The last thing any man wants after returning home is to see his family in pain. And here he was—his elder son had barely made it out alive, and his younger one had been pulled from the massive flood that suddenly appeared in the middle of town.
Aston didn't know how to put his feelings into words.
First came the news of over two hundred deaths… then the flood that swallowed homes. By some miracle, it didn't take any more lives. But his family—his own blood—had suffered through all this while he was away, unable to protect them.
"Dear… you know there was nothing you could've done," Virelle whispered, gently wrapping her hand around his arm.
But his fists stayed clenched, his body shaking—not in fear, but in anger. Not at anyone else. Just himself.
"I should've sent Conrad to Atinberge," he muttered. "But I went myself. I didn't trust anyone with it. I thought the amount was too much for Conrad to handle... I've seen what money does to people. How it changes them."
His voice was heavy with regret. Because of his doubt, because he didn't believe in those beside him—his people had suffered. And worse… his sons had been pushed to such a broken state.
Virelle leaned against him, her eyes filled with silent pain, staring at their boys lying ahead.
Kevin had been treated by the head priest. His wounds had vanished, and even the broken bone had been healed. But his body still needed time. Until then, he'd remain fragile… barely able to move.
Not to mention the scars it must've left on their minds.
Arthur had fared better than his older brother. He wasn't seriously hurt, except for the deep bite on his right hand where the hound had sunk its teeth. But he had used almost all of his mana fighting them off, and now, his small body was drained—barely able to stay awake.
The priest had told them to let the boys rest for a few days. He promised to visit every morning to check on them.
"I don't know, Virelle… who cursed our town like this?" Aston said, his voice tight with anger. "Every time we recover from one disaster, another shows up and tears us apart."
Virelle looked down, not answering. She knew there were moments when silence was better than words. Right now, there was no comfort she could offer that would ease his pain. Sometimes, all you can do is stand beside the one you love and let them speak their heart.
Aston was hurting. Not just from the loss or the fear—but from the shame. Shame that he wasn't there when his family needed him most.
*******
[Inside Arthur's head]
"Where... am I?" Arthur mumbled, his voice dry and cracked as he slowly looked around. Darkness surrounded him—thick, silent, and endless.
Just pushing himself off the ground felt like lifting a mountain. Every movement was slow, every breath heavy. But somehow, he managed to get on his feet.
He had killed it—the monster that could've wiped out the entire town on its own. Even his father… even he might've struggled against something like that. Arthur couldn't say for sure. He had never seen his father fight with everything he had.
Am I dead? The thought crept in, quiet but sharp. And strangely… it made him uneasy.
In his past life, he wouldn't have cared. He would've welcomed death with a grin. But now… now things were different.
He had a family waiting for him. People who would cry if he didn't return.
"You exhausted your life force in that attack," said a voice—calm, soft, and sweet like honey—floating through the darkness.
Arthur turned sharply.
There she was.
Chained between two tall pillars stood the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. Her long silver hair fell gently across her left eye, the messiness of it somehow making her even more stunning.
"Tiamuth…?" he asked, recognizing her at once. "What do you mean by life force?"
He understood the words. He just didn't understand why they applied to him.
Tiamuth smirked, her tone playfully scolding. "That wasn't mana you used, brat. That spell came from your soul. Spiritual magic doesn't draw from ether. It drains you. Your very life."
Arthur's brows furrowed. This was the first time he'd heard anything like that.
Overusing mana led to dizziness, and sometimes a strange condition called mana-fever—where one grew tipsy and began acting out of character. But spiritual magic… it was far more punishing.
"I never heard the demons mention anything about that kind of penalty," Arthur muttered.
"'Course you didn't," Tiamuth scoffed. "Those suckers have thousands of years to burn. They didn't mind wasting themselves back then. But you…" she pointed at him, her smirk turning sly, "you're wrapped in mortal chains, kid."
A bitter chuckle escaped her lips.
"So… how many days do I have left?" Arthur asked quietly, a sliver of worry showing in his eyes.
Tiamuth tilted her head, thinking. "Considering how long you used that spell… three days. If you wake up now."
"…"
Arthur froze. Three days? That short?
His chest tightened. For a moment, doubt crept in. Did I make a mistake… trusting her? Accepting her blessing?
But before he could spiral further, Tiamuth leaned forward with a sudden flustered look. "W-What's with that gloomy face, huh? C'mere."
Without warning, her silver hair stretched like flowing wine and coiled gently around his waist, drawing him closer.
Arthur didn't resist. In the blink of an eye, he stood face-to-face with the chained goddess.
"You're still a kid, so I'll behave this time~" she whispered, her tone playful but tender.
Then, she leaned in and pressed her lips against his forehead.
A wave of warmth spread through him instantly—soft, soothing, like the finest healing spell he'd ever felt. His body relaxed, the aches faded, and for a few seconds… his mind went still. No pain, no fear—just peace.
When she pulled away, her hair unwrapped itself and let him go. Arthur stood there, taking a slow, steady breath.
Then, he stepped back, the weight of everything slowly returning to his shoulders.
"You've received some of your lost years," Tiamuth said, her voice smooth yet serious. "But don't make this a habit. I'm warning you now—every time you take from me, our bond deepens."
Arthur narrowed his eyes. "...And if that bond keeps growing, you'll be able to control my body, won't you?"
She simply shrugged, a teasing smirk on her lips. "Who knows~?"
Arthur sighed. "Then at least tell me how to raise my proficiency. I might have to use complex spells again."
Tiamuth shook her head. "There's no shortcut. No hidden trick. Keep practicing the basics until your control is absolute. That's the only way. Tinker will stay by your side to help."
Arthur nodded slowly. "Yeah… she's been really patient with me. More useful than that annoying fairy, honestly."
Before he could say more, he felt the darkness fading—the dream, or space, or whatever it was—beginning to unravel. Reality was pulling him back.
Just as Tiamuth's face started to blur into the background, her body jolted subtly. Her lips curled into a wide grin, and with a glint in her eye, she whispered,
"Things are going to get interesting."
Arthur opened his mouth, but he never got the chance to ask what she meant.
Because the next moment, he awoke—to warmth and a familiar scent. His mother's face was inches from his, hands cupping his cheeks, voice trembling with emotion.
"Arthur? Arthur, are you awake? Does it hurt, sweetie? Can you feel your fingers? Are you cold? Do you need—"
"Virelle," came a deeper voice. "Let him breathe."
His father crouched beside them, his expression calm but soft with worry.
"You okay, son?" he asked gently.
Arthur gave a small nod, about to answer—
When suddenly, his breath caught in his throat.
A prompt flashed across his mind, Lily's voice crisp and urgent:
[Sir Clarsen… your brother has been chosen by one of the deities. He has awakened the memories of a person who doesn't belong to this world.]
********
A/N:- Twist, twist. Well, I added in the synopsis that there would be a reincarnated being.