Alliyana Aurellia's Perspective
Aurithorn 1034 of the Golden Calendar.
Summer.
I breathed in deep.
The scent of grain and sun-warmed earth filled my lungs—faintly sweet, tinged with the musk of beasts and the smoke of morning cookfires. Hooves and boots moved in rhythm behind us, the distant clatter of wheels over packed dirt creating a steady, almost meditative pulse. A warm wind rolled over the fields, brushing against my face, tugging at the ends of my jacket like an old friend trying to pull me forward.
Before us, far across the swaying gold of the outer farmlands, stood Auresta.
Even from here, it looked vast—built in gentle rings, its layers of stone and slate rising like the growth rings of a living thing. From its center is the Grand Basilica. Even the Royal Palace was merely secondary.
Spires reached skyward without defiance. Banners fluttered from tower to tower like quiet prayers carried on the wind. The whole city gleamed faintly in the morning light—not gaudy, not desperate—just polished enough to show the people within cared about where they lived.
Auresta breathed.
A city that worked. That endured. That pulsed with industry, order, and human warmth.
Illusion or not, if this is what faith could build, I had no desire to tear it down.
I took it in, then closed my eyes.
I remembered waking up here.
Not here here. But in this world.
A weak and underfed five-year-old girl, barely clothed, lying on silk sheets in a room far too large for someone so small. A concubine's daughter. The Etheria estate was quiet. My limbs had no strength. My stomach felt hollow. My hands trembled just trying to push myself upright.
But my mind?
It was intact. Older. Whole.
The peak of what I once was. The death that followed. The ripping. The return.
Most would despair.
I only smiled.
To be granted another chance to walk and suffer again?
What greater gift could the world give?
Who else, if not me, would be worthy to bear such a task?
"Wow, the two of you look like you're really soaking it in," Ethan said from behind me.
Alexa didn't even turn her head. "Don't ruin the moment."
I could hear the grin in her voice.
She stepped closer, arms crossed behind her back. "I've never left the Duchy before this," she added, quieter now.
I nodded slightly.
Then sighed.
Disciples. That's what they were now, weren't they?
I never meant to raise any. Let alone in a world not my own.
But they followed well. Learned faster than expected.
Good kids, in their own ways.
I wonder how Ban's doing.
He couldn't stay a day longer in Bedra. That trial, whatever it was, sounded urgent to him. Something about wandering soldiers being summoned back and tested. I'd also heard who was in charge of their trials now.
Alana. I wonder how she's been these past few years. I imagine she's grown sharper.
We kept walking. The city walls grew larger with each step, cutting a jagged line against the sky. South Gate loomed in the distance—tall, fortified, lined with old banners that rippled faintly in the wind. Dust kicked up with every footfall, the road dry and sun-cracked from summer's breath.
The others chatted behind me. I didn't listen. My thoughts were elsewhere.
The Duke had once asked me what humanity needed to survive.
Not to endure—but to persist.
"Demon Hunters aren't enough," I told him. "You can't build a future around secrets."
So we made something else. Something permanent.
Years of transcription followed. From memory, from logic, from what remained of my old world stitched into this one. I wrote in the library of Aurellia until the parchment blurred from fatigue. Anatomical drawings. Biological functions. Cellular structure. Pathophysiology. The fundamentals of injury, infection, regeneration and even simple healing—not through divine grace, but through discipline, understanding and magic.
Even the Duchy's own military training regimen became public knowledge. The use of simple healing to accelerate muscle recovery and a high focus on nutrition to mitigate the consequences of accelerated cellular activity.
Yor's Body Restructuring that allowed muscle fibers to be compressed, was also published. Albeit, too advanced, requiring prior subjects.
He funded it all. Quietly. Printing houses of scribes and couriers.
We scattered the texts across the land like seeds. Some were burned and dismissed. But enough would take root.
And in Zepharim, they had.
That fractured desert state, half-built on relics and resistance, welcomed the knowledge with surprising ease. They constructed schools—institutes—focused not on prayer but on physiology and medical practices I've laid out. Early germ theory was already integrated into their surgical practice. They used alcohol to sterilize. Began the use inhaled anesthesia. Dissected cadavers without guilt. Even the term researcher took on a different meaning, detached from wizardry and more aligned with study.
Low class healers who could not use divine healing were no longer looked down on. Out in the field, they were called medics. In the hospitals, doctors.
It wasn't faith that led them. It was imitation.
I was proud of them. Quietly.
But Auresta…
Their stance was different. Clear.
They weren't just ignoring the books. They were burning them. Publicly. With sermons and banners. They called the diagrams "blasphemy," the cell theory "heresy," and anything not reliant on divine essence a trick of demons.
Because knowledge that doesn't require miracles… doesn't require priests.
And that, they could not allow.
Still, not everyone in Auresta knelt so easily.
The Trade Guild had been pressing back. Not with doctrine. But with products. Pharmaceuticals, serums, balms—packaged, standardized, and profitable. They've even outgrew my crude formulations and found ways to create tablets and pills. With my guidance, I helped them slowly optimize the dosage form. Isolating active ingredients weren't perfect, but the shelf life for some drugs reached up to three months.
And more importantly, cosmetics.
