These Reincarnators Are Sus! Sleuthing in Another World

From the very start of his second life, Robin was a replacement. A man who'd lost his son created another after spending centuries learning how to prepare the vessel.

All he needed was to fill it. And with true magic deeper than the falsehoods known to the mages today—

He seized an errant soul from another world. Its tether had already snapped. All that remained was to pluck it—no matter how the yarn frayed.

For a time, the two played their parts. The creator acted like a father, and the creation acted like a son. But one day that creator realized his experiment was a failure. He left Robin with just a few words, and a mission.

"A child who never dies never grows. Watch over the real children for me."

So Robin did. For the closest thing he'd ever had to a father, he watched after children who were born and not made. They came and passed, growing up, leaving, dying, having children of their own like a rotating cast.

Through one tomorrow, and another tomorrow…

"And tomorrow…" Robin mumbled to himself one day.

He'd settled into the role he was given. A caretaker. A guardian.

A friend. One who would be there for them as they grew up, and gracefully step away once they were no longer children. That's what he was supposed to do.

That's all he was allowed to do.

One day yet another child wandered into his woods, a little later in the day than they usually do. A young girl afraid of her own shadow, who flinched when the trees brushed too close.

"Boo." Robin popped up behind her.

She shrieked, jumping so high Robin thought she might fly off.

"Who are you?!" the girl snapped at him when she'd finally found her wits.

"Call me Puck," Robin said, with his usual gentle smile. "And just think of me as a friend. Why in the world are you in the woods when the sun's about to set?"

"Well, my name's Marcella. Mind it well! I mended a bird's wings today!" She had absolutely no sense of volume control. "It could soar again, because I laid hands blessed by divinity upon it! And I thought…"

Her voice hushed uneasily as she looked around at the shadows. "I thought I could find it again if I searched for it…"

"And now you're lost, wanting to get home before you get eaten by wolves," Robin sighed.

"I—I don't fear wolves, of course not! I have the divine blessing—they should fear me!" Marcella's voice quieted into a whimper. "But i-if they find me in the dark, I'll be caught unawares!"

"Then let me take you home," Robin said. "Just follow closely, alright?"

"You should be honored to lead me!" Marcella declared. "Papa says I'm touched by grace!"

The girl blabbered all the way back to the edge of the forest. A little about her family. Mostly about herself. Never too shy to remind him just how special she was.

Then, when they reached the edge of the forest, she went on running right back to the Playground, without so much as a wave. Back then, Robin couldn't help but smile. She had her flaws. And yet the girl lived so loudly and theatrically in her own little world, it struck a chord in a heart that was falling out of tune.

…Like a tooth with cavities left to fester, though, the flaws in her personality dug deep until it all turned to rot.

In the present, Robin lay dying, adrift in the memory. Ailn, a few feet away, leaned against a tree, puffing quietly on his pipe.

"A homunculus?" Ailn asked, brow creasing. "Who made you? Why do you have a shard of the world soul?"

"I don't know anything about shards or world souls…" Robin said. "But there are others like me… who've got eyes filled with darkness… The man who I used to call father made all of us."

"And the Blancs? What were you to them?" Ailn asked.

"I watched over the Blancs while they were children," Robin said, voice straining. "I was their guardian. That's what he asked me to do."

"Why?"

Robin's breath caught for a moment, and he winced. "...Because they were… his bloodline. He's… a Blanc."

"...Is? Not was?" Ailn's brow creased. "Mind giving me a name for when I stroll the library?"

Just a hint of a bitter smile crept into Robin's expression. "That's all you'll get from me… After all this time I'm still stupid enough to think of him as a father."

He laughed. But when he stopped, his eyes had scrunched into something sad.

"So a genius alchemist makes an immortal babysitter…" Ailn muttered. "For a bloodline which has a very special trait: the divine blessing. Then does this all just reduce to a basic blood feud? Was he behind the carriage attack—to wipe out the rival lineage?"

Robin's lips parted, like he had something to say. For a time, only his shallow breaths could be heard, barely audible beneath the sylphs' song above.

"No," Robin whispered. "He wanted to cull the Blancs."

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Ailn froze. "What? His own descendants?"

"He never saw them that way…" Robin said.

"Then why would he ask you to watch over them?" Ailn pressed.

Robin's words came out choked. "They were like… livestock to him."

Beyond the stump which was once a throne was a ruined mural of a man and woman. The Blancs' ancestral icons, gilded in orichalcum leaf, meant to embody every virtue the Blancs professed to live by.

By the time Sigurd brought their house to an end, even they had stopped believing.

He remembered it from seven years ago. The mural had been damaged during his duels with Alaric and Marcella. He hadn't meant to. A useless sentiment, perhaps, given what he'd come to do—yet he never partook in senseless desecration.

It seemed time and their peoples' resentment had done it instead.

The man and woman were stripped bare. Only fragments of their silhouettes remained, the rest smashed beyond recognition. They'd once held each other's hands, smiling as they were bathed in holy light.

Now they didn't even have faces.

The sight stirred something in Sigurd, who'd just spent his final breaths dreaming of holding his family close. And when he turned back to look at the creature…

No. At Gerhardt. Gerhardt was gazing at the mural—at the man and woman. He'd been burned by their holy aura, slashed by their blades to the point that he resembled a burnt out wick. Yet the glow in his eyes was slowly growing brighter.

