“But if that’s really the case… doesn’t that mean that you knew him?”

  [I guess so. Maybe if I see more familiar places my memory can be triggered. Of course, it’s also possible that I remembered something because you’ve been helping me absorb more of those ghoul’s remains.]

  Ciaran furrowed his brows. “So we have to go back into the city, huh?” He paused for a moment, his mind flashing to the town square he appeared in, before saying, “Did I ever tell you where I found this sword?”

  [No, I don’t think so. Where was it?]

  “It was stuck in the wall behind the holy emperor’s throne, and on the back of the throne, there was a hole, in a direct line with where your sword was embedded.”

  [That… is interesting. Because from my last memory, I don’t remember having any plans to visit the Lost Empire. I wonder if it was an impulsive decision on my part. Maybe I found out what the holy emperor was doing and decided to kill him. But how would I have known? Maybe the mage told me? But how did we know each other anyway?]

  As Envil kept asking questions with no good answers, Ciaran sighed. He had just gotten to the forest and found a way to feed himself with something more substantial than a few fruits, all of which were gone by now, and yet he had to go into the city again. If he stayed out here, he wouldn’t have to fight all night — at worst he may encounter another yuin, or a beast similar to it, but if he killed it, there wouldn’t be a dozen more lining up behind it to kill Ciaran. The ghouls were trapped in the city, so he could try and live out here until he figured out where he was, and where to go from here.

  With a moment of spare time, Ciaran thought about the curse, and decided to ask Envil. He didn’t think he’d know anything about it, but having another opinion was better than mulling over it on his own. “Envil… how do you think the curse can be broken?”

  Envil’s mutterings quieted. [Kid, I’m sure you know better than I do. If its a curse that used to be a blessing, and if that blessing came from a dragon, then only the dragon that bestowed the original blessing can actually do anything about this curse. But that dragon…]

  “Disappeared when Astraphos died. I know. Unfortunately, despite two centuries worth of efforts, no one has been able to find it again. We searched high and low, and some people went out to the ends of the world to try and find clues about its whereabouts, only to never return. Others came back after many years only to let us know that their journey had no clues, either, before they went mad and died from the curse’s corruption.”

  Ciaran winced as he moved closer to the stream, glancing at his reflection before cupping his hands and splashing water onto his face. The sight of the long, thin scratch on his face, the flesh pink as it healed, flashed him back to the night of the incident without a moment’s notice.

  He saw his mother’s eyes, normal one moment and filled with a dark madness the next, as they stared at him with a murderous intent. He saw her claws stretching towards him, his body pulled back from someone behind him, shedding through the top layer of his skin before he was dragged away and hidden away from sight.

  [… Ci…. Ran…. He..!…]

  A head was cut off, a heart was pierced, a limb was torn. Despairing screams, gasps that gurgled with rising blood, the thud of a body collapsing.

  [CIARAN!]

  Ciaran broke back into the present. Without noticing, he’d begun hyperventilating, his breathing too quick, too heavy, his vision was blurry from dizziness. His light-headed mind couldn’t notice anything around him. Just as he closed his eyes for a second, nausea overwhelmed him, rising from the depths of his stomach to the top of his throat, to the tip of his tongue in so short a time that he only had the mind to avoid the stream of water in front of him before he threw up.

  Nothing but yellow bile came out. It had been hours since he last ate, and everything was already digested, but his stomach continued to heave, as if there was more to purge. His breathing stuttered and he took a deep, gasping breath. Tears were streaming down his face, and probably had been for some time, but it wasn’t until one dropped onto his hand that he realized his face was wet.

  He sucked air into his body as if his lungs weren’t working. No amount of it was enough.

  [Ciaran? CIARAN? Are you okay? What happened? God, I really hate being a ghost sometimes. It’s okay, whatever is going on, it’s okay. Just hang in there. I’m here with you.]