An insignificant part of the plan. But it worked.
Noblewomen who once condemned my texts now whispered about skin care and facial cleansers. Noblemen and women bought soaps and shampoo. In private, the nobility wanted to look younger, feel beautiful, sleep easier. And the Guild provided.
All without prayer.
Vanity, it turned out, had sharper fangs than reason.
And little by little, the church's monopoly cracked.
Knowing that demons were lurking among humans—and worse, perhaps even within the Church itself—knowledge would become humanity's greatest weapon.
Not swords. Not fire. But understanding.
The caravan began to slow, the rhythmic clatter of wheels giving way to softer, stuttering stops. The southern gate of Auresta stood ahead—tall and orderly, trimmed with gold and etched with prayers in stone. Mercenaries stepped aside as carriage doors swung open and merchants leaned out to inspect the entry process with narrowed eyes and wrinkled noses.
The carriages Count Bedra lent us halted near the gate. I stepped inside ours one last time to retrieve the shopping bags. Fabrics, lotions, some hairpins Celestine had recommended while pretending not to. I gathered them quietly and made my way out.
That's when I saw them.
Jake, Ysira, and Celestine were standing near their own carriage, just outside the line of incoming foot traffic. All three turned as I approached. Jake gave a short nod. Ysira bowed slightly, arms crossed. Celestine dipped her head politely and offered a soft smile.
"Thank you," they said—nearly in unison, before turning to leave.
I watched them walk away. Their steps were slow, uneven. Maybe they're just tired.
Celestine turned back once.
She gave a small wave.
I returned it without thinking, and for a moment, I smiled to myself.
She's adorable.
I turned and walked back toward the others—Ethan standing straight as ever, arms behind his back, and Alexa kicking at a loose stone with the toe of her boot.
Ysira reminded me so much of Isabelle…
And Jake…
That made me chuckle.
Jake reminded me of myself.
When I was young.
I stepped between them and tilted my head.
"Shall we?"
They didn't answer, just followed.
We approached the guards at the southern gate. Ethan stepped forward, presenting our travel documents and sigils of relation to House Aurellia. The guards examined them, exchanged a few words, then waved us through without delay.
Inside the gate, the sounds changed.
Gone was the open air of the farmlands. Here, everything echoed—boots on stone, voices bouncing off walls, horses snorting between market cries and clinking armor. Shops lined the boulevard, banners swaying, scents of bread and roasting meat mingling with perfumed smoke from shrine burners.
Alexa turned to Ethan. "You know any good places to eat?"
I glanced over with interest.
Ethan raised an eyebrow at me.
I smiled faintly. "You're the local. Be our tour guide for the day."
He gave a quiet, exasperated sigh.
"We're meeting Ban later. No tours today," he said. "But I know a place."
We arrived at the restaurant a few streets from the main gate—smoke curling from its brick chimney, the scent of roasted meat wafting through its half-open windows.
I looked up at the hand-painted wooden sign swinging gently in the breeze.
Fat Boar Plate.
Perfect.
The name was crude. The portions would be massive. That's what mattered. Our bodies needed it. With Body Reconstruction, caloric intake was no longer just appetite—it was infrastructure maintenance. Fuel. Brick by brick. Without it, strength degrades.
We stepped inside. The space was warm, humid from steam and hearthfire. Oil-lanterns cast a golden glow over polished wooden beams. Soldiers and laborers sat elbow-to-elbow at thick tables, bowls piled high with meat and rice, tankards frothing over.
Eyes turned toward me. Subtle glances. Not subtle enough.
I nodded inwardly.
Yes. This vessel is indeed beautiful. I don't deny it.
We found a table in the corner, close to the hearth. Before sitting, I said:
"Restraint Level: zero."
Ethan raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He flagged down a server and ordered three of the biggest meals on the menu without hesitation.
Alexa leaned in, curious. "You say that a lot," she said. "Restraint level."
Ethan added, "It's not some training code, is it?"
I smiled faintly. "It's so I don't break furniture."
They both looked puzzled.
I slipped off the silver bracelets from my wrists and handed one to each of them.
"Put them on," I said.
They obeyed, though I could already see Ethan frowning at the unfamiliar runes on the bracelets.
"Now stand up," I continued. "And try to remain standing."
"Restraint Level: one," they said in unison.
They rose and flexed. Both immediately felt the shift—their steps heavier, subtle resistance pulling at their joints.
"Those bracelets," I explained, "are inscribed with a divine rune. Thamrion's Burden. They multiply gravitational effect on the wearer. Constantly."
Alexa bounced slightly on her heels. "This isn't that bad."
"Try level two."
The metal warmed slightly at their wrists. They stiffened.
"Level two," I continued, "was the penance of the Yor Monk I met. He walked with that weight his entire life."
They glanced at each other, competitive now.
"Three," I said.
Their legs locked. Joints stiffened. They were still upright, but breathing changed.
"Four."
I saw Alexa's shoulders drop. Ethan clenched his jaw.
"Five."
They fell to their knees, palms to the wooden floor, gasping like someone had dropped wet sandbags on their backs.
"Careful," I warned. "The jump to six might be—"
"Restraint Level: six!" they both gasped.
And promptly flattened.
Utterly collapsