Okay! I Love You!

Kilian stood for a moment, processing everything Elara had told him, the vivid picture of his past self's destructive behavior solidifying in his mind.

Then, a new question surfaced, a desire to understand the root cause.

"So," he began, turning back to Elara, his voice thoughtful, "I assume you don't know anything, not even a hint, about what happened to him that started his path leading to what he is today?"

He asked, as if seeking final confirmation on a missing piece of the puzzle.

Elara's expression softened with regret, and she shook her head slowly.

"No, Young Master. I truly don't"

"There was no single event that anyone spoke of it. It simply seemed to be a slow descent over the years."

Her voice conveyed genuine sympathy for the tragic turn his life had taken.

"Hmm, okay," Kilian murmured, accepting her answer.

He looked around the now impeccably clean room.

"I think that's all the things I needed to know to at least understand a bit of what happened to this body before I woke up in it."

He felt a strange mix of detachment and responsibility for the reputation he had inherited.

He then reached out and gently took Elara's hand, his gaze meeting hers with sincere gratitude.

"Thank you, Elara," he said, his voice quiet but heartfelt.

"I don't know what I could have done without your help today."

Elara offered him a sweet smile, her eyes sparkling.

"No, Young Master," she replied, her voice soft but firm.

"I am the one who should be grateful that you woke up in this body and became the person I truly want to serve."

Kilian smiled warmly at her, genuinely appreciative of her unwavering loyalty and candor.

"Me too, Elara," he said. "I am happy to have such a dedicated maid by my side."

He then stepped back slightly.

"Goodnight, Elara. See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow, Young Master," Elara responded, a slight bow accompanying her words.

"Please rest well."

"You too, Elara," Kilian said, watching as she turned and quietly exited the room, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

---

Once alone, Kilian moved towards his bed, the soft mattress a welcome sight after the long, eventful day.

He sat on the edge, his gaze unfocused as he replayed the day's revelations in his mind.

The embarassing display of the "past Kilian's" actions at the party, the King and Queen's unexpected warmth, and Vivienne's fierce, yet now somewhat comical, accusations all swirled together.

He knew he had a monumental task ahead of him.

Rebuilding a shattered reputation wouldn't be easy, especially one forged in such destructive habits.

But then, he remembered Domina and her family, the promise he made, and the genuine excitement he felt about finding his "shadow."

That thought brought a genuine sense of purpose.

Lying back, he pulled the covers up, the soft fabric a stark contrast to the hard life he had once known.

He closed his eyes, allowing the day's experiences to settle.

The sheer absurdity of his transmigration, the reality of Aethelgard, and the weight of his inherited past finally began to give way to the promise of a new future.

---

Slowly, Kilian drifted off to sleep, ready for whatever challenges the new day in this new world would bring.

The comfortable quiet of the room dissolved, replaced by a torrent of unfamiliar memories.

Ethan wasn't merely dreaming, he was living the past Kilian's life, a stream of vivid experiences washing over him like a cold tide.

He saw himself as a young boy, brimming with youthful energy, a wooden sword clutched in his hand.

He had a natural aptitude for the blade, swift and eager.

He remembered the praise, the proud smiles of his tutors.

But then, his sister, Vivienne, entered the training grounds, barely old enough to grasp her own small sword.

From that moment on, everything changed. Vivienne was a prodigy, a force of nature.

Every spar, every lesson, every demonstration, she outshone him effortlessly.

Her movements were fluid, her strikes precise, her talent undeniable.

It was not even comparable.

"Your Highness, Prince Kilian, your footwork is sloppy compared to Princess Vivienne's," a stern voice would often say.

Or, "Princess Vivienne mastered that technique in half the time it took you."

The comparisons became a constant, suffocating refrain.

He was the heir to the throne, destined to lead, but he found nothing he could genuinely be proud of himself.

Then came the magic. The time for his own awakening, the day he would summon his Tome of Arcana, arrived.

He stood in the ancient chamber, heart pounding with a desperate hope.

He reached out, concentrated, willed it to happen.

Nothing. No shimmering light, no ancient book manifesting, no magical energy stirring within him.

The ritual ended in silence, a void where triumph should have been.

Weeks turned into months, years. Still, no magic.

After a year, his sister, of course, had awakened her Tome with dazzling brilliance, a powerful tome choosing her, further cementing her as the family's rising star.

