Ciaran paused, drank a few more sips of water, then closed the lid and put it down again. He examined his fingernails, but they were normal — not a trace of any black. He was hallucinating something absurd and wondered if the curse had set in five years early, but… that couldn’t be the case. Auditory hallucinations only appeared in the middle stages of the curse’s progression. Before that, there would be other sensory hallucinations with the sense of smell and touch — smelling things no one else did, feeling shadows of touch on your skin despite no one being there. His sense of smell and touch were fine and he wasn’t hallucinating anything else, so…

  A ghoul flew in, its mouth widening as it approached, but Ciaran had grown accustomed to killing them. He didn’t blink as his sword slashed through it. The wave of ghouls had slowed down because he killed every one of them in the local area. Now other ghouls from more distant places were flying toward where he was, and soon enough, he would wish he had another reprieve like this.

  [Kid, didn’t you… hear me? Hello, you there with the silver eyes. Are you related… to my family somehow?]

  Ciaran snapped out of his thoughts when the voice rang in his head again. He hesitated, then decided to reply to it. There was no one here to see him talking to himself, and even if he was wrong, at least he would know that for sure. “I’m… Ciaran Duvane. What do you mean, your name is Envil Duvane? Are you real?”

  A few ghouls flew in and Ciaran killed them as listened for a response, wondering if he had gone crazy enough to make up a voice that wasn’t there. Where did that name come from, anyway? It was oddly familiar.

  [Ciaran Duvane? Are you related to me? I don’t remember any kid having that name… Hey, are you my sister’s kid?]

  “Your sister?”

  [Yeah, Eillendra Duvane. You know, a grand mage of Silios?]

  Ciaran paused. Having heard that name, he remembered why the name “Envil” was so familiar — when he was studying the history of his family before, he learned that Eillendra, a powerful mage that lived and died three centuries ago, had a younger brother that mysteriously disappeared when he was 25. He read about how she searched for him everywhere, but even with her powerful magic, she never found him.

  “Didn’t you go missing? Where is your voice coming from, anyway? I thought the curse manifested early for a second.”

  Ghouls poured in with shorter gaps in between, each group having more and more. Sweat coated his back as he concentrated more on fighting, taking his time replying while he was fighting.

  [My soul was bound to the sword you’re holding. I don’t know how much time passed since I died, and I don’t remember how I ended up like this, either… But if you hadn’t picked this sword up and killed as many ghouls as you have, my consciousness would’ve completely faded away. When the ghouls turn into dust, I can absorb it and supplement my consciousness and existence, since I’m not much different from them now. And what do you mean by curse? What does that have to do with anything? Are you cursed? Is that why you’re here?]

  Ciaran gritted his teeth as he fought. Digesting what he was saying while killing one ghoul after another was more difficult than anticipated. He thought about it slowly and when there was a brief break, he panted and wiped away the sweat dripping down his forehead. “Just so you know, you went missing 300 years ago. The current year is 1073 I.C. I’m not your sister’s kid, I’m her descendant. As for the curse… do you remember, when Astraphos befriended that dragon and was granted a blessing, what condition Astraphos promised all of us would fulfill, so that the blessing can continue to be passed down?”

  [To never harm any of its kin… Hold on, what do you mean it’s been over three hundred years? Doesn’t that mean my sister died a while ago? And why is your hair blond?]

  Instead of answering those questions, Ciaran said, “Right. And if one of our family members were to harm a dragon, in any way, something terrible would happen.”

  [You’re not insinuating that the curse you’re talking about is the result of someone harming or killing a dragon? From our family? How is that possible, when everyone keeps reminding us to never do that? Why would anyone do something so counter-intuitive? The blessing only benefits us.]

  “It wasn’t on purpose — you know as well as I do how strict our family is with teaching kids never to harm dragons. It was planned by someone else, one of our political enemies from two hundred years ago that wanted us at a disadvantage or worse, to die. We never found out how they knew about the blessing’s condition. But one time, one scratch, was enough. The blessing became a curse, and now…” Ciaran shuddered, unwanted images flashing before his eyes. As a ghoul flew into the room and toward him, he sliced it in half while shattering those images. He couldn’t get distracted. “Now, everyone else is dead, and I’m the only one still alive. Once again, because of someone else’s scheme.”

  Envil didn’t reply for a few minutes, filling the air with a heavy silence. Ciaran used the time to pace his breathing, calm his racing heartbeat, and killed every ghoul that came toward him. He watched as the dust swirled in the air and disappeared into the sword. Envil must be absorbing it. As he killed more, Envil’s voice became more stable and clear. After another wave of ghouls passed, Ciaran took a few more sips of water, ignoring the hunger that was already starting to set in.

  He needed to ration his food, but the unfamiliar sensation was hard to ignore.

