toward it. My pulse quickened with each step, some irrational part of me convinced I was about to come face-to-face with an attacker. I reached out, gripped the handle, squeezed my eyes shut, and yanked the door open.

"AHHHHH!" I yelled, bracing myself for whatever horror lay in wait.

Something fell to the ground with a thud, making me nearly jump out of my skin. I froze, heart racing. There's someone here… I'm about to die…

A long moment passed. Nothing happened.

Finally, I cracked one eye open to find... a pair of shoes lying on the floor. They'd fallen off the shelf with all my dramatic flair. I'd been mortally terrified by footwear.

Oh yes, showing great potential here.

I shake my head, aghast at the fact that I was acting so childish. I suppose I am literally a child now, but that was still ridiculous. Getting past that, I wonder why I awoke with so much fear in my body. A nightmare? It must have been intense for it to have caused so much distress. I sit down, trying to catch a memory of what happened during my sleep. I struggle to grasp onto something for a couple of minutes, but nothing comes.

Whatever, I have more important things to do.

I stand back up, go to my wardrobe, and pull out a simple yet elegant outfit. Despite the lingering unease, I managed to dress myself without further incident. As I finish, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

Hey, not bad—I'm kind of a looker! I'd guess I'm at least a foot shorter than I was as James—so probably around 5'0". Slim, wiry build.And those purple eyes? Large, vivid, practically glowing. Not to brag, but damn, they're striking. My face isn't bad either—fair skin, high cheekbones, eyebrows that are naturally arched just enough to look perpetually curious or sarcastic, depending on the angle. Full lips too. Yeah, not too shabby.

I struck a pose, raising an eyebrow and flexing my arm like some hero from a cheesy romance novel, one hand on my hip. Just as I was getting into it, a sharp knock on the door snapped me out of my admiration.

"Lord Zeliot? Everything alright in there?" It's one of the guards, probably coming to investigate after hearing my earlier yell.

I drop the pose and smooth out my clothes, trying to look less like a kid caught playing pretend. "Yes, everything's fine," I call back. "Just having a spirited conversation with my reflection."

The door creaks open, and a wary face peeks in. "I heard a shout, my Lord. Is there anything I can assist you with?"

I sigh dramatically, giving the guard a cheeky grin. "Unless you have advice on how to perfect my hero pose, I think I'm good."

The guard's eyes widen slightly before he catches himself. "Ah, very well, my Lord. I'll leave you to it, then." He nods and closes the door, but not before I catch the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

My first order of business is to catch up and absorb as much information as possible. I thought about it a bit, and the best course of action is to visit the library. 

 As I exited my room, I saw the guard who had just checked on me, nervously tapping his foot, standing steadfastly against the wall.

"Morning," I said casually. "I'm going to the library for a bit."

The guard bowed slightly. "Of course, my lord. Shall I accompany you?"

"No need," I replied. "I know the way."

I started down the corridor, feeling the guard's eyes on my back. Just as I thought I was in the clear, I heard his footsteps quicken behind me. He stepped in front of me, bowing slightly. There was something off in his expression, a sign of discomfort.

"Actually, my lord," he said, his voice carefully controlled, "I insist on accompanying you."

Raising an eyebrow, I ask, "And why must you insist?"

He hesitated, bowing his head slightly. "A request from your Duchess-Mother, Lord Zeliot."

Ah, there it was. Amelia's protective nature was showing again. I sighed inwardly; dealing with my mother will be a pain for the foreseeable future.

"Alright, then. Let's go."

"My deepest apologies for hassling you, my lord, I am only-"

"I get it, I get it, no need for apologies. Let's get a move on."

The castle still felt… different. Familiar, but not. The hallways stretched on forever, tall windows letting in blinding amounts of light, and old tapestries lined the walls, depicting things I couldn't remember but probably should have known. There was a heaviness to the place, like it was watching me—like I didn't quite belong.

I was doing my best to keep up appearances, but in the back of my mind, it felt sort of hopeless. How is a ten-year-old lord supposed to act, anyway? I glanced at the guard beside me, wondering if I should even be talking to him, or if that would seem… off.