The disappointments compounded, fueled by the whispers, the expectations, and the stark reality of his own perceived mediocrity.

Gradually, he began to succumb.

Alcohol became a numbing escape, and other wrong habits and indulgences followed. He stopped caring.

He didn't take care of himself anymore.

He avoided the family dining table, preferring to eat alone, if he bothered to eat anything good for him at all.

Then came the night of the party, a lavish celebration for Vivienne's sixteenth birthday, marking her successful awakening and acquisition of her own powerful Tome of Arcana.

The castle buzzed with festivity, laughter, and cheer, but for him, it was just another night to drown his inadequacy in a goblet of wine.

Then suddenly, Kilian wasn't Kilian anymore.

He was Ethan, younger, his mind sharp, his heart still full of naive idealism.

The air was thick with tension, the sterile scent of an interrogation room clinging to everything.

He sat beside his mentor, a man he had looked up to, a pillar of the legal world, as they questioned the suspect.

The suspect was a young man, undeniably privileged, lounging in his chair with an infuriating smirk.

His words, slurred with a lingering hangover, dripped with casual contempt.

"Yeah, I had a few drinks. So what? Doesn't mean I actually hit anything. It was dark, you know?"

Ethan's jaw tightened as the officer detailed the scene, a pregnant woman, struck down by a reckless vehicle, left for dead.

The suspect yawned, seemingly bored by the grim account.

Ethan's blood boiled as he witnessed the casual disregard for a human life, especially that of an innocent pregnant woman, from this privileged individual.

"Do you feel even one bit of remorse?" Ethan suddenly burst out, his voice raw, unable to contain his fury any longer.

The suspect's smirk widened, chilling Ethan to the bone.

"What are you talking about?" he drawled, his eyes glinting with malicious amusement.

"I wasn't the one driving, it was my guard. He'll take care of it."

That was it. The casual dismissal of life, the arrogant certainty of impunity.

Ethan lunged, a scream tearing from his throat, his fist connecting with the suspect's smirking face.

Blows rained down, desperate and furious, until strong arms, including his mentor's, wrestled him back.

"Ethan! Stop it, you'll ruin everything!" his mentor's voice boomed, sharp with a mix of shock and irritation.

The scene blurred, then snapped into the somber grandeur of a courtroom.

Ethan watched, stomach churning, as his mentor, the very man who had pulled him away, stood before the judge, a picture of eloquent conviction.

He dissected the prosecution's flimsy evidence, spun narratives, and with devastating precision, laid all the blame squarely on the shoulders of the innocent bodyguard.

"Not guilty," the judge's words echoed, flat and final.

Ethan's eyes met the suspect's, who now stood free.

The young man offered a slow, triumphant smile, a silent, mocking gesture that felt like a knife twisting in Ethan's gut.

The world swam.

The dream shifted, a cruel twist of fate.

He was at home, the familiar comfort of his living room now draped in a heavy, suffocating silence. He wore black.

His parents… he remembered them clearly, just days before.

"We're just popping out for groceries, sweetie," his mother had called from the door, her smile warm.

His father, already halfway out, gave a cheerful wave.

"Don't wait up for us! We'll grab your favorite ice cream."

"Okay! Love you!"

Ethan had called back, distracted by a textbook, never imagining it would be the last time.

Then came the phone call. The flashing lights. The shattered glass.

The news that ripped his world apart.

A car crash. A drunk driver. And the gut-wrenching, agonizing realization.

It was him. The same unpunished monster.

He sat there, numb, the scent of lilies filling the room.

His mentor appeared, dressed in black, offering condolences.

"Ethan, I'm terribly sorry for your loss," his mentor said, his voice grave.

Ethan looked at him, consumed by hatred, remembering the man's eloquent defense of the killer.

Despite his fury, Ethan is utterly powerless. The system has failed him once again, the man got away with murder a second time.

His mentor, who once guided him, has failed him once more, allowing injustice to prevail.

The justice system, the very foundation of law he believed in, had failed him one last, irreversible time.

There was no recourse. No justice. Just an endless, suffocating despair.

He felt the walls closing in, the faces of people morphing into masks of deceit and indifference.

The outside world was a trap, a source of endless pain and betrayal.

There was only one safe place. His room.

He had to disappear. He had to be alone.

Forever.

***

/I hope you enjoyed this chapter! If its alright, please drop a comment or a powerstone to help me keep making this world bigger!