These Reincarnators Are Sus! Sleuthing in Another World

No place was ever safe for long in Ciel's nightmares, so she was always running through tunnels. From her room, to the forest, through the mountains. Halfway up the tower, but never all the way up. Down to the bottom of the mines, but never going out.

She was always entering and exiting, but never leaving. Even though she had to. She lived in a world that was filled with—

No.

That bred monsters.

If she stayed she'd become one too.

There were too many snares… Too many poisoned nectars…

That's when she glimpsed something that made her breath still. A little honey bee, resting in the glade filled with forget-me-nots. The glade was one of the most treacherous places. And the forest was especially dark tonight.

"You mustn't be here…!" Ciel tried to tell the bee, whose wings barely fluttered. "We have to leave!"

She tried to gather the bee up in her arms. But it was heavy because her arms were strangely frail. Skinny like when she was a child—no, she was a child. Why wouldn't she be?

Or hadn't she already escaped this place...?

'Every time you run, you crawl back worse. Are you too stupid to understand that?'

Ciel's breath hitched, and she used all her strength to pick the bee up with her thin arms. She ran, breathless, to the bushes to hide them both.

"If—if only you could still fly," Ciel whispered, tracing gentle circles over the little bee's wings. "You could leave here. But I can't mend you. My blessing…"

She bit her lip.

"I'd just leave your wings half-healed and half-broken," Ciel said softly, her eyes starting to water. "You'll try to fly and hurt yourself…"

The proof was on her own hands and arms. Bruises and cuts, sticky poultices made with chewed up paste. All she'd ever done is survive. How could she think she could care for someone else?

She was too dim.

There came the sound of chimes. White flashes.

"The huntsman is here," Ciel mumbled. "He can slay the monsters for us… so long as he's had his fill of sour berries."

The bee gave a single buzz of curiosity.

"It's his favorite food," Ciel said.

Without warning, the forest was filled with the sounds of screams. They echoed through the trees like the wails of little ones who never found their way home. Loud enough to still Ciel's heart and set her whole body trembling.

Ciel embraced the bee, holding her close and whispering softly. "I'm here, little honey bee… I won't ever let anything harm you."

But the bee's buzzing grew louder. Its wings, which should have been soaring, were giving trembling little sobs.

It started to struggle in her arms.

"Why…?" Ciel choked out.

The bee was still attempting to fly—toward the monsters, rather than away.

The spear drove toward Sigurd's chest. But the sight of his daughter's tear-streaked face threatened to stop his heart before it was ever struck.

"Papa! PAPA!"

She was calling for him. How could she even recognize him? They'd never properly met.

…Was he the reason she was crying?

Her small frame was shaking with the force of her hitching breaths. Her strawberry blonde curls were wet and clinging to her cheeks.

Sigurd had somehow convinced himself a single glimpse of his daughter would be enough to resolve the ache in his heart. That he'd be able to face death, knowing he'd performed his duty as a father.

Yet all he'd managed to do was hurt her. He couldn't hold her or comfort her, or brush those curls out of her eyes.

All at once, Sigurd was struck by the despair that came with the word never.

Yesterday had already passed, with all of its regrets. But there had always been tomorrow—a promise buried so deep in his heart he hadn't known it yet lived.

And if even that was taken away…

The jet-black spear pierced through Sigurd's breastplate, unstymied. It tore through the surcoat which bore the eum-Creid crest, ripping through skin and muscle, sinking deep.

Sigurd eum-Creid dropped his sword.

And with both hands, he desperately seized the spear which was at the threshold of his heart.

"I'm… making it out of here… with my daughter… Gerhardt!" Sigurd gritted out, forcing the spear to a standstill as the light emanating from his hands grew brighter. "I'm returning home with Ciel and Bea!"

The creature shuddered, its stance buckling as if it had been struck by the weight of Sigurd's will. But it righted itself, all seven of its arms grabbing the spear in unison and forcing it forward.

Even at full strength, Sigurd should have been overpowered by brute force. Yet the spear stayed locked in place. One man was held together by nothing but hope. The other grew less human with every passing moment, already numb to sorrow.

"I'm going to be there… to hold her when she cries…!" Sigurd choked, the words pushing past his lips even as his strength waned. "I'm going… to watch her… grow up…"

But he'd begun his struggle far too late. And when he faltered for a single breath, the spear pushed forward just a hair, nicking his heart.

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Ailn's hands covered his ears, but it didn't seem to do much. The screams were debilitating. They tore through the trees, sweeping in one direction and then back again. The voices weren't just erupting—they were flying.

All the while, Puck squeezed his eyes shut, his expression still scrunched into a glare. It was the magical equivalent of a kid plugging up their ears and humming loud to shut out someone they didn't want to hear.

If Ailn had to peel Puck's eyes open, he would. And as Puck took a step back like he was about to attempt another escape, Ailn grit his teeth and prepared to go on the worst run of his life.

He hoped the divine blessing could heal hearing damage.

Then he saw them: white wisps gathering above the canopy. They were in such numbers he could see them through the foliage, their forms luminous through his emerald eyes.

Sylphs.

It took a long time for Ailn to notice the shift. The screams were still deafening, but something started to thread through it. A sliver of sound, at first so faint it could have been imagined, the phantom note unfolding into a slow, aching melody.

Had the screams not subsided, it would've been din on top of din. But the lullaby hushed the tantrum, the voices falling silent one by one.

The words in the sylph's song began to take shape.

'When you wake…

I'll be waiting…

As always and before.

Let my voice go with you…

Where I can't be…

Let it ease the hurts you carry,

Until you come home to me.'

Puck's eyes slowly opened, and his gaze went skyward and distant. Only one eye was jet-black.