After a few more seconds of awkward silence, I decided to just go for it. "How long have you been here?" I asked, partly to break the tension, partly because I needed to gather any information I could.

"Ten years, my lord," he said, his voice formal. "It's been an honor to serve the Valoria family."

I nodded, though inwardly I was filing the information away. "Ten years is a long time. I bet you've seen a lot."

He chuckled quietly. "Indeed, my lord. There's never a dull moment."

I smiled, trying to sound casual. "What's the most interesting thing you've seen?"

The guard thought for a second before smiling. "Well, there was the time Lord Raamiz turned the dining hall into a fencing arena. That caused quite a stir."

I blinked, trying to picture it. "Sounds… like Raamiz." I hoped that didn't sound too forced.

He smiled. "Yes, my lord. He tends to enjoy grand gestures."

I nodded again, though I was starting to feel out of my depth. "How come I didn't hear about it?"

"You weren't there, my lord," he replied with a small smile. "Afterward, the Duchess-Mother swore Lord Raamiz to secrecy. Didn't want any more incidents like that."

"Ah," I said, trying to keep my tone light. "Makes sense. Though if Raamiz was sworn to secrecy, is it... really okay for you to tell me?"

The guard's eyes widened slightly, and I watched a flush rise to his cheeks. "I... er, my apologies, my lord. I didn't mean to overstep."

I shrugged, keeping my voice low. "Don't worry. I won't tell."

Relief flooded his face as he bowed his head slightly. "Thank you, Lord Zeliot."

After a brief pause, he looked at me a little closer, hesitating before speaking. "If I may say, my lord… you seem different today. More mature, perhaps? You hardly sound like yourself."

I blinked, caught off guard. "Mature? That's a new one."

Gregory nodded, looking a bit embarrassed. "Apologies, my lord. It's just... well, you seem to have grown up overnight."

Great. So it's that obvious. I shrugged, trying to play it off. "Maybe I have. Sometimes life has a way of pushing you to grow up when you least expect it."

Gregory's expression softened, and he nodded. "Indeed, my lord. It's an honor to see you stepping into your own."

As we continued down the hallway, the conversation flowed more easily, and I found myself genuinely enjoying the company. The corridor led us through a series of archways, each more grandiose than the last, with sunlight pouring in and illuminating the intricate carvings on the walls. The library was just ahead, and I could already smell the faint scent of old books and parchment.

"So, Gregory," I said, glancing up at him. "What's your favorite part of serving House Valoria?"

Gregory paused, his gaze drifting down the hall as he thought. "I would say the sense of history, my lord. Every corner of this place holds a story, and knowing I'm part of that—helping to maintain it—it's… well, it's an honor. Not many regions in Espersia have kept the same family line so intact. I'm proud to be part of that continuity."

We reached the library doors, and Gregory held them open for me. "After you, my Lord."

I stepped inside, greeted by the familiar smell of dusty paper. "Thank you, Gregory. I think I can handle it from here."

He bowed slightly. "Of course, my Lord. I'll be right outside if you need me."

As the door closed behind me, I took a deep breath, ready to dive into the vast sea of information that awaited. The library was enormous, with towering shelves filled with more books than I could ever hope to read. The air was thick with the musty scent of ancient tomes and the faint rustle of pages being turned by an invisible hand.

"Alright, Zeliot. Time to channel your inner bookworm," I muttered, scanning the rows of books. A bit of dread settled in as I realized how overwhelming it was. Where do I even start? History, magic, politics—it all seemed important, but picking just one? Tough.

I pulled out a thick, dusty tome labeled Histories of Indra and Beyond and settled in at a nearby table. My main goal? Grab as many important facts as possible. For all my trying, Zeliot's memories gave me barely anything useful about the world. Looked like I'd be piecing this puzzle together myself.

I opened the book, and the first thing that greeted me was a sprawling two-page world map, intricate and detailed, with borders marked and territories shaded in different colors. Six continents, scattered islands, and names that felt distant and foreign: Indra, Penusia, Legon, and a dozen others. Alright, geography—check.