  Envil’s words pierced through the fog in his brain and grounded him. He could breathe again. His breathing slowed down and grew steadier, minute by minute. It stabilized, but his tears didn’t stop. He sat back on the rocky shore and hugged his knees, burying his face as a pounding headache emerged. The memories had appeared with a swift force, making him relive that night all over again. He spoke in broken sentences that mirrored his chaotic emotions. “But you’re not. No one is.

  They all died, Envil. They killed each other. I — I would have been, too, but… they hid me. I just sat there and watched as they all died. Maybe I could have saved them, but there was a chain, and I just … didn’t move at all.”

  Quiet sobs erupted, but he forced himself to stop. Ciaran didn’t want to cry. He didn’t deserve to. What if he tried to move? What if he had tried to break out of the cabinet? What if he was able to survive to the end? Maybe he could have at least saved a few more of the innocent people that had died without knowing anything. Even if he had died, he would have died with them. It would have been a fitting, happy ending.

  But he was alone now. He survived when he shouldn’t have. “I should have been buried alongside everyone else. Why did I survive, and no one else? Why me? I don’t know anything. I can’t do anything. So many of my family members tried to break the curse, but every one of them failed. There’s no way I can do what they never could. If someone else had survived, maybe they would already know who was behind this whole thing. They would have more power and standing, the ability to avenge everyone. Maybe they wouldn’t be as useless and weak as me.”

  [Ciaran, listen to me. If someone hid you away, they did it for a reason. It’s okay to cry for a few minutes, but it won’t get you anywhere. It’s true. You did survive, and no one else did. So what? You can’t change the past. What’s done is done, and whoever’s gone is gone. You can’t do anything about that. Instead of thinking about what could have happened if this or if that, you should focus on what you CAN do — break your family’s curse and get justice for them. It might take a long time, but every long journey starts with a single step. I’m here to help you. I promise.]

  Ciaran raised his head to look at him before realizing that he couldn’t see Envil. He wiped away the tears at the corners of his eyes, let a staggering breath out, and mulled over Envil’s words. “What can I do though? How can I possibly find a dragon that’s been missing for 500 years? I don’t even know who hurt my family, either.

  Where do I even start?”

  [I don’t know, Ciaran. But we can find out. Instead, let’s work on something you can definitely do. You train your swordsmanship and help me find my memories. Along the way, maybe one of us will come up with something helpful. Don’t think about anything else for now.]

  ~|(+)|~

  Envil’s incorporeal form, invisible to everyone except himself, floated above the sword that rested on the tree. A few meters away, Ciaran was washing himself, taking time to clean out any dirt from his wounds, which had already begun to heal thanks to the mana coursing through him. Envil wasn’t paying attention to his actions. Rather, he was thinking about everything Ciaran had said a few minutes ago.

  Ciaran had never told him what, exactly, happened for everyone except for him to have died. Now, through his fragmented account, he could piece together what most likely took place. He didn’t know what the curse did to them, exactly, as Ciaran never mentioned it. However, it was simple to hypothesize what could have happened — the curse was triggered somehow, spurning a rather violent sequence of events. The only way for the curse to have been activated in such an extreme and sudden way was to go against the condition that brought about the curse two centuries ago: never harm a dragon.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  If there had been a dragon there, Ciaran would have mentioned it. They were too rare for something so significant to not be brought up, so there was no way any Duvane actually harmed a dragon, not in that specific location, anyway. There was a chance that a very distant relative, yet one that still had the duchy’s bloodline, harmed a dragon in some other place, whether by choice or by force.

  He didn’t quite believe that the current duchy would allow distant relatives to run around in that sort of way, though. It would leave the chance that their true condition would be revealed to the world, exposing their vulnerabilities to the aristocracy and allowing more powerful and stable political opponents to take advantage of their weakness. Apart from this possibility, Envil could only think of one other thing.

  They must have ingested something that used to be part of a dragon.