Finally, Sigurd recognized the glow for what it was. It was pain. And it was the last tether to humanity he had left.

Sigurd had no right to speak the words he was about to. But he spoke them all the same… because he truly meant it.

"You deserved better from your father, Gerhardt," Sigurd said, his voice hoarse with exhaustion. "I'm sorry."

Drops of black sludge began to drip down from Gerhardt's eyes.

The forest stirred gently as the wind settled, and the sylphs' song dwindled. It was almost like they were singing the woods themselves to sleep.

Ailn said nothing as Robin sank deeper into his memories.

"I can still hear… what they all sounded like," Robin croaked. "Every single one of them. When they were still… just kids. I just don't understand…"

He raised his arm shakily, calling forth the voices, just as many as before. But they were all fading, dying down into whispers.

'Pray tell me again of the animals that speak!'

'Shall we build a keep together?'

'Is it lonesome, dwelling alone in the wood?'

'Puck, won't you make the blossoms dance as before?'

'A palace is warmer than a tree, you know. If you find yourself cold, you can come sleep in my room. I won't tell my mother nor the servants.'

'Let's play the seeking game again!'

'I found the most sturdy stick by the brook—'tis like a sword of legend!'

'See how high I can ascend this tree now!'

Robin's face crumpled, a muffled sob escaping him. "Where'd they all go?"

The black sludge continued to drip down Gerhardt's face as he gazed at the mural. He walked toward it, each step unsteady, his body slow and sagging. And when he finally stood before it, he reached out to touch it—

But the hand he meant to raise was already lost.

The ragged end of his limb trembled and he hung his head, more tears of sludge dripping down onto the stone floor.

A faint glow stirred within his chest, flickering just beneath its surface. The black wax shimmered as the light grew brighter, until a thin beam pierced outward. The thread widened and wove in on itself into a white, blazing core—twisting and fluttering like a bird breaking free from its shell.

Yet the light was only melting him away.

Gerhardt slowly turned around, his balance still shambling. No one said anything as he walked through the throne room.

He staggered past the two knights, who raised their swords on instinct, more gesture than threat. He passed Ciel, who clutched Bea a little tighter, hands trembling as she drew her daughter back.

He paid none of them mind. He just steadily made his way out, only stopping when Bea called out to him.

"Goodbye…" Bea said quietly. "Uncle Gerhardt…"

Slowly looking over his shoulder, Gerhardt gazed at Bea for a long time. Then, with what was left of his hand, he gave her a single wave, before continuing on his way.

Only one voice remained, louder than the rest. It was big and bombastic. Yet no matter how tightly Robin clung to it, Marcella's voice kept fading.

Then for just one last time… Robin fell back into memory, closing his eyes and thinking of the sudden glow of lantern light popping into his glade.

'Sleep utterly refused me tonight! Then I thought to myself I wished to see you—so I snuck out!'

The girl who'd been so afraid of shadows had come in the dead of night, grinning and breathless as she grabbed his hand.

They went running toward the forest's edge, where he'd led so many lost children. They passed by the willows, where the forest floor gave way to mossy cobblestone, where the trees thinned and the bell tower came into view…

Her loud laugh almost got them caught as they slipped into the bell tower, and dashed up its winding steps. They burst onto the walkway, where the night sky was bright and soft lanterns glowed like scattered embers below.

She'd made her grand declarations.

'Forget? I remember every one of the servants' names, you know! You insult me by saying I would forget yours!'

And Robin even believed them.

'Blancs are honorable and we don't forget our debts or our friends! I shall declare it here! Fifteen years from this point, I'll be back in this forest—and you should be happy to hear me say hello!'

…But the voice finally died away. Robin kept his hand raised, as if he could still call it back, if he only reached a little further.

Nothing came. Robin's eyes scrunched. He gave a wavering smile. "Then, the rest is…"

And his arm fell back to the grass as he shook his head, tears dripping down his cheeks. He didn't say anything after that.

For a long time, Ailn didn't break the silence. But eventually, he saw someone coming from the direction of the palace who—well, he didn't really know who or what it was. But he was pretty sure he knew what they were looking for.

Ailn rose to a stoop as silently as he could, tapping the pipe out against a mossy root, careful to grind out any lingering ember before letting the ash fall. Then he stood. It was time to make his exit.

"Looks like this is where we say our goodbyes, Robin," Ailn said. "Someone's here to see you."

"Who…"

He walked out, headed in the direction of the palace just as Robin raised his head.

"Oh." Robin's lips trembled and he swallowed hard. "You remembered me, huh?"

Gerhardt walked up to Robin and knelt down beside him. The melting sight of him made Robin feel terrible.

"You're like that because of what I brought…" Robin mumbled. "I'm sorry."

But Gerhardt just stayed kneeling. He adjusted his posture slightly, indicating his back.

"You're kidd—..." Robin's voice cracked slightly, then he let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "I'm… a little old for this, you know. Guess I don't weigh much like this, though…"

He climbed onto Gerhardt's back for a piggyback ride.

The man was melting. The boy was crumbling. But they almost looked like father and son as they made their way to the glade deep in the woods.

And they spent their last moments on a hollow log, sitting next to each other as they faded away.