  It wasn’t until now, when he’d lost everything, that he realized how truly grateful he should have been for all that he had before. A proper shower and bathroom, maids to do laundry and clean his room, a soft bed to sleep on, lavish, filling meals every single day, a home to live in, and loved ones to be with. Guaranteed comfort and stability. Now, even soap was a luxury item he couldn’t get his hands on.

  The cold air brushed against his sweaty skin as he leaned back against the wall and put away his water. He thought about the person that orchestrated this. He wondered what they were doing at that moment, and how happy they must be that their plan succeeded. Was his position already stolen? He told Martha and Penelope to lie about his death, after all. With no Duvane alive, who was going to run the territory? No one would keep his seat warm for him, even if they knew he was alive. The nobility, even those that weren’t his family’s enemy, would be frothing at the mouth to become the next duke.

  [I’ve decided, Ciaran.]

  Ciaran stood up straight and held the sword up as another wave of ghouls rushed through the doorway. “Decided what?”

  [I can’t really do anything to help you. I’m dead, after all. I don’t even remember what happened for me to end up like this. But there is one thing I can do for you — I can teach you swordsmanship!]

  ~|(+)|~

  In the capitol of the Silios Empire, inside a magnificent palace, was a grand throne room. From the two intricately made front doors lay a red carpet extending to the golden throne, on which sat Emperor Reilance la Krysos. The golden-haired emperor was soon to be 37 but didn’t look a day older than 25. He gazed down at the kneeling council members with golden eyes, pressuring them with waves of magic power. His bored face was held by a single hand, the other resting on the armrest, as he said, “Would you care to repeat what you just asked me?”

  The one that spoke earlier, Councilman Rogers, dared not to raise his head as he trembled out, “Y-Your Majesty… I a-asked you whether to instate a n-new duke now that the Duvane family i-is… gone.”

  Stolen novel; please report.

  The emperor sighed. The pressure was relieved, but no one dared to move just yet. They waited for his word while wondering why he seemed to be upset.

  Councilman Rogers, who had been asked by a certain noble to bring this matter up to the emperor, thought it was a reasonable question to ask — it had been a few days since news broke out about the tragic incident that ended the Duvane line. Yet, however much time passed, the imperial palace never instated a new duke for the territory, nor did they bring out any plans to.

  “And why would I need to instate a new duke when there already is one, alive and well?”

  His words were slow and drawn out, as if every second he spoke was a precious moment of time he couldn’t be bothered to waste. He didn’t speak very loudly, but the question resonated through the hall, shaking every other person inside down to the bones. Councilman Rogers couldn’t believe what he was hearing. For a second, he had hoped that His Majesty had instated a new duke without informing anyone, because the alternative would make waves throughout the empire. Councilman Terrance, in another part of the room, spoke up and said, “Y-Your majesty.. Have you received another prophetic vision? If so, may we ask… what it was about?”

  The imperial family of the Silios Empire had kept their reign for over a thousand years for a simple reason — their inherited bloodline magic that allowed them to foresee the future, an ability said to have been passed down from the God of the Sun. Sometimes their foresight came through dreams, while other times they would receive visions while awake, but every vision came during daylight, when the sun was out. Every single foresight of theirs was treated like law because they had always come true, down to the smallest detail. It had been years since Emperor Reilance spoke of a vision he had — for the imperial family members had no obligation to share what they saw, or even if they foresaw something at all. Councilman Terrance seized the chance to ask, not wanting to miss possible important news about the future of the empire.

  “The young duke Ciaran Duvane is still alive. I don’t know who spread the word that he was dead, but he survived the tragedy, and he will formally take his title as duke in five years time. Until that day comes, the duties of the duke will be fulfilled by a loyal retainer of mine.”

  At his words, every person in the room broke out in fervent whispers. Nobody had expected anyone to survive that tragic bloodbath, much less for the survivor to be the heir of the duchy. As they discussed the matter with each other, Councilman Rogers was frozen, sweat creeping down his back. The man who asked him to come today won’t be happy. He had already been planning to lobby the emperor to make a subordinate of his become the new duke. If he knew about what the emperor said today… Councilman Rogers decided to flee back to his small and distant barony in the countryside. It wouldn’t spare the wrath of that person, but at least he wouldn’t be the first one he saw when he broke out in a fit of rage.

  The emperor dismissed everyone and waited until the hall was empty of even the servants and the knights. When the doors closed, his imposing demeanor relaxed, his stiff shoulders slouching a little. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, his mind in turmoil. There were another few details about the vision he had that he left out, and didn’t intent to reveal to the public. It was the reason he had gone out of his way to protect the duchy the young duke left behind.

