Aldric's vision blurred. The cold seeped into his body, numbing him. Why… why am I lying here? His breath shuddered. "It's… cold…"
Then it all came back. The fight. The betrayal. The pain.
"Those bastards… Leon Guild…" he whispered, his voice barely audible. He remembered Edric's face twisted with rage, the flash of a mana-coated sword plunging into his chest. The icy pain of the blade still lingered. So… that's what happened.
He chuckled bitterly, each breath more ragged than the last. "Fools… fighting for those women. Love is worthless. Power… absolute power is the only truth." His thoughts grew hazy. "I would've made Fairyland my utopia… and they called me a villain."
His fingers twitched in the pooling blood. "I wasn't a villain… I just… wanted what I deserved…"
The world faded, the cold claiming him as darkness swallowed everything.
---
But then… his eyes opened again.
Distant voices, faint and angry, drifted through the darkness. The steady tick… tick… of a clock echoed softly — no, not steady. It faltered, uneven, like a heart struggling to beat. Aldric blinked, his gaze searching the shadows. There, in the gloom, an old pendulum clock loomed, its rhythm broken.
"So that's why… the sound isn't right…" he murmured. His voice was different. Softer. Younger.
He pushed himself up, limbs trembling, each movement sluggish and unfamiliar. The wooden floor creaked beneath him. Narrow windows lined the walls, their glass coated with years of dust. The iron frames were rusted, the air stale. He stumbled toward one, wiping the grime away with a trembling hand.
His reflection stared back at him.
"What…?" His breath caught in his throat. A child stared at him — pale, fragile, no older than seven. His neck was bruised, faint finger marks wrapping around his throat like a phantom's grip. Aldric touched his own neck, feeling the tender flesh. "Who… who is this?"
His heart pounded. The face was unfamiliar, but the fear in those eyes felt real. "This… this isn't me." He pressed his hand against the glass, staring at the reflection. "I'm not a child… I'm twenty-five… I died. I… I died."
Memories surged. An old woman's voice echoed in his mind — a shaman, cackling with madness as he slit her throat. "Curse rebirth," she had whispered with her dying breath. "May you wander in darkness, reborn in the shell of the innocent."
"Was… was she telling the truth?" Aldric's voice trembled. "Am I cursed?"
He turned toward the door, its heavy frame locked from the outside. A flicker of light caught his eye — a candle resting near a gas lamp. He lit it with shaking hands, the flickering glow casting long shadows across the room. As he moved, he saw it — a large mirror, cracked and forgotten.
He stepped closer, the candlelight illuminating his new form. Memories — not his own — flooded his mind. A child's cries. A dark figure looming over him. Pain. Then… nothing.
Aldric stared into the glass. "This child… he was murdered."
And now, somehow, Aldric lived again — in his body.
The candle trembled in his hand. "What… what the hell happened to me?"
The memories of a poor child came in.
The boy's name was Elias.
He was born into darkness, abandoned as a baby and left at the gates of the Greythorn Orphanage — a cold, crumbling building where the walls whispered secrets and the air reeked of rust and mildew. The orphanage was no place for a child to grow, yet Elias found warmth not in the stone halls but in the company of other forgotten souls.
He was small, quiet, and kind-hearted. Even as the older kids pushed him around, Elias never fought back. Instead, he made friends. There was Mira, with her fiery red hair and a laugh that could light up the dark. Jonas, the clever one, who always found ways to sneak bread from the kitchens. Felix, the tallest of them, a protector who swore they'd leave this place together someday.
They weren't just friends. They were his family.
Life in the orphanage was harsh. The matron cared little for the children, leaving them to fend for themselves. Meals were scarce, punishments harsh, and the nights cold. But Elias endured. He shared his food when others went hungry, took blame to shield his friends, and dreamed of the day they'd all escape to a better life.
Then, one day, a wealthy couple arrived. They moved through the orphanage like ghosts, quiet and observant, their eyes searching for something — or someone. When their gaze fell upon Elias, they smiled. The next day, the matron summoned him.
He'd been chosen.
Elias was overwhelmed. The couple wasn't just rich — they were kind. They promised him a home filled with warmth, food, and love. He wanted to be happy. He wanted to believe. But when he ran to tell his friends, their smiles were forced. Their congratulations sounded hollow.
Everything changed after that.
Mira stopped talking to him. Jonas sneered when he passed. Even Felix, his protector, grew distant. The nights were colder. Whispers followed him through the halls. They called him a traitor. A liar. They accused him of abandoning them for a life of comfort while they rotted in the orphanage.
He tried to explain. He begged them to understand. "I'll come back," he promised. "I'll tell my new family to adopt you too! We'll all get out!"
But they didn't believe him. Or maybe… they didn't care anymore.
The night before Elias was meant to leave, his friends came to him. For a brief moment, hope surged in his heart. They smiled again — the way they used to. They said they wanted to play a game, one last time. He followed them into the dark, beneath the old clock tower.
That's when they grabbed him.
Hands closed around his throat. Fingers dug into his skin. His pleas turned to choked gasps as he struggled, eyes wide with disbelief. "Why…?" he rasped. Mira's face twisted with rage. Jonas whispered, "If you're gone, maybe they'll choose us."
Felix? He looked away.
The darkness closed in as Elias' body grew still. The clock's uneven ticking was the last sound he ever heard.
Elias was forgotten.
Until now.