Rift Through The Veil

I awoke choking on my saliva, gasping as though I'd surfaced from drowning. My eyes refused to focus, swimming in the haze of an unfamiliar ceiling. My head throbbed as if someone had shaken my thoughts loose, trapping them in a storm-tossed box. Slowly, my breathing steadied, and I forced myself to sit up, taking stock of my surroundings.

The room was dimly lit, cloaked in a quiet eeriness. Shadows danced faintly on the stone walls from the weak glow of mana stones embedded in a grandfather clock nearby. I squinted at the clock's ornate face. The time read 4:00 a.m., August 10th, Year 122. My chest tightened as recognition hit me like a crashing wave—three months before the chaos that would destroy everything I had worked for began.

Reluctantly, I laid back, my body weaker than I ever remembered it being, the weight of my mana reserves a faint pulse in my chest. Rolling over, I caught sight of a mirror on the opposite wall. My reflection stared back at me: a younger, unblemished version of myself. This was me at fifteen—no scars, no dark circles from sleepless nights, and no hard lessons written on my face. My copper-and-white curls fell messily to my waist, my iridescent eyes shimmering with colors that couldn't decide on their place.

"You were beautiful once," I whispered, almost mournful. The weight of memories—of the struggles ahead—threatened to pull me under. But I couldn't afford to be sentimental. Not now.

Summoning the last trickle of mana within me, I prepared two spells. Cleanse and Purify. My lips moved instinctively, the incantations smooth despite the lack of practice. A warm sensation engulfed me as the magic worked its way through my body. Moments later, blackish-red impurities oozed from my skin, pooling in sticky puddles on the mattress beneath me.

"Disgusting," I muttered, wrinkling my nose as I carefully swung my legs over the bed, avoiding the mess. My body ached with every movement as I made my way to the small adjoining bathroom.

The tub, a modest basin with an embedded mana stone for heating water, looked archaic. "How old-fashioned," I muttered, sighing as I assessed my remaining reserves. [Status]

Marydia Graywared

Race: Human

Age: 14

HP: 46 / 210

Stamina: 16 / 116

Mana: 16 / 230

Qi: 0 / 120

Skills:

Elemental Manipulation Mana Manipulation Qi Manipulation Appraisal

My mana reserves were barely enough, but I whispered the spell to fill the tub with water. A sharp vertigo gripped me, and I clutched the edge of the basin until the dizziness passed. Slowly, the water began to fill and heat, transforming into a soothing, warm pool.

As I slipped into the tub, the clear water turned cloudy with remnants of the cleansing spell, dark liquid swirling like ink. It was oddly cathartic, watching the impurities dissolve, leaving the water pristine again within moments. I submerged myself entirely, the muffled silence offering a brief reprieve from the chaos in my head.

Inventory, I thought, summoning the iridescent interface.

Inventory

Soul Storage Spirit Stones: Low Grade: 800 Mid-Grade: 20 Currency: Copper: 20,000 Silver: 5,000 Gold: 50 Platinum: 20 Mana Stones: Low Grade: 300 Mid-Grade: 50 High Grade: 50 [Restricted Access]

The sight stung. So much of what I had gathered—years of preparation and sacrifice—was gone, stripped away in the regression. Worse, my current state was pathetic. My heart and spirit bone would need at least ten more cleansing cycles to unlock a usable physique.

Frustration bubbled beneath the surface. I needed to act quickly—craft mana potions, rebuild my reserves, and plan for the storm ahead. As I began mentally listing everything I needed to accomplish, a sudden slam jolted me from my thoughts.

"Sister, time for breakfast!" a small, excited voice called through the door. My heart twisted painfully.

"I'll be out soon!" I shouted back, a smile tugging at my lips despite myself. It had been so long since I'd heard Eliot's voice.

"Hurry, or Mother and Father will be mad!"

"I will," I reassured him, stepping out of the tub and drying off quickly. My reflection in the mirror caught my eye again. The pale, unblemished face staring back felt foreign. My hair, a cascade of copper and white curls, hung damp and unkempt. The bright, curious eyes of a girl who hadn't yet faced betrayal stared back at me, filled with a determination that made my chest tighten.

I pulled on a simple blue dress from the wardrobe, the fabric coarse and faded from too many washes. Most of my available clothing reflected the neglect of our wing—practical but uninspired, devoid of embellishment. As I rummaged through the closet, my fingers brushed against something smooth, hidden at the back.

A pale lilac dress, delicately embroidered with white lace flowers, rested folded in a box. My breath hitched. Mother's dress. Memories flooded my mind—of her warm embrace and the faint scent of lavender that always lingered around her. This dress had been sold off to a pawnshop, a cruel act I had mourned. Yet here it was, intact and waiting, as if the past had offered me a gift.

The bittersweetness of the moment steeled my resolve. I had been given a rare second chance, and I would not squander it. Moving with purpose, I began tossing anything of value into my inventory. Jewelry, trinkets, a few mana-infused scrolls—anything that might prove useful. By the time I finished, the room was stripped bare, reduced to its skeletal furnishings.

A knock on the door interrupted my thoughts.