  The emperor touched the bracelet on his wrist and sat back as a sparse row of floating names appeared in the air before him. He touched the name written at the top and watched as the screen changed, waiting for the call to connect. The dial rang and rang, and just before it automatically hung up, it connected. The other end was noisy in the background, then some crashing sounds came through before silence spread. Someone groaned and shuffled closer to the receiver, then said,

  “Lance? Hey, what’s up, why’d you call? Wait, did I miss an appointment with you? Is that why you’re calling? Oh no, I’ve been so busy working on a new project lately, I haven’t paid attention to the time at all…”

  Reilance closed his eyes in exasperation, not surprised this was the first thing he had to say. “No, there was no meeting or appointment, don’t worry, you didn’t miss anything. I’m calling you for a different reason.”

  “A different reason? What… oh, don’t tell me you’re finally getting married? When’s the engagement party? It’s about time anyway, how long have you already been emperor—”

  “No, no, I am not getting married. I already have an heir, why would I need to get married? It’s too much of a bother. No, this time I’m calling about your love troubles, not mine.”

  The line paused for a moment. The voice on the other end was more serious as he said, “My love troubles? My love life started and ended when I was 19. You know that. What is this really about?”

  “Well, you should already know who your true love is. Was, I should say—”

  “Was?”

  Reilance paused. “Have you not heard?”

  “Heard what?”

  “How long have you been locked up in your research lab? Two months ago, every member of the Duvane family, with the exception of the heir whose whereabouts are unknown, died in the span of a single night. My condolences for your loss, Orlen.”

  Silence spread. Reilance waited for the other to speak. When he finally did, he said in a hoarse, low voice, “I know. I had already asked one of my assistants to bring me any news about them if there was something. What about it? Why do you think I’ve been working nonstop lately?”

  “Orlen, two days ago, I had a vision that one of the ducal family members was still alive and becomes the duke in five years. Last night, I had another vision about that same person, Ciaran Duvane. Guess what I saw?”

  A sigh resounded from the line. “What, Lance? What did you see?”

  “I saw him wearing a black blindfold, and carrying a certain golden-tipped pen with a wooden body. Near the tip are golden initials carved into the wood. They’re your initials, Orlen. And that’s the pen you brought with you all those years ago, when you pretended to be a commoner and went out to ‘experience life’ during your rebellious phase. I should know. I was the one that placed the order for that pen, and then gave it to you before you left. I saw him using it with no problems at all, engraving something on a ring.”

  Reilance didn’t need to tell Orlen that this pen, such as the blindfold Orlen had told him about, was engraved with a bloodline magic because they both already knew. It wasn’t the Duvane bloodline that the tool’s use was restricted to, though.

  As he listened to the gasp that erupted from the line, followed by the muffled sound of tears, Reilance continued, saying, “Didn’t you tell me that you gave her that pen as a last-minute decision? You didn’t have time to change the bloodline magic on it. You must have thought back then that you wanted her to have something else to remember you by, even if she couldn’t use it. It turns out, although she couldn’t use it, your son can. He doesn’t look like you at all, but he takes after your talent with inscription magic.”

  As he cried, Orlen said, “Lance, I always thought that she forgot about me. I heard that her child looked nothing like me, so I thought, maybe she just treated me like an ordinary farmer, a brief dream, and then had a child with someone else. I always wondered what would have happened if I had just told her my real identity.” Choked laughter escaped the magic call. “It turns out that… Ciaran just takes after her a lot. Do you… do you know where he is?”

  At this question Reilance paused. He thought back to the visions he had before saying with a disappointed tone, “I have an idea, but it’s hard to believe whether it’s really true or not.”

  “What are you talking about? Lance, if anyone has a good sense for things, its you. Where is he?”

  He didn’t speak for a moment. When he did, he said with a resigned tone, “The Lost Empire, Orlen. I don’t know how he found it, but he’s there right now.”

  Reilance couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness. He’d just found out he had a nephew, and now, the kid’s somehow found himself in a ruined, cursed nation that no one has been able to locate in hundreds of years. “You can rest assured that he won’t die, at least. Not for the next five years.”

  “That’s not much of a reassurance.” Orlen sighed. “It’s fine. Weren’t you going to send someone to take care of the Duvane estate’s affairs? Send me. All I do is make some tools and trinkets, anyway. I might as well help out the son I just found out I had.”

  Reilance’s mouth twitched. “Tools and trinkets? If the Mage Guild leader heard you say that, he’d faint on the spot. Aren’t you already neglecting your responsibilities as the department head of inscription magic in the guild? If you go now, who is going to take over while you’re gone?”

  “Ah, you know… I have an assistant or two I could send to my secretary to help out. They’re talented and could use the experience. Anyway, I can’t let some schmoozing schemer try and take my son’s position away while he’s gone.”

  Reilance chatted with Orlen some more before hanging up the call. He wondered if he should have mentioned the giant wyvern specter he had seen flying around a big building in the Lost Empire, but decided against it. They couldn’t do anything about it even if they wanted to, so there was no need to make him more worried than he already was.

  Reilance stood up and stretched, then stepped down the stairs and walked out of the room, heading to his office to continue making his way through the mountains of paperwork that somehow never seemed to end.