Three days passed away;
The child on the bed did not wake.
Sometimes his small body would twitch, his brows knitting together as if he were trapped inside a bad dream he could not escape.
At other times, a faint groan would slip from his lips, followed by restless movements that lasted only a few breaths before he fell still again. His forehead often became damp with cold sweat, and his fingers would curl tightly, clutching at nothing.
Garreck stood beside the bed more than once, arms crossed, staring down with a deep frown.
"What exactly is wrong with this kid…?" he muttered.
The physician he had hired had shaken his head again and again.
The child's body was healthy. Too healthy, in fact.
Strong pulse. No hidden injuries. No signs of illness. That alone felt unnatural, considering the child had supposedly been in a coma since birth.
"A body like this shouldn't even exist," the physician had said before leaving. "It's as if he were only sleeping."
Garreck rubbed his temples.
"He's been unconscious since the day he was born," he murmured. "And now you're telling me his body is perfectly fine?"
He leaned back against the wall, eyes drifting toward the ceiling.
"Is the heavens helping us?"
The thought felt absurd, yet nothing else explained this situation.
In the end, Garreck shook his head.
"Whatever," he sighed. "This is above me."
He decided to report the matter to the higher-ups. Turning away from the bed, he opened the door and left the room, his footsteps fading down the corridor.
Silence settled.
Only the faint sound of breathing remained.
Then, slowly, the child's eyelids trembled.
They opened.
Clear blue eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, unfocused and distant. For a moment, the child didn't move at all, as if unsure whether this world was real.
"Where am I?"
The voice was weak, barely more than a whisper, but it carried clarity that didn't belong to a toddler.
Lucien's thoughts raced.
The ceiling above him was unfamiliar. The smell in the air was strange. The bed beneath him felt rough, nothing like the soft mattress he remembered from Earth.
"Why am I not dead yet?"
That question weighed the heaviest.
But before he could sink deeper into confusion, another presence demanded his attention.
A black shape.
It hovered deep within him, silent and heavy, like a shadow etched into his soul.
'What… is this thing?'
A chill ran through him.
Then his eyes widened.
'Wait… I can feel my soul?'
The realization struck him harder than the pain he had endured in the space-time tunnel. On Earth, he had never been able to sense anything like this. Now, it was as clear as his own heartbeat.
Lucien closed his eyes, forcing himself to calm down.
"Don't panic," he whispered. "Think slowly."
He took several deep breaths, letting the unfamiliar rhythm of this small body settle.
Pieces began to connect.
'The Death Note was destroyed in the spatial tunnel,' he reasoned. 'At least, that's what I saw.'
Yet the black object inside his soul… it felt familiar.
'It looks like a book.'
His heart skipped.
'If it really followed me into this world, then it should have killed me after I arrived… just like I wrote.'
But he was alive.
That meant only one thing.
'The Death Note is restricted by the laws of this universe.'
The conclusion brought him a strange sense of relief.
'This world probably needed time to recognize the arrival of something foreign,' he continued. 'So it allowed the condition of me entering a weak body under twenty years old to be fulfilled.'
His fingers twitched slightly.
'But the part about dying after five minutes didn't happen.'
He slowly exhaled.
'Either the Death Note was destroyed… or it was reset.'
His mind drifted back to the black book-like presence within his soul.
'And if it's still here… then it must be because I'm its owner.'
He opened his eyes again.
"That makes sense," he murmured quietly.
The situation was terrifying, confusing, and full of unknowns, but at least it wasn't completely chaotic. He had survived. That alone was enough to cling to.
Lucien shifted his body, trying to sit up.
The moment he placed weight on his arms, his strength vanished.
His body tilted forward, and he fell off the bed with a dull thud.
"What—?"
He tried to stand, but his legs refused to obey. They felt weak, thin, and completely unfamiliar.
Grinding his teeth, he dragged himself across the floor, crawling toward a small mirror standing in the corner of the room.
When he finally saw his reflection, his breathing stopped.
A child stared back at him.
Small. Frail. No older than two or three years. Pale skin stretched over a thin face, cheeks slightly sunken. Short blond hair stuck out messily in all directions. A pair of bright blue eyes looked back at him, far too lively for a body this weak.
"So that's how it is."
He reached out, pressing a trembling hand against the mirror.
'A toddler…'
The realization sank in slowly.
'An orphan, most likely.'
Oddly enough, he didn't panic.
'That's fine,' he thought. 'I can blend in easily.'
His gaze softened.
'I don't know who you were,' he said silently, addressing the child whose body he now occupied. 'But I'm sorry.'
There were no excuses to give. His survival had come at the cost of another life, even if unintentional.
'I'll live for you too,' he vowed. 'I won't waste this body.'
He didn't know that the original soul had long since faded, that this body had been empty for days, waiting for death.
*
Elsewhere, Garreck stood before a wooden door.
Knock.
"Come in."
The door creaked open.
"Oh, Garreck," the captain said, looking up. "What is it?"
Garreck straightened.
"Captain," he said calmly, "it's time for me to leave the mercenaries."
The room fell silent.
After a moment, the captain sighed.
"So the three-year period is finally over," he said. "Time really does fly."
"Yes," Garreck replied. "Thank you for sheltering me. Once the people from the empire arrive, my reward will be settled."
The captain laughed softly.
"Sheltering you? Protecting someone with a cultivation base higher than mine?" His eyes gleamed. "You're joking."
Then his gaze sharpened. "Is this about the child?"
Garreck paused, then nodded.
"I thought so," the captain said. "We've been together for nearly three years. If I couldn't figure that out, I should retire."
Garreck relaxed slightly.
"You're lucky you told me now," the captain continued. "If this had been a month ago, I would've had no choice but to kill you."
Garreck's eyes darkened. "Was that an order?"
"Yes."
"The Elysia Empire really is terrifying," Garreck said quietly. "To think they survived and wiped out all the noble families involved in the rebellion…"
The captain nodded. "The rebels have been suppressed. I received the news two days ago."
Garreck's hands trembled.
Relief crashed into him like a wave.
'We survived,' he thought. 'Both of us.'
"I'll take my leave now," Garreck said.
"Go," the captain replied.
*
Creak.
Garreck pushed open the door to his room.
His heart nearly stopped.
The bed was empty.
"Where is the child?" he shouted, drawing his sword as he rushed inside.
At the corner of the room, a small figure turned its head.
Blue eyes met his.
Lucien froze. 'Magnus Fireheart,' he realized instinctively. 'That's his name?'
His heart pounded. 'So I still have the Death God's Eyes…'
Garreck let out a long breath when he saw the child.
He sheathed his sword and hurried forward.
The child opened his mouth.
"Ma… gay… Magu…"
Magnus Fireheart stiffened.
"Oh no."
He quickly picked the child up, holding him carefully.
"If the prince can't speak…" he muttered, dread creeping into his voice. "Will I be executed?"
"Probably not," he reassured himself weakly.
Lucien stared blankly, understanding nothing. 'Please,' he begged inwardly. 'Speak a language I know.'
Magnus Fireheart began talking rapidly, his voice tense and nonstop. "Child, you'll soon return to the empire. You'll learn the language properly there. Everything will be fine. Absolutely fine…"
The lecture went on.
And on.
By the time Magnus Fireheart finally stopped, Lucien felt more exhausted than he had in the space-time tunnel.