"Sis! Are you ready? We're going to get in trouble!" Eliot's voice was tinged with nervousness.

I opened the door to find my younger brother fidgeting, his black hair sticking up in a few directions, green eyes wide with worry. At eleven, he was smaller than I remembered, his face unmarked by the trials of the future.

"You said you'd hurry!" he huffed, crossing his arms in a mock display of frustration.

I knelt down, smoothing a hand over his messy hair. "Eliot," I said softly, my voice catching as I looked at him. He blinked, surprised by my tone. "I need you to listen to me carefully."

He tilted his head, the playfulness in his expression fading as he sensed the gravity of my words. "What is it?"

"We need to leave," I said, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions in my chest. "Go to your room and gather everything that's important to you. Put it all on your bed. I'll come help you pack after I talk to Mother and Father, and then we'll leave together. Okay?"

His brow furrowed, confusion and apprehension flickering across his face. "Leave? But why? What about—"

I placed a finger to his lips gently, cutting him off. "Trust me, Eliot. I'll explain everything soon. But right now, we need to hurry."

He searched my eyes for answers, his small hands clenching into fists at his sides. For a moment, I feared he would resist, but then he nodded, his shoulders sagging in reluctant acceptance.

"Okay," he said quietly. "But you promise you'll explain later?"

"I promise," I said, smiling despite the ache in my chest. "Now go."

As he turned to leave, I called out after him. "Eliot?"

He stopped, glancing back.

"I love you," I said, the words coming out softer than I intended. His face brightened, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips before he dashed down the hallway.

Watching him go, I felt a fierce determination surge through me. Eliot's innocence, his trust in me—it was a fragile thing, a flame I would guard with every ounce of my strength.

With that resolve burning in my chest, I straightened my dress and prepared to face the dining room—and the people I once called family.

As I walked toward the dining room, the stark difference between my wing and the rest of the manor became glaringly obvious. The halls grew brighter and more lavish the farther I went—polished marble floors gleamed beneath golden chandeliers, and the walls were adorned with oil paintings and tapestries that told stories of our lineage. In this opulence, it was easy to see where my parents' priorities lay.

Finally, I reached the grand double doors leading to the dining room. My hand hesitated for a moment on the gilded handle before I pushed them open.

The sound of laughter hit me first—a light, tinkling sound that made my stomach churn. Three figures sat at the long table, their plates filled with delicate pastries and fruits. At the head was my father, his face alight with a rare smile as he spoke to the boy sitting to his right. That boy, tall and sharp-featured with hair as dark as mine, was my younger brother in this timeline—or rather, the favored one. Across from him, my stepmother sat, dabbing at her mouth with a lace napkin.

Their laughter stopped as soon as they noticed me. The shift in atmosphere was palpable, like a warm room suddenly plunged into an icy chill.

My father's smile faded into a deep frown. "Lydia. You're late. Where is Eliot? Breakfast is nearly over."

Ignoring his tone, I strode into the room and took a seat at the far end of the table, far from their perfect little family tableau.

"Eliot is in his room," I replied evenly, smoothing my dress. "He's gathering his belongings. I've come to discuss something important."

My stepmother exchanged a look with my father, her delicate features twisting in disapproval. "Important?" she repeated, her voice soft but laden with condescension. "What could you possibly have to say that warrants interrupting our morning?"

I met her gaze, unflinching. "As we all know, I'll be turning fifteen in a few months. That makes me legally an adult and the rightful heir to Father's title as baron, regardless of my gender."

The air grew taut with tension. My father's face darkened, his hand clenching around the silver fork he held. My stepmother's expression, meanwhile, twisted into one of barely veiled horror. My younger brother, who had been eating quietly until now, froze mid-bite, his sharp eyes darting between me and our father.

"But," I continued, relishing the momentary shock I had caused, "I have no intention of claiming the title. I am willing to renounce my inheritance in exchange for two things."

My father leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable, though I noticed the faint twitch of his jaw. "Go on," he said tersely.

"First," I said, folding my hands neatly on the table, "I want guardianship of Eliot. Second, I want a payment of one thousand gold coins. If you agree to these terms, I will sign a document renouncing my claim, and we will leave immediately."

My stepmother gasped audibly, her face paling. "You can't be serious—"

"Quiet," my father snapped, silencing her with a single word. He turned his piercing gaze to me, his sharp features hardened with calculation.

For a long moment, he said nothing, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the table. The silence stretched uncomfortably, and I could feel the weight of my stepmother's glare.

"Very well," he said at last, his voice clipped. "Come to my office. We'll draw up the papers." He rose abruptly, not sparing my stepmother a glance as he strode toward the door.

I followed without hesitation, though I couldn't suppress the small flicker of triumph that flared in my chest.

As I passed my stepmother, her lips parted, trembling with suppressed rage. "You ungrateful—" she began, but my father's sharp command cut her off again.

"That's enough!"

She sank back into her chair, her expression venomous as I swept past her.

The boy at the table, my younger half-brother, stood as well. "Father, I'll return to my studies," he muttered, his tone cool. He glared at me as he left the room, his footsteps echoing in the now-silent dining hall.

I paid him no mind. My focus was on the deal I was about to strike.