Sylvain remained frozen in place, his breath caught in his throat. Hay's flickering screen cast faint, erratic glows across the dim stable, illuminating the dust that hung heavy in the air. He waited for an answer, for some sort of explanation, his pulse drumming in his ears.
Then, in its stuttering, crackling voice, Hay finally spoke.
"M-memories scattered... due to fourth dimension interruptions."
Sylvain's fingers twitched at his sides. Fourth dimension—time. An interruption in time. That meant the loops. But something didn't add up. His name shouldn't have been known. Last time I checked, Sylvain Flamesworth wasn't a known figure in the past loops. I lived as a nobody in my previous timelines...
Daniel, completely oblivious to the tension gripping Sylvain, leaned in with wide-eyed excitement. "Maybe it's magic! Maybe Hay's a special kind of robot!"
Sylvain barely registered the boy's words. His mind was already a storm, unraveling the implications. "Hay, do you remember when the data about me was registered?"
The words left his lips steady, but his heart pounded harder, anticipating the answer.
The robot whirred, its mechanical eyes dimming as it attempted to process the request. Seconds dragged by. A soft clicking noise filled the air, like something struggling to turn, gears catching against resistance.
Then—static. A sharp, high-pitched whine.
Smoke hissed from Hay's rusted frame. Its screen flashed wildly before flickering in and out, struggling to maintain function.
"P-procession failed. Files... corrupted."
Sylvain exhaled sharply. He had expected something unusual, but this? He didn't know whether to be relieved or even more unnerved. The data existed, but its origins were gone. Either it had been corrupted naturally over time... or someone had erased it.
Could it have been the old woman? His thoughts spun in every direction, his mind racing the way it used to when he was still clawing toward his goal. There was something missing—something hidden in the gaps of knowledge he hadn't considered before.
And yet, despite this mystery unfolding before him, he realized something unsettling.
He had grown comfortable here. Too comfortable.
Somewhere along the way, he had started to blend into this life, distracted by fleeting moments of quiet. He had let himself sink into the illusion of normalcy, letting the tension ease from his bones, forgetting—Forgetting his actual endgame.
He let out a long, quiet sigh, more at himself than anything else. A bitter smile tugged at his lips.
"Honestly... am I just a fool?"
After a day filled with nothing but confusion, Sylvain felt the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him. His mind was still tangled in the mystery of Hay—of corrupted files, of fragmented memories, of the lingering question of why? But for now, he pushed it aside. Sleep. That's what he needed.
As he walked toward his quarters, something unusual caught his attention. A low, melodic humming drifted through the night air, barely audible over the faint rustling of the wind. His steps slowed.
The old woman.
Curiosity flickered in his chest, and before he could question himself, his feet carried him toward the sound. He stayed quiet, hidden in the shadows, watching.
She was kneeling before a worn stone statue, her frail hands clasped together in silent reverence. The figure was unmistakable—a serpent standing tall, its carved eyes staring into the void. The dim lantern at her side cast flickering shadows over the statue's coiled form, making it seem almost alive.
Her voice wove through the night, singing in a language that sent a shiver down Sylvain's spine. He couldn't understand it, yet something about it felt eerily familiar. A whisper from a past life. A ghost of a memory.
Mother…?
His lips parted slightly, but the thought slipped away before he could grasp it. He took a slow step back, muttering under his breath,
"I thought religious beliefs were banned by death in Ilisar."
Then, with a quiet scoff, he added, "I guess that explains her protest about God's existence the last time we talked."
Whatever this was, he wasn't sure he wanted to know. He had enough trouble as it was, and this—this felt like something far bigger than him. Something dangerous. Something that could pull him into a storm he wasn't prepared to face.
Deciding he'd seen enough, Sylvain turned around—
Only to nearly jump out of his skin as Kenza stood right behind him.
"Woah—" he exhaled, catching himself. "You scared me there."
Kenza crossed her arms, unimpressed. "Well, maybe try thinking before spying on other people's business."
Sylvain sighed. He wasn't in the mood for this. "I have no time for quarrels. I'm heading back to bed."
He started to walk past her, but before he could, her hand shot out, grasping his wrist.
"Wait… I have to talk to you."
She took him to her favourite spot on the house , the rooftop was quiet, a sanctuary above the rest of the world. Sylvain leaned against the ledge, his gaze lifted to the vast sky above. A rare sight.
"The stars are visible here..." he murmured.
Kenza tilted her head. "Aren't they in Steelgate?"
"No. Too much smoke, too much light pollution. I could never really observe them there."
There was a pause before Sylvain turned his sharp gaze toward her.
"Didn't you refuse to believe me when I said I was a Flamesworth? So why do you suddenly assume I'm from Steelgate?"
Kenza smirked slightly. "I heard Hay, and I made one plus one. Even though you try to blend in, you still carry a certain... prestige in the way you carry yourself. It made sense to believe you now."
Sylvain let out a small breath. "I see... So, what was it you wanted to talk about?"
Kenza's expression shifted, her usual sharpness dulling into something more vulnerable. She hesitated, then finally spoke.
"It's about my mom... She has a terminal illness. One that leaves her in unbearable pain, day after day. But she never shows it to anyone."
Sylvain's brows furrowed. "That explains why she chose to save us... A final moment of virtue."
"No." Kenza shook her head firmly. "I don't think that's all there is to it. I believe she was waiting for you to arrive."
Sylvain's eyes narrowed. "Waiting for me? Who exactly is she... A woman of science, yet religious, with a forgotten past? It's too strange to be a coincidence."
Kenza inhaled sharply. "You would've figured it out eventually, so I'm telling you now... She was the empress's former lead scientist."
Sylvain's body tensed.
"She was in charge of the Synapse Serpent Project."
The moment the words left her lips, his vision lurched violently.
A nauseating flood of memories slammed into him.
Pain. Needles piercing his skin. Foreign substances injected into his veins. Metal restraints holding down his trembling body. His own screams, raw and desperate, echoing in sterile halls. The sensation of being twisted into something he was never meant to be.
Kseradyn's memories.
Sylvain staggered, gripping the ledge tightly as a wave of sickness crawled up his throat. His breathing became uneven, sharp.
"Are you okay??" Kenza's voice was edged with concern.
Sylvain exhaled, his voice low and trembling with something unreadable. "The one who created the Butcher... It was her."
Kenza took an instinctive step back.
The air around him had changed. It was heavy, suffocating—something dangerous crackled in the space between them, as if the wrong words could get her killed.
For a long moment, there was silence.
Then, without warning, Sylvain broke into laughter.
A sharp, unhinged sound that sent a shiver down Kenza's spine.
In the corner of his vision, he saw her again. His sister. Her ghostly hand caressed his cheek, her presence both a comfort and a torment.
"You're getting close to solving it all, brother," she whispered.
Sylvain's laughter slowly died down, replaced by a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Are you sure you're okay...?" Kenza's voice was unsteady, hesitant.
Sylvain exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Ahh, I think I'm going mad... but maybe it's worth it. The truth is unraveling, after all."
Kenza stayed silent, unsure whether she was standing beside a man or something far more dangerous.