  Maybe a dragon was killed somewhere, and their enemy snuck someone in to cook dragon meat in the meal. Envil shook his head, though. He didn’t think that was possible. It was hard enough finding a dragon, much less killing or injuring one to the extent that you could secretly feed its meat to three adults. The easier option was blood.

  It was much easier to slip some dragon blood into the wine the adults drank. Anyone from outside the duchy wouldn’t react to it, apart from questioning the taste, and those with the ducal blood would “eat” a dragon, therefore harming it, since it was impossible to drink dragon blood without harming a dragon in some way. The person that did the harming didn’t seem to matter to the curse. They would have drank it, the curse would have sensed it, and the backlash would be even greater than when the curse was first activated — because the difference between slightly harming a dragon and drinking its blood was too great. A repeat offense would have worse consequences. Envil had to wonder, though.

  Who, in the current political world, was able to procure actual dragon blood? He sighed, as he knew that the question wasn’t something he would find an answer to anytime soon.

  He glanced with some concern toward the stream’s shore, the limit of his vision. Whatever the kid went through, it was violent and traumatic. He didn’t know how to help him deal with the aftereffects, but he had to. Without Ciaran, he would never get his memories back, and his soul would be bound to the sword until his consciousness faded away, and he disappeared. His chance to pass on the proper way would be gone.

  He had originally planned to wait until Ciaran became a little stronger and helped him remember what he’d forgotten before asking him to unbind his soul from the sword. This action would set him free, something that should have happened when he first died. However… after what happened just now, he was beginning to rethink his decision.

  The weight of responsibility as a Duvane was heavy, and he was starting to feel it. He didn’t know how old Ciaran was, but Envil could tell he was just a kid who was years away from his second coming of age. He was uncomfortable with the thought of leaving a child like this alone. It wasn’t just any kid either — it was his sister’s descendant, and the last person alive in their family. Envil had already begun to imagine what could happen if he really left him alone.

  Ciaran may even feel that Envil’s passing would be a betrayal, because someone that promised to stay with him moved on instead. He would die in some lonely corner of the world, maybe by someone else’s sword, or maybe because of that curse he has. He frowned, not wanting such a possibility to come true.

  He sighed and ruffled his hair. He can’t really offer Ciaran much more than companionship and swordsmanship training. He supposed it was better than the kid being completely alone, though. He looked over as Ciaran came back in his cleaner pair of clothes and decided he would think about what to do about his own passing after Ciaran became a swordsmaster. It shouldn’t take too many years. Ciaran’s talent for mana control was even better than his own, and the kid also had a swordsmaster teaching him.

  Envil was more worried about his mental and emotional state than his training. He didn’t know how to help him — the only thing he could think to do was to distract him, make him focus on something other than his thoughts and memories.

  ~|(+)|~

  [Ciaran, take a break today, and tomorrow we can head back into the city. We’re not training today, either. You just focus on finding something to eat for yourself and continue working on that ring.]

  Ciaran paused as he began to stretch his sore muscles. He was relieved when he heard Envil say that. He didn’t really want to leave the forest right after finding it. He had half-run and half-walked for quite a few hours to get here, after all.

  He glanced over to the yuin and said, “Do you think I could still eat the yuin? It’s been sitting out all night, but…” His stomach ached as he continued, “I’m hungry.”

  [What are you thinking? No, don’t do that. You’ll get sick if you do. There hasn’t even been a preservation spell cast on it, so it’s definitely gone bad by now. It’d be better for you to drag that carcass away from where you’re sleeping and then go and find some smaller animals to eat, like rabbits or squirrels.]

  Ciaran nodded and bent down to pick up the yuin’s remaining hind leg, starting to drag it across the forest floor while making sure to keep remember the path. He trusted Envil’s advice, since the man had been out and about for so many years, and had even become a swordsmaster at such a young age. Before he left, he made sure to take the sword with him, holding it with his free hand.

