These Reincarnators Are Sus! Sleuthing in Another World

It was difficult to believe that the long night had ended so quietly. Everything that had happened still hung in the air, the throne room filled with a lingering sense of sorrow. Only one thing began to dispel it. Morning had come.

Now that their battle with Gerhardt was over, the sunlight which crept through the ceiling felt like quiet assurance that they had truly survived—and that the nightmare had ended.

"Bea," Ciel said softly. "Wouldn't you like to meet your papa?"

Bea hid her face in her mother's neck, shaking her head.

"He might not… like me, mama," Bea said, voice cracking.

"I believe he's rather fond of you, my little honey bee," Ciel said, as her hand moved in soothing circles along her daughter's back. "You caught his words earlier, didn't you?"

Ciel brushed her daughter's cheek with her thumb, gently tilting her face toward her. "You were in papa's heart, protecting him. That's why he's here with us right now."

No more than five paces over, a very similar conversation was occurring. Sigurd stood facing the wall, still as stone, arms stiff at his sides.

"Your Grace," Kylian said wearily. "Your daughter is waiting to speak to you. I suggest you go to her."

"It's not for lack of wanting," Sigurd said, teeth gritted, voice tighter than before.

Kylian sighed. After fighting through armies and soaring through the skies, the father and daughter who had endured such harrowing trials now flinched at the final step.

Facing each other.

Unbelievably, it seemed to be the daughter who found her mettle first. Ciel approached, carrying Bea in her arms. Bea, still facing away, nonetheless stole nervous backward glances at her father.

Sigurd had yet to turn around.

"Sigurd," Ciel said, in a voice not quite as gentle as she'd used with her daughter. "Bea wishes to say hi to you."

"As… I am now, Ciel?" Sigurd said, tiredly. "The sight will scare her."

He was broken and battered, dried blood streaking his face.

"I've my own injuries, Sigurd, yet Bea loves me all the same," Ciel said. She let out a quiet sigh. "Won't you hold your daughter? Or was the commander of the Azure Knights merely uttering falsehoods in the heat of battle?"

She stepped closer for the both of them. A smile tugged at her lips, as she laid a gentle hand on Sigurd's shoulder. "This may be the only time I've seen either of you falter in courage."

Sigurd closed his eyes, drawing a slow breath. He must have looked ridiculous, anxious as he was to face his own child.

And yet…

His eyes drifted back to the shattered mural. How much had Bea been told? How much did she understand…?

Bea had called Gerhardt "uncle." She knew the Blancs were her mother's kin. And she likely realized what had happened to them. This throne room, this entire city, the household of the Blancs—all of it lay in ruin because of decisions Sigurd had made. That was the plain truth.

Whatever his reasons, whatever justifications could be made, all she would know of him was slaughter. All she had ever seen of him was violence. If she looked at him, and saw a killer…

She would be right.

Lost in the tangle of his own fears, Sigurd barely heard the small, raspy voice behind him.

"Papa…?"

Ailn idly watched the sky as he made his way back to the Playground. The sylphs drifted through the air, socializing quite loudly amongst themselves. From this distance, their voices really did sound like whistling winds. And judging by the chipper, bouncy rhythm of those whistles, they seemed rather pleased with their earlier performance.

One he'd made friends with just yesterday flew down to meet him.

'What a crazy night!' Sorelle gusted. 'Did you hear us singing? I led the aeries and all the other sylphs called me a genius!'

"Aeries?" Ailn repeated, puzzled. "When you say you led them…"

'I made it up as I went along!'

"That was improvised, huh?" Ailn whistled, and Sorelle did a somersault in response.

'Uh-huh! It's sylphsong! You know it's one of the world's oldest types of music? My mother taught me how to do it, and her mother taught her, and it's a really long line of mothers that would take all day if I even remembered them!'

So that was what the naiads were on about. Sylphsong was more like a musical form than a specific melody.

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"Well, you really saved me there," Ailn said. "What made you all decide to gather up there and start singing?"

'When kids are screaming, no one can get any rest!' Sorelle piped. 'Where are they, anyway? There were so many but we couldn't see them!'

"They…" Ailn hesitated. He gave a wistful, tired smile. "They're all sleeping. Thanks to your lullaby."

He scratched his cheek. "Guess I owe you twice over now. Tell you what. You asked for secrets, songs or flower petals, right? I don't have any petals on me—and it looks like you've got a better ear for music than I ever will. So, how about I tell you a couple of big secrets?"

'Okay!' Sorelle did an excited flip in the air. 'I've never heard any human secrets before!'

"So, here's secret number one," Ailn said, lifting up his index finger. "Believe it or not, I'm from another world."

'Another world?' Sorelle breezed. 'Do they have sylphs there?'

"You know, I don't know, actually," Ailn said. "I'll put it this way. Fae are the stuff of legend over there."

'Legend?!'

"I'll tell you all about it one day, when I'm passing by the Singing Mountains or if you guys ever fly by Varant," Ailn said. Then he raised a second finger. "Ready for secret number two?"

'Tell me!'

"This one was so buried so deep, I forgot it myself," Ailn said. "You'll be the first to ever hear it."

He hesitated, his smile taking a note of chagrin as his eyes lowered. "I think… I had a little brother once."

Camille was also watching the sylphs flutter through the sky. She sat beside a colossal heap of wood made from the remains of the willow trees. Trunks instead of torsos, branches instead of limbs; what wet the forest floor wasn't blood, but morning dew.

The brightening sky mirrored her dawning realization as she considered the night's bewildering events.

"Everything changed, right after His Highness locked eyes with the boy…" Camille muttered. Clearly, that had been Ailn's plan all along—to lull the boy into dropping his guard, and initiating sustained eye contact on his own.

Both Ailn and the boy had remarkable eyes. Ailn's were a brilliant green, sparkling like emeralds. And the boy's were jet-black.

What was the boy's relation to the miasma? Why was Ailn able to seize one of his eyes from him? Camille saw only one possible answer.

Ailn had somehow been touched by divinity, gifted with a power meant to serve Varant's ceaseless war against the shadows. One that let him counter the ungodly powers of those who wielded the miasma—and even let him speak to such beautiful and majestic creatures as the sylph.

"If he acts under God-given purpose… then perhaps his swordsmanship was touched by the same grace. This allowed to defeat His Grace, Sigurd. And me, as well, " Camille reasoned, finding a new, creative excuse for her loss.

And yet—

Camille cast a worried glance deeper into the forest.

Even divine purpose didn't guarantee one's life. If anything, it invited an early end. Especially if Ailn was meant to face more uncanny, miasmatic foes such as that boy. He was no different from his kin who protected the northern wall.

All she could do was pray that the duke—no, her cousin—had survived. To say nothing of Sigurd and Bea.

Just as Camille contemplated the safety of her family, however, she heard a sound which made her wonder if she could even ensure her own well-being.

Footsteps. Marching. An entire army, by the sound of it.

Had Kylian and Alera managed to save Sigurd? Did they succeed in making the mercenaries retreat? Camille had no idea. She'd spent the entire night running around the forest like a blind cat.

It dawned on her: even if the amphitheater had been cleared, the fortress still held more.

Exhausted, Camille drew her sword as the footsteps grew louder. She knew not what host was upon her, but she would not go down without a fight.

It was Alera who Camille saw first, hands shackled, eyes cast to the ground. That confirmed her suspicions. Those from the fortress must have captured her.

Fully prepared to give her life battling those vile stragglers of the Argent Guard, Camille boldly mustered her aura. "You will not take an Azure Knight easi—easi—"

She sputtered and trailed off, her divine blessing faltering as she recognized someone who frightened her far more than the Blancs.

Bea's heart fluttered. She'd dreamed about this for so long. Hoped for a whole lifetime. And now that he was right in front of her, she felt as if she were about to wake up.

It was a strange day that had stretched on forever, its hurts and terrors relentless. But Bea had struggled through all of it. She'd done her very best because she wanted to save the man who was right in front of her.

All of it led to this moment, so fragile it felt as if it would end once he turned around.

Her fluttering heart began to thump wildly in her chest, as if a hummingbird were trying to escape.

"Mama, he doesn't want…" Bea rasped. The words came out in a panic, but stuck like a lump in her throat. "We should go, mama…"

She buried her face in her mother's neck again, overwhelmed by the aching fear that he might not want her. The short silence which followed felt like confirmation, and tears began to well in Bea's eyes.

But to her surprise, she felt careful hands slowly take her from her mother, cradling her, and lifting her just enough for their eyes to meet.

"Ah…!" Bea squeaked. "Papa…?"

He said nothing for a long while, though the way his lips would occasionally part showed he was trying. His gaze was tender, uncertain, as if he wasn't sure he had the right to hold her.

At last, he found his voice.

"...That's right," Sigurd said softly. "I'm your father, Bea."

Bea's breath caught. Her eyes glistened. And overwhelmed with emotion, she began to cry.

Perhaps thinking his appearance had frightened her, Sigurd turned his face slightly, his gaze falling to the ground.

"As I thought, I'm in no state to face a child so young," Sigurd said. "Another time, perhaps."

Bea shook her head. Try as she might, she couldn't stop her crying. So, she spoke in short bursts.

"D-Don't… hic…go, papa…" Bea begged between hiccups. "I want… to hug you, papa…"

Sigurd stiffened. "I've blood on my face," he murmured. "It'll stain yours."

But Bea reached out with a trembling hand, her small fingers brushing away a streak of blood from his cheek.

"Papa… hic… does his best to live good," Bea sobbed. "That's why… there's blood…"

"Is that so…?" Sigurd asked, his voice rough with emotion. A single tear escaped. And he hugged his daughter, holding her close.