"Lowell, it seems I've lost my memories since I hit my head. Could you help me recall?" Gabriel asked, confusion flickering in his pale eyes.
Lowell's bright grey eyes widened. "Yes, master! Do you at least remember your name?"
Gabriel shook his head. "No… nothing at all."
"Master, your name is Gabriel. Gabriel Rhodes."
"Gabriel Rhodes…" Gabriel muttered, the name tasting familiar yet distant.
He frowned. "Wait—how old am I, and how old are you?"
"Master, you're fifteen. I'm fourteen."
Gabriel blinked. If he's younger, why is he taller than me?
His gaze lingered on Lowell's twitching, furry ears. "What are those?"
Lowell perked up, almost proudly. "Oh, these? They're my beast ears. I'm a werebeast—a wolf hybrid."
Gabriel studied Lowell's features: bright grey eyes, fluffy blue hair streaked with darker tones, and a face that was almost too handsome for someone his age.
"Master, are you listening? Please sit down. Your body isn't used to moving so much."
Gabriel hesitated. Lowell's concern felt genuine, but something about this body felt wrong. It was too weak—his mana had nearly shattered it earlier.
"Lowell… do I know you? Why do you keep calling me master?"
Lowell tilted his head, confused. "Master, it's me—Lowell. Did you hit your head so hard you've forgotten me?"
Gabriel wanted to respond, but no answer came. Lowell's lips trembled, his eyes growing watery.
What was happening here? That expression… crying. I hated crying.
Lowell bit his lip, trying to hold it in, but the tears fell anyway.
"Tears… crying… it makes my chest feel strange," Gabriel muttered.
"Don't cry. If you do, it's going to give me a headache." He patted Lowell's shoulder awkwardly.
Lowell didn't jump on him or hug him like Gabriel expected. He restrained himself, though his tail twitched behind him.
Gabriel glanced around the cave. It looked lived-in—utensils, herbs, clothes, food—all neatly arranged. A makeshift home.
"Lowell," Gabriel said, voice low. "I don't remember anything. Can you help me?"
Lowell sniffled. "Three days ago, I left to collect herbs. You had a fever and kept complaining about headaches. I promised I'd be quick."
He wiped his face, still puffy from crying. "But when I came back… my gem glowed. It warned me you were in danger."
Lowell's voice cracked. "I found you collapsed, bleeding. I thought I'd lost you."
Gabriel's eyes narrowed. "Bleeding?"
"You don't remember? Was it the fever?" Lowell clung to Gabriel's leg again.
"Master~"
"Okay, that's enough. And stop calling me master. I have a name. It's… it—" He paused. Nothing came.
He looked down at his pale hands. This body felt foreign. Weak. Ghoul-like.
"Lowell, do you practice swordsmanship? You're strong, even if you don't look it."
Lowell perked up. "Master, how did you know?"
Gabriel smirked faintly. I can't tell him I was once a master. "Just a guess."
"Master, please sit down. You need to eat first."
Lowell gestured toward a worn piece of cloth he clearly considered a resting place. Gabriel eyed it with disdain. Filthy. But he held his tongue—Lowell might cry again.
He sat, and Lowell hurried to serve him a steaming cup of tea—or medicine. To Gabriel, it looked like dirty water filled with herbs.
Lowell's expectant gaze left him no choice. Gabriel drank, his throat burning and itching. This tastes like dirt.
Lowell quickly snatched the cup away, ears drooping. He knew how much his master hated it.
Gabriel leaned back, exhausted. This body could barely sit upright.
His master had always been rather weak. The most he could do was walk for a bit with difficulty or sit down on that same worn-out piece of cloth.
As his master had guessed, he was secretly practicing swordsmanship. Although his master had strictly forbidden him from going to any gate, he had done it anyway.