Turning the page, I found myself in a dense section titled The Ancient Era. The text was written in formal script with faded ink, like the author wanted the writing to feel as ancient as the times he was describing. Skimming over terms like Order of Seraphs and divine intervention, I mentally bookmarked it. But wait—when they mentioned "gods," did they mean literally? Were there actual gods roaming around, or was it just people making decisions "in the name of a god" to keep everyone in line? I made a mental note to dig into that later.

Flipping ahead, my eyes landed on The Era of Kings. The pages were filled with dates, royal lineages, and endless battles. I skimmed past the bulk of it—something about kings carving up territory in the East and gods (whatever that actually means) trying to keep the peace—making mental notes for later.

Finally, I reached the Modern Era.I flipped the page open and started reading. "The Modern Era: From 1500 Onward" declared the header in bold, precise lettering. This part of the book looked fresher than the rest, which I guess made sense.

I flipped the page and skimmed down to the key passage, my eyes catching on the words:

The Valorian Dynasty has maintained firm rule over Indra for over three centuries. Established through calculated alliances and the strength of the monarchy, the Valorians are the undisputed stewards of Indran stability and power.

The monarchy serves as the central authority, with regional lords appointed to manage individual territories. Each lord is sworn to uphold the royal laws and values, maintaining loyalty to the crown while serving as leaders to the people under their jurisdiction. This structure provides balance, ensuring both the security of the capital and the prosperity of outer territories.

The government's core principle lies in the "House of Prosos," where representatives from each territory advise on major legislative decisions. Through this body, regional voices find representation, ensuring that the ideals of hierarchy and loyalty remain intact. The monarchy, however, retains ultimate power, embodying the unity and strength of Indra.

The paragraph continued, its tone full of what I imagine to be Indran pride:

Indra stands as a dominant force, especially in contrast to its historic rival, Penusia. The Indran alliance with Legon remains a source of strength and mutual respect, further solidifying Indra's place as a leading region. Penusia, by contrast, has long been an adversary, its values and ways of governance counter to Indran principles. Yet Indra's legacy remains unbreakable, a land of independence and strength.

I raised an eyebrow at the text, thinking about the way it practically glowed with loyalty to the Valorians. Maybe a little biased…

I was so deep in my reading that the sound of footsteps didn't register until they were almost on top of me. My head snapped up, and I felt a jolt of surprise as I locked eyes with Alba, my eldest brother. Alba was fifteen years old, his dirty brown hair appropriately tousled, and he wore a dark robe with golden braids on the shoulders, giving him that unmistakable air of authority.

My mind flickered—a memory?—but it disappeared as quickly as it came.

"Zeliot," he said, his voice soft but firm, a tone that didn't quite match the image of the next head of the household. "I didn't expect to find you here."

"Well, there's a first time for everything," I replied, closing the book and offering a casual smile. Keep it casual, I thought.

Alba raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "You never used to spend much time in the library."

I shrugged, trying to keep my tone light. "Guess I figured it was time for a change. There's a lot I need to catch up on."

He nodded, though he didn't seem entirely convinced. "Indeed. Knowledge is power, as they say." He hesitated for a moment before adding, "Mother and I… we've been worried about you since the accident."

Mother? I paused for a second, trying not to let the confusion slip onto my face. He means Duchess Gaius, right? He has to. I'm pretty sure I'm the only son of Amelia. The thought was nagging, but I let it pass—for now, at least. There were more pressing issues.

Right, the accident. I'd almost forgotten how everyone must have been on edge after I supposedly fell off a horse and nearly got trampled. Not that I had any more clarity than they did on what really happened.

"Yeah," I said, keeping my tone casual. "I'm okay, really. Just trying to stay busy and get back to normal."

Alba's gaze lingered on me for a moment, like he was searching for something. But I wasn't sure what. He seemed thoughtful, maybe even cautious. It felt like there was more on his mind, but he wasn't saying it.

I cleared my throat, trying to move things along. "So, what brings you to the library? Looking for something specific?"

He glanced at the shelves, then back at me. "Just browsing. There's always something to learn, even for me."

An awkward pause hung between us. I could feel it—there were some obvious holes in Zeliot's memories, things I probably should have known but didn't. Alba seemed guarded, careful with his words, and that only made me feel more out of place.

"Well," I said, standing up and stretching, "I've got a lot to catch up on, so I should get back to it."

Alba nodded, but before I could return to my book, he added, "Zeliot, if you ever need anything—help, advice—you can come to me. We're family."

I looked back at him, slightly caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. "Thanks, Alba. I appreciate that.

He gave a small nod, then turned and walked away, his footsteps fading as he left the library.

As I reopened the book for more reading, I felt a faint buzz in my mind from the conversation with Alba. There was something there, but I couldn't quite grasp it. No use dwelling on it now.

After a couple of hours in the library, I finally slid the last book back onto the shelf. My mind was buzzing with bits and pieces of information—some interesting, sure—but none of it directly useful to me right now.

After gathering my notes and what I thought were the essential materials, I stepped into the dim corridor. Immediately I spotted Gregory—the guard who had escorted me to the library earlier. He straightened as soon as he saw me, giving a polite nod before falling into step beside me as I started down the hall.

"Everything alright, my lord?" Gregory asked, his voice neutral, but his eyes quickly scanning me like he was still under orders to keep an eye on me. Which, he was.

"Yeah, all good," I replied. "Just heading back to my room."

We walked a few paces in silence, his presence making things feel a bit formal, but I didn't mind. I wasn't exactly in the mood for more conversation. I had plenty of thoughts of my own to pass the time. 

But just as we reached the junction near my quarters, Gregory cleared his throat. "Actually, Lord Zeliot, I've been sent to inform you that there's a dinner tonight in your honor—your family is celebrating your recovery. You're expected in the dining hall at sunset."

I stopped for a moment. A family dinner. Great. That's exactly what I needed—being paraded around with everyone staring at me, asking how I'm doing when I barely know myself. Perfect opportunity to sound clueless.

"Right. Thanks," I muttered, keeping the annoyance in check.

Gregory nodded, gave his usual bow, and headed off to wherever it is guards go when they're not looming over you.

A family dinner, huh? No way around it—skipping would only raise suspicions. If I'm going to make sense of this new life, I need to learn more about these people, and what better place than right at the family table? They're Valorians, rulers of Indra with centuries of power behind them, and apparently, I'm one of them. I'll have to play this carefully—piece together more of Zeliot's memories, figure out what role I'm expected to play here, and, most importantly, find out what they really want from me.

I sighed, shaking my head. Maybe it wasn't a complete disaster waiting to happen. The more I could observe, the more I might understand about my position in this world. And hey, at least it wasn't another hour spent awkwardly piecing together someone else's life in solitude.

Whatever. It's just a dinner. How bad could it be?

Now, what's something that would be appropriate for this? Back when I was James, I was never exactly one for dressing lavishly—it went against my principles. And my wallet.

I opened the wardrobe, glancing through the array of outfits. Everything was ridiculously well-made, like each one could've cost more than a month's rent back on Earth. "Wow, these must be expensive as hell," I muttered under my breath.

I shifted through the options, feeling out of my depth. All of these were too formal, too… royal. Finally, I settled on something plain but still decent enough for the occasion—a dark tunic with silver detailing. It seemed fancy, but not over-the-top.

"I guess this works," I said to myself, pulling it on. "Man, I have no idea what I'm doing."

Just as I finished adjusting the tunic, a knock on the door interrupted my thoughts. Before I could answer, it creaked open and a servant stepped inside, bowing slightly.

"Your family is already gathering in the dining hall, my lord. I've been sent to escort you."

Seems like a bit much. 

I glanced at myself one last time in the mirror, feeling unsure about the choice but knowing it was too late to change anything now. "Well, too late to regret my dressing decision," I muttered.

"Yeah, alright," I said to the servant, adjusting the collar again and following her out into the corridor.

