AFC - Chapter 2.0: The Borrowed Body

Arch of Forgotten Fragments (Floor 2)

Elia opened her eyes, but not like someone waking up. It was like someone returning, dragged to the surface from the bottom of a dark, icy lake she never wanted to touch. The memory of the abyss was a hollow peace, a silence now broken by the violent imposition of consciousness. The coldness of that abyss still seemed to cling to her soul, a chill that her new body, alien and warm, had not yet managed to dissipate. A pang of disgust, as visceral as fear, ran through her nerves: every fiber of this alien flesh felt wrong.

The light she found was not from the sky or her night lamp. It was golden, dim, and profoundly sad. It came from a paper lantern hanging in the center of a room that seemed torn from another time. The walls were rice paper screens, some torn with the delicacy of an old wound, revealing the darkness of the wood behind them. The bed, beneath her, was made of dark, heavy wood, carved with motifs of clouds and dragons coiling around the canopy posts.

The air was a museum of smells. It smelled of sandalwood—the incense already reduced to cold ashes—of bitter herbs and ointments, the trace of forgotten medicine in a ceramic bowl on a low table. And above all, it smelled of dust and sealed wood: the unmistakable aroma of family secrets that refuse to air out.

She wasn't in her body. She knew it before she even tried to move, before she even blinked. It was a visceral certainty, a knowledge that ran through her nerves like an electric shock. Something in the architecture of her spine felt strange, the way her shoulder blades rested against the silk was alien. She took a breath and felt the weight of a breath that wasn't hers; her chest expanded with a slower, denser cadence, as if her lungs were accustomed to a calm that Elia herself did not possess, a brutal contrast to the panic beginning to bloom in her mind. Every step was a conscious effort to imitate Siyu's delicacy, whose shoulders, unlike Elia's own, always remained relaxed, as if they had never carried the weight of the world. The heart, deep down in the cage of those unknown ribs, beat with a profound, serene rhythm, a stillness that screamed in the chaos of her own thoughts. Sometimes, a slight tilt of the head, a habitual gesture of Siyu's, emerged without Elia ordering it, a constant reminder of her intruder status.

Then she saw her, in the opaque reflection of the screen. A young woman with skin pale as marble, with gray eyes enveloped in a veil of distant melancholy, long, reddish hair falling like a cascade of extinguished fire over her shoulders. She wore an elegantly cut black dress, with dark lace details that rose to her neck. She had the aristocratic bearing she shared with Ho Yiran, but in her, everything seemed more contained, more fragile, as if her existence had been woven with threads of reserve and resignation. She found it strangely difficult to imitate the slight tilt of the head that the body seemed to make automatically.

It was someone else. But not just anyone. She was in the body of Ho Siyu, Ho Yiran's younger sister. She involuntarily felt that this was the sister who had always been her opposite: calm in the face of Ho Yiran's storm, order against her chaos.

A whimper of terror struggled to escape her throat. She wanted to shout her own name, to anchor herself to her identity. She moved her lips, forced the air, but the voice that emerged in the oppressive silence of the room was not her choked scream. It was a firm, melodic, and terribly serene whisper. Ho Siyu's voice. The sound, so alien yet so familiar, hit her with the force of a slap.

And then, just when she thought reality couldn't fracture further, the screen appeared. It didn't come from nowhere. It simply appeared before her eyes, projected onto the screen like an internal light.

SCENARIO INITIATED – FLOOR 2

Main Mission: Change the course of Ho Yiran's story.

Original Outcome: Use as genetic vessel – Death without legacy.

Compassion Mission (optional): Discover the child's name before moving to the next Floor.

Warning: Events have already begun. You cannot prevent the tragedy, but you can rewrite it.

Reward: Unlock "Narrative Mimicry."

Restriction: You cannot leave Ho Siyu's body until the story is satisfactorily concluded.

The screen vanished like ash in the air. Elia—or Ho Siyu—didn't blink. She didn't even tremble. But inside, a torrent of thoughts violently collided.

"How necessary was it to change the story for me to be chosen?" "Does the tower have the ability to change the future?" "A child? Whose? And why was it so important to discover their name?" A pang of curiosity, mixed with a strange tenderness, surfaced with the mention of the optional mission, a new emotional burden for her newly acquired Emotional Presence. The warning, however, weighed like a slab: she couldn't prevent the tragedy, only rewrite it. A wave of despair rose in her chest, choked by the stoicism of Siyu's body, a silent scream that Ho Siyu's flesh refused to release.

Her thoughts raced when a soft voice filtered through the door:

"Miss Siyu... Are you alright?"

It was a maiden. A memory that wasn't hers surfaced with painful clarity, giving her a name and a face. Meyun. A twenty-year-old employee who had worked for the Ho family since childhood. The memory informed her that Ho Yiran had always considered her more than a servant, almost a sister. The three of them—Yiran, Siyu herself, and Meyun—had grown up together within those walls, bound by a bond strengthened by Meyun's rare affinity with the fire attribute.

Elia felt a pang of something that wasn't hers, a mix of affection and concern emerging from Ho Siyu's body. A subtle, almost imperceptible warmth emanated from Meyun, confirming the fire affinity the memory had revealed. The Emotional Presence was already manifesting, weaving connections with the alien.

"Meyun..." Ho Siyu's voice, so calm, felt strange even to herself. "Come in, please."

The paper door slid open with a whisper, revealing Meyun's figure. Her eyes, despite her youth, carried the burden of unspoken worries. Seeing Siyu sitting up, her face visibly relaxed.