And yet both looked equally empty.

His breath was still ragged, almost like he'd been personally doing all the screaming. Ailn's wasn't much better. They were both worn out from the chase

Ailn approached him quietly. He doubted he could sneak up on the immortal child. But somehow he got the sense the worst thing he could do right now was startle him.

He gave him a pat on the shoulder.

Puck met his gaze without thinking—a reaction so unguarded that it could only come from someone who'd already given up.

"...Ah…"

Puck didn't even try to close his eyes.

Emerald eyes locked onto obsidian. Ailn braced himself for what came next.

It had been like this since the first time he took someone's shard. The emerald eyes were the path between. The bridge. The maze. Anytime he stole something away, he was also letting something in.

Their souls would meet.

Ruby eyes burned like he was being engulfed in flame; gold felt like descending into the dark of the earth, guided by a vanishing shaft of light.

And now that he took both of Puck's obsidian eyes, he felt as if he were falling through a cloud of ash, crumbling into dust. As if he were about to shatter.

It was a familiar feeling.

'So please—

Find your way—

Through all of your dreams…

And I'll sing for you once more.'

"You can't—you mustn't!" Ciel cried, eyes brimming with tears as she wrestled with the buzzing, crying bee. It could barely stay airborne, yet it kept trying to fly straight toward the monsters.

The bee believed it could save the huntsman.

But what could a tiny bee ever do against monsters—where even swords and holy light failed?

The flashes of white in the dark grew brighter, yet only deepened the shadows that lingered between. The bee was buzzing so inconsolably it rattled Ciel's bones.

"They'll hurt you," Ciel whispered. "That's what monsters do. They hit you if they ever see you happy. They crush you if you ever try to be strong."

Her pleading broke down as she clutched the little honey bee tighter. "They'll kill you…! Please—please don't go. I'm begging you."

The bee stopped trying to fly, but its buzzing didn't cease. It only wilted—quietly, sorrowfully shuddering in her arms.

Ciel bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut. It hurt her to see the bee like this. But there was nothing either of them could do.

Then a voice cut into the dream. It was muffled, as it came from the real world, yet it was harsh and resonant.

'I'm making it out of here… with my daughter Gerhardt! I'm returning home with Bea!'

Ciel opened her eyes. "The huntsman…?" she mumbled, confused.

The huntsman wanted to go home with them?

'I'm going to be there to hold her when she cries…!'

That was the voice of a man who desperately wanted to live. The bee shuddered yet again in her embrace, curling tighter with his every shout for life.

The bee wanted to fly. To be brave and save others, and to protect goodness in a world that always tried to break it.

"But you're still… so small…" Ciel sobbed.

'I'm going to watch her grow up…'

Ciel's gaze fell down to the little honey bee, and its buzzing wings which struggled to carry hope.

She was too small today.

…But one day she'd grow up. One day…

She'd be as big as she was brave. As strong as she was good. Ready to soar through a broken world with a heart filled with love instead of pain.

Then today someone had to help her. To mend her hurts, to catch her when she fell, and teach her that it was okay to fly.

The monsters hissed and murmured through the dark, while the huntsman's shouts grew weaker. The white light began to fade as the shadows rose to smother it. And one monster's voice, dull as it was, still echoed through the woods louder than the rest.

'Go on. Act as if you're above it.'

Biting her lip, Ciel took a deep breath, her eyes drifting upward as she looked to the heavens for courage.

'Pretend like you're better than… me.'

"I don't have to pretend," Ciel whispered.

And what had been a pitch-black sky now shimmered with stars—so bright that the constellations suddenly came into focus, as if there truly were a thread running through them.

Caught halfway between dreams and waking, Ciel reached for that thread.

The final seconds of Sigurd's life unfolded with slow, aching heartbeats, each weaker than the last.

His consciousness waned. The world before him receded into the distance. And the part of him that was fading had already begun to dream.

There wasn't a weapon in his arms. There was Bea, her face lit with a smile, nuzzled against his neck. Ciel's head lay against his shoulder, her eyes soft with affection.

They were all together, watching the slow drift of winter over Varant. Bea and Ciel were bundled up, still not used to the cold. The flurries wet their cheeks. Turned their noses red. They huddled closer to him for warmth, because for once he wasn't donning armor. He was just a father.

And the cold that had bit through his bones his entire life spread over him like a blanket. It was the gentle dream of a knight who'd lived and died by the sword, fading to white as it was quietly buried beneath the snow.

But through the silence, across the distance, came two desperate voices.

It was Ciel and Bea. But weren't they…?

He flinched, no longer feeling Ciel's body huddled against his. He felt the weight of his adamantine armor instead.

Nor was Bea in his arms. In both of his hands was a jet-black spear.

Sigurd's eyes went wide as a wall rose before him, towering thirty feet high, racing away in both directions as far as the eye could see. It was the northern wall, and judging by the smoothness of its face, meant to deter anything which attempted to climb up…

He was on the wrong side of it.

Wearily, Sigurd looked back over his shoulder. The miasma was waiting for him there. He'd already crossed the threshold of death.

"Is this the ending I've earned…?" Sigurd asked quietly, his breath misting in the cold air.

Then he saw it. A white thread of light falling from the sky, so thin it was almost invisible through the flurries. So fragile, it looked like a string fluttering in the wind.

It wove through the blizzard as if searching, slow in its drift yet unerring in its course. And when it settled upon the hollow of his chest…

He heard Ciel's voice, trembling with more sorrow and fury than he'd ever known from her.

'Don't you dare wound our daughter, Sigurd! You promised to watch her grow… Keep your word!'

There was just enough to stitch a torn heart.