  After walking for a little while, he dropped the yuin and flexed his hand, switching his sword to his right hand before walking back. Along the way, he heard several small animals skittering around in the bushes, and had even tried to kill some, but they would evade him every time. By the time he got back to his temporary encampment, he huffed with irritation and said, “I know I can just barely be considered a low-level swordsman, but seriously? Why can’t even catch a single rabbit? I’m not that slow!”

  Envil’s laugh echoed in his head. [Try thinking a little more. You’re not slower than the rabbit — they’re smaller than you and have an easier time escaping. You could catch it with a trap, but it’d be better for you to learn how to use your strength more strategically.]

  Ciaran couldn’t help but think about last night. The yuin he fought was big, so big that it should have made noise wherever it walked, but he hadn’t heard it until it was that close to him. The baby yuin had done the same, as well — following Ciaran at a close distance while keeping its steps quiet, then attacking when he, the “prey,” let its guard down. He walked a few steps forward while trying to be mindful of his steps, only to realize that walking without making noise, on this forest floor that was covered in fallen leaves, dry twigs, and various weeds and bushes, was more difficult than he expected. After a few minutes of failed attempts, he heard Envil say something to him.

  [Ciaran, I told you to think more. Did you forget that you have a mana core? Use your mana to your advantage.]

  Ciaran lit up, realizing that he had been too narrow-minded so far. It hadn’t even been a day since he created a mana core, so he wasn’t used to using it actively using yet. The mana coursing through his body followed a specific path, but it wouldn’t diverge into other areas of his body unless he willed it.

  He closed his eyes, focusing his senses on the mana flowing through him. He followed it as the cycle started at his heart, coursing through his torso and arms before heading toward his legs. Usually, the mana path would cycle through his thighs before heading back up again, but as the mana path was heading there this time, Ciaran willed his mana path to go deeper than just his thighs — it flowed down his knee and into his calf, but stopped before it reached the foot. Ciaran furrowed his brow, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t direct his mana path toward his feet.

  He wanted the mana path to cycle through his feet so he could use it to make his steps quiet, but it was as if there was an invisible wall stopping him. “Envil, I’m trying to direct my mana path toward my feet, but I can’t. Do you know why?”

  [Your feet? What do you mean? Hold on a second.]

  The phantom sensation he felt when the mana core was made last night appeared again. It escaped from the sword and into his body through his arm, traveling to the mana core and waiting for the cycle to start again before following the mana path. A minute of silence passed, but Ciaran didn’t hear Envil say anything. “Is there something wrong?”

  A chuckle sounded, tinged with disbelief. [Ciaran, you never fail to surprise me. I knew that you were talented with mana control, but this is something else. Did you know, that any beginner swordsman your age would take at least a few days to create a mana core? It took you less than ten minutes. Then, it would take them at least a month to will their mana path to change its course by even a little. What you’re doing right now is what low-level swordsmen who have been training at that level for half a year can do. It’s not something you can do just because you wanted to. Of course you can’t direct your mana toward your feet, Ciaran. You would have to be at least a mid-tier swordsman to do that, but your mana core was just created, and you yourself don’t know much about swordsmanship just yet.]

  Ciaran opened his eyes, his face creased with shock. The phantom sensation traveled through his body and back into the sword again. He said, “So… what did you want me to do then?”

  [I guess you were trying to make your steps silent by directing mana toward your feet, using it to cover up the sound as you walked. Then, you would approach it while it didn’t notice you and kill it, right? But you don’t have to do that much. It’s enough to gather a few berries and wild fruits and vegetables, place it near its burrow, and wait for it to come before you trap and kill it.]

  Ciaran sighed. He was too hungry to respond. Instead, he followed Envil’s advice, and the morning ended with Ciaran clumsily skinning a rabbit under Envil’s guidance, then cooking and eating the meat. While he was roasting it over the fire, he thought to himself that it would have been better to have a pot, so he could cook a stew with the meat and some wild vegetables he found.

  As he bit into the cooked meat, he thought that the rabbit tasted a lot better than the yuin. It would have been even better with salt.