Sylvain woke up to the soft creaking of wood and the dim glow of morning light filtering through the small window. The bed beneath him, though simple, was far more comfortable than the cold, unwelcoming places he was used to. Across the room, Daniel, his small and wiry companion, was still curled up under the covers, his slow breathing steady and peaceful.
His mind drifted to the events of yesterday—the long journey they had taken, riding in a mechanical carriage alongside the old woman, Nizrak Kirr. Now, in this quiet home, surrounded by the scent of fresh air and soil, Sylvain felt something unfamiliar: a sense of peace.
He pushed off the blanket, stretching slightly before nudging Daniel awake.
"Time to get up," he said, his voice still laced with sleep. The boy stirred, rubbing his eyes.
Stepping outside, Sylvain made his way to a small well near the house, washing his face with the crisp morning water. The house itself wasn't extravagant—far from it. It was cozy, well-kept, with a small plot of land where crops were growing and a stable that housed a single old mare. A peaceful life. A tempting one.
But he knew better than to give in. If I just stay here, it would feel good... but the time loop won't stop. I'll be back in Steelgate at fourteen, and that would suck. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. I'd hate to make Kseradyn right after all.
A voice called from behind him. "Big brother! Ms. Nizrak and Sister Kenza want you to come!" Daniel's small figure stood in the doorway, waving him inside.
Sylvain stepped back into the house, and the sight before him made him pause—a large wooden table, filled with steaming plates of food. It was more than he had ever expected. He turned toward Nizrak, hesitant.
"Ms. Nizrak, with all due respect… don't you think this is too much for a slave? To sit and eat at your table would be—"
Before he could finish, the old woman cut him off with a chuckle. "You should forget about being slaves. You two are part of my family now." She leaned back slightly, a small smirk playing on her lips. "Besides, I don't really take part in pleasure acts—not since my dead husband, anyway."
Sylvain frowned slightly. Her words unsettled him. People don't just give without expecting something in return. His mind began to analyze the situation, keeping his expression neutral as he sat down.
She was an unusual woman. Short white hair, sharp blue eyes, and a tall, imposing frame for someone her age. As he ate, he continued his observations. The house was filled with traditional Ilisarian furniture, but mixed in were strange, practical tools—a chalkboard, a tube—things that didn't fit the image of a simple countryside woman.
Two possibilities crossed his mind.
Either she is a woman of science, which would explain their stable income…
Or her late husband was the scientist.
But if that were the case, why did the name Nizrak Kirr feel familiar to him? His thoughts were interrupted by the woman's voice.
"You think too much, boy," she remarked, taking a sip of tea. "Observation is a good skill to survive, but sometimes, you should give yourself a rest."
Sylvain blinked. Had she noticed? He forced a small, respectful smile. "Ah, you're right, ma'am. My apologies."
Across the table, Kenza was watching him carefully. Unlike her mother, she wasn't amused by Sylvain's presence. Something about him felt… off. And she intended to figure out why.
She was strikingly beautiful—tall, with golden hair and piercing blue eyes that mirrored Nizrak's, yet she carried herself with a unique grace. But beneath that beauty, her eye told Sylvain she wasn't convinced by his act.
The midday sun hung high in the sky as Sylvain wiped sweat from his brow, his hands stained with soil. He worked quietly on the small crop field, carefully tending to the plants. It wasn't difficult labor, but it was different—mundane in a way that almost felt foreign to him.
As he dug his fingers into the earth, a prickle of awareness ran down his spine. He sighed, already knowing who it was.
"What did I do to deserve her unwanted hatred?"
Without turning, he spoke up. "Ms. Kenza, I can see you."
A soft gasp came from behind the wooden fence. Kenza, caught in the act, straightened her posture. "Oh! I didn't mean to disturb…" she started, clearing her throat. "Excuse me, but last time you introduced yourself, you never mentioned your last name. I was curious."
Sylvain paused for a brief moment. She has a good memory. He had left it blank on purpose, but expecting to go unnoticed was naïve of him.
He weighed his options. Lying was an easy way out, and perhaps the smarter choice. But for some reason, he chose otherwise.
"Sylvain Flamesworth," he said simply.
A silent breeze passed between them. Kenza's expression twisted in disbelief.
"D-Don't make me laugh," she scoffed, crossing her arms. "How can a Flamesworth be traded in Amzaar as a slave?! I can't believe I even took you seriously…" She turned away, shaking her head, as if dismissing the thought entirely.
Sylvain let out a quiet sigh of relief. That's to be expected.
He returned to his work, the sun beating down on his back. Kenza's footsteps faded as she walked off, but from the balcony above.
"That is an awful joke indeed, Flamesworth," Nizrak Kirr mused, watching him with an amused glint in her eyes.
By the time Sylvain finished his work, the sun had dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and deep violet. He exhaled, stretching his back as the last rays of light glowed against the small field.
Footsteps approached from behind.
"You didn't have to do all that, Sylvain," Nizrak Kirr said, her voice carrying a warmth that contrasted with the cool evening air.
"Ahh, Ms. Nizrak," he replied, brushing dirt from his hands. "It was the least I could do to repay you for everything you've done for us."
She studied him for a moment before speaking again. "Tell me, Sylvain… do you ever wonder about God's existence?"
"God?" He blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. "Not really. His existence or absence never influenced my life. It's all just a system of actions and consequences—a cogwheel set in motion."
Nizrak chuckled. "Hmm… I suppose you could see it that way. But have you ever considered that God could be us? Quite literally."
Sylvain narrowed his eyes slightly. "Us?"
"Yes," she said. "We created the idea of someone above us, infinitely more powerful. We gave birth to the very concept of God in our minds. If that's the case… doesn't it mean we are gods ourselves? The cogwheel you speak of—it was built by us, after all."
She turned toward the house, her tone light, as if she hadn't just uttered something profound. "Come eat dinner, Sylvain."
Sylvain stood still for a moment, watching her retreating figure. He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly.
"Just who is this woman…" he murmured.