The Mahal mansion had some really beautiful libraries, and a certain shimmering white cat with sunglasses and a pink scarf thought so too.
This cat was accompanied by a black one, as dark as a starless cosmos, with long fur and eyes as white as the moon.
Trailing behind them was a white fox with six bicolored eyes, darting around between the shelves, looking for just the right book. When it finally found it, the fox knocked it off the shelf.
The white cat meowed a quiet thank-you, opened the book, and the three began reading the forgotten story within its pages—of course, leaving out the crucial parts. After all, some things are meant to be told only at the right time.
And so, the tale begins… or, well, it's a little restart to the beginning of it.
---
There have been times when wars started over trivial reasons. This wasn't one of them.
There was a man as wicked as the devil himself, manipulating everything around him so subtly that no one noticed until it was too late… until the first "soulless" creature was unleashed into the world.
Nobody knew exactly how they were made—or rather, transformed—but everyone knew who was behind them.
They appeared out of nowhere, feeding off of living magic, of living matter, of living beings… of living people.
At first, they were as mindless as a rock trying to walk, but after just a few months, they started thinking, and some even became strategic and cunning.
Driven by hunger and controlled by a wild, irrational force, like puppets on strings, they defeated armies in great numbers.
No one saw and survived to tell what these creatures did to those who wandered too close to where they came from.
The war was no easy thing, especially for a world where magic was already woven so naturally into society.
But, as in every story, this one had heroes too—even if some of their backgrounds were questionable, their contributions were undeniable.
One of these heroes was a human, a wealthy man who controlled the empire of weapons and food. Rising from poverty to nobility, he had come from a fallen family and reached the elite's ranks just a few months before the conflict. No one knew much about his past; they said he'd renounced his origins and even his name.
During the war, he was one of the few who managed to hold onto his wealth and lands. He opened his farms for people to live and work. Perhaps it was his power over increasingly powerful weapons, or maybe the genius of his strategies, but he played a key role in ensuring the survival of one-fifth of the population in the northern eastern part of the continent.
---
"What are you doing here?" the maid exclaimed, broom in hand. The animals jumped, slightly startled.
The cats squinted as they saw a familiar white cat with golden eyes grinning mischievously at them from the window, right behind the maid.
The fox leapt onto the maid's shoulders, successfully distracting her. The white cat took off its scarf, and, with the black cat's help, they held each end of the scarf, wrapped the book in it, and bolted out of the library. The fox quickly followed them.
The maid, now free of the fox's ambush, ran after them through the corridors, only to find that they had vanished around the corner.
Strangely, no other maid, no butler, not even Madam Mahal herself, had seen where they'd gone…
The maid could only sigh in disbelief. How on earth was she going to explain to the head maid that the book was stolen with a scarf, by two strange cats and a six-eyed fox?
*******
I'm not getting up. This bed is way too comfortable for that, and besides, the day is too good to even think about doing anything.
The annoying weakness in my body can be dealt with later; right now, all that matters is existing without doing a thing. At least, that's what I thought until I heard familiar footsteps.
"Good morning, Mrs. Mahal! We brought you breakfast," I hear the six-eyed fly say. Should I pretend I'm still sleeping? Why should I even care about eating?
"Mrs. Mahal, we heard your stomach growling," the fly with pointed ears says.
Ah, so that's what was making so much noise... Weird. Is that part of this weakness in my body? Does dizziness and feeling extremely frail come along with it, too?
Sighing, I sit up, if only to stop hearing their voices, but I get annoyed as I feel my bones and muscles shake under my weight.
At least the meat tasted good, if it weren't for the vision of a field of blood that popped up as soon as I took a bite.
Ugh, I'm not sure if I want to keep eating, but my useless body seems to need it. Damn it.
I force another piece of meat into my mouth, and the memory of my hand crushing some fat rat's throat flashes in my mind.
By the third bite, I'm treading into unknown territory, holding my breath as I realize all the bl—I'm not eating anymore.
Patel could only watch as she saw her mistress rise with an unusual slowness, then, after a few steps, simply fall down. Mrs. Mahal had this unfortunate habit of giving up halfway through things.
Mrs. Mahal lay on the floor for a few minutes before getting up, irritated, and storming out of the room. She didn't want to spend another second near the maids.
Akane didn't remember much, just the basics and the massive headache that the future would bring, which made her not want to get involved. The effort required to fight in a war wasn't something she desired.
If she cared, if she were even a little less lazy, maybe she'd try to connect the dots and become like one of those heroic Manhwa protagonists who rush to prevent a dark future at the slightest hint of danger. Sadly, that wasn't her.
Honestly, she just wanted to forget it all and go back to sleep. Why should she save the world, anyway? Wasn't it already run by fully capable adults? Tsk, it would be irresponsible to leave this up to her.
...
To Patel, who watched her mistress with a bit of concern, Mrs. Mahal would get this distant look every few seconds and then simply stop moving.
It was truly strange. Patel momentarily remembered seeing that same look in hospital patients with PTSD when they'd have flashbacks. But the thought of her mistress having that… was strange, so she dismissed it as just one of those weirdly normal moments for her.
Unfortunately, for the next hour, her mistress continued with that distant look, with shorter and shorter intervals, and every time she snapped out of whatever thought or memory it was, she grew more irritable.
With that, nobody in the Mahal mansion could do anything when, all of a sudden, Mrs. Mahal marched to the front gates in the main hall, demanding a carriage to go alone to the nearest town.
.
..
...
Patel was really starting to wish for an early retirement.