The walk to the dining hall wasn't that bad. I kept telling myself that, anyway. No need to overthink it. I could handle a dinner. Just act normal, don't do anything weird, and definitely don't let them think you're not "Zeliot." Easy enough, right?

As we got closer to the carved doors, I could hear voices drifting out—familiar, casual. It was just dinner with family. How hard could that be? I squared my shoulders, shaking off the unease creeping up on me. This is fine. I've got this.

The servant glanced back, waiting for a cue. I shined a smile, gave her a nod. Alright, time to pull it together and walk in like I belong here.

The moment I stepped inside, all eyes turned toward me. My mother, Duchess Amelia, smiled warmly from her seat at the head of the table. Alba was to her right, as always—rigid and unreadable, giving me a brief nod of acknowledgment before returning to his drink.

Raamiz, on the left, greeted me with his usual grin, lifting his goblet in a mock toast. "Finally decided to join us, huh? We were starting to think you got lost on the way here."

I rolled my eyes, managing a half-smile, but my attention quickly shifted to Idris, seated beside Raamiz. He barely glanced up from his plate, offering me a quick, dismissive look before returning to his food. Typical Idris.

For a moment, the sight of him triggered a familiar feeling—something like irritation mixed with expectation. Idris was Raamiz's twin, (so he was 12) but he couldn't have been more different. Where Raamiz was easygoing and playful, Idris was sharp, always too eager to remind everyone how much smarter he was than the rest of us.

Memories start pushing into my head - it feels as though growing up, Zeliot always felt like Idris was trying to prove something—to the noble court, to Raamiz, maybe even to himself. He never missed an opportunity to show me up, especially when it came to anything intellectual. He had a way of making you feel small, like you were always a step behind, always missing something that was obvious to him. And he loved to make sure you knew it. I pushed the memory aside and took my seat near Raamiz, who leaned in toward me. "You haven't missed much," he whispered with a grin. "Idris has been quietly sulking since we sat down."

"Hardly sulking," Idris muttered, not looking up from his plate. "I just don't see the point in us all pretending this is a happy gathering when Father's been gone for weeks."

Raamiz chuckled. "At least someone's willing to say it."

Idris glanced at me briefly, his expression cool and detached. "What's the point in celebrating when we're all just waiting for the real event to begin?"

I wasn't sure what he meant by that, but there was something in his tone that hinted at more. That was Idris—always making you feel like there was something he knew that you didn't.

I glanced at Raamiz, who leaned closer. "Think we'll hear any news about Father tonight?"

I frowned, following his gaze to the empty chair. "Maybe. It's been a while."

Idris smirked, his voice cutting through the quiet. "Don't hold your breath. Father enjoys making us wait."

Raamiz snorted. "Or maybe he just enjoys being away from us."

The tension rose slightly with the comment, a few uncomfortable laughs rippling through the room. Even Alba seemed to stiffen at the mention of our father, though he said nothing. Meanwhile, my gaze wandered, eventually locking onto Duchess Gaius.

Her eyes were sharp, snake-like—piercing and intentive. One glance from her was all it took for a surge of old anxiety to ripple through me. Zeliot's memories did that, reminding me of just how unsettling her presence had always been. Gaius was the Duke's first wife, after all, and Amelia came second. I'd be lying if I said I didn't suspect some underlying resentment from her.

And honestly? I couldn't blame her. In this world, maybe having multiple wives was the norm, but to me, it screamed of... well, some backwards, old-fashioned sexism.

I caught myself chuckling internally. The more I thought about it, the more I kind of pitied Gaius for being stuck in that situation. But I had to remind myself, resentment or not, Gaius wasn't just any woman stuck in a traditional setup—she carried power in the way she moved, even in the silence she kept.

The dining hall felt like a drag, the lavish spread of food and drink doing little to lighten the mood. Conversations around the table picked up again, but there was an unspoken tension in the air. 

Just as I settled into the awkward atmosphere, a murmur ran through the hall. I turned toward the entrance just as a servant stepped into view, bowing slightly.

"My lords," the servant said, his voice low but clear, "the Duke has returned."