"Miss, I was worried when you didn't answer. Do you need anything? Another bowl of lotus infusion?"

Ho Siyu slowly shook her head, her movements more deliberate than Elia was accustomed to. She had to think, and quickly. The screen's warning resonated: Events have already begun. You cannot prevent the tragedy, but you can rewrite it.

"What did that mean? And how could a simple maiden help her understand the mysteries of Ho Yiran and the terrible fate that awaited her?" The mission also intrigued her. The tower didn't mince words, but its revelations were cryptic.

"Meyun," Elia began, trying to imitate Ho Siyu's serenity, focusing on the memory of their bond. "I need you to tell me about... about my sister. About Ho Yiran. How is she now?"

Meyun blinked, a shadow of confusion crossing her face. It was a strange request, given the usual closeness of the Ho sisters.

"Miss Yiran? Is something troubling you, Miss Siyu? She... she's fine. Busy with her studies and meetings... as always."

Elia felt a wave of frustration. She needed more than that. She had to be subtle.

"It's not worry, Meyun," she said, using the sweet, slightly melancholic tone that Siyu's body offered her, the same one she remembered from their past interactions. "It's just that... sometimes I feel like I don't fully understand her. Her brilliance is so intense that sometimes it creates distance. I'd like to understand her better. Her aspirations."

Meyun lowered her gaze, her fingers playing with the hem of her simple dress. The truth she held back was evident in the tension in her shoulders.

"Miss Yiran... she has an untamed spirit, Miss Siyu. She dreams of breaking the chains that bind us. Of the Ho house being not just ancient shadows, but a beacon in the darkness. She talks about changing the world, not just living in it."

That was more than Elia expected. "Breaking the chains." "Changing the world." There was an ambition beyond the personal in Ho Yiran, something grand and, perhaps, dangerous. Elia felt a pang of Yiran's passion, an urgency that was not hers, but that Siyu, and now Elia, shared through the Emotional Presence.

"Chains?" Elia asked, forcing an expression of innocent curiosity onto Siyu's face. "What chains, Meyun?"

Meyun took a step closer, her voice barely a murmur.

"Those of destiny, Miss. Those that dictate we must follow a predetermined path, just because it has always been so. She believes that true power lies not in blood or ancestral rites, but in will and knowledge. That's why... that's why she seeks those... fragments."

The word hit Elia like lightning. "Fragments."

"Fragments?" Elia repeated, feeling a chill that wasn't from the cold of the room, but from the revelation. "What fragments, Meyun? Would they be pieces of ancestral scrolls, or whispers of broken stories vibrating in the air, visible only to those with a perception beyond the mundane?"

Meyun hesitated, her eyes searching the door, as if she feared being overheard.

"They are stories, Miss Siyu. Ancient stories that were lost. Fragments of wisdom that, they say, grant immense power to whoever gathers them. Miss Yiran is convinced that they are the key to... to freedom. To free the Castellan Family from a... from a silent curse." Castellan. The name resonated with an echo of ancient responsibilities, perhaps an invisible crown that weighed more than any metal. Elia wondered what ancient glories or terrible sacrifices were tied to that title, and how it related to the Ho surname.

A curse. A genetic vessel. Fragments. The picture was slowly and terribly assembling itself. Elia remembered the veil of melancholy in Siyu's eyes. Was that the manifestation of the curse, a hereditary sadness or an inability to forge their own destiny, consuming the spirit of the Ho's who bore the Castellan title?

"And what does all this have to do with... with what might happen to Yiran?" Elia pushed, her heart beating with Siyu's calm rhythm, but her mind boiling.

Meyun shook her head, her face pale.

"I don't know, Miss Siyu. But Miss Yiran has become... more reserved. Her eyes have a feverish glint when she talks about this. And her grandfather... Master Ho... he has been watching her closely. He seems worried."

Elia assimilated the information. The grandfather. The Patriarch. The figure of authority. And the fragments. Elia's Emotional Presence told her that the old man's concern, the current main bearer of the Castellan title, was not just for his granddaughter, but for the veil of uncertainty that the fragments had cast over the future of his lineage and the weight of the name they represented.

"Do you know where Yiran seeks these fragments, Meyun? Or what they look like?" Elia asked, trying to keep Siyu's voice as casual as possible.

Meyun frowned.

"Not exactly, Miss. She is very careful. But I know that sometimes she locks herself in the ancestral library, or goes out to the secret garden where the lunar lotus flowers grow. And... and once I heard her talk to Master Lin, the elderly scribe, about some forbidden scrolls. She said they were... hidden in plain sight."

That was a concrete clue. Elia felt a glimmer of hope.

"Thank you, Meyun," Elia said, Ho Siyu's voice resonating with genuine gratitude.

The maiden bowed, relieved to have fulfilled her function.

As Meyun withdrew, Elia felt the weight of the mission. She was trapped in an alien body, in an alien time, with a destiny to rewrite. The first step was to understand Ho Yiran, her motivations, and those "forgotten fragments" that had set her on the path of tragedy.

The ancestral library and the secret garden. Two places to start, two enigmas waiting to be unraveled.

The library, where the whispers of the Castellan's forbidden knowledge still seemed to float in the dust, each book a possible piece of the puzzle.

The garden, a place of unsettling beauty, where the lunar lotus flowers perhaps held memories of past tragedies, watered with the tears of the Ho generations under the Castellan title. An alien story whose pain Elia already began to feel deep within her being, a weight added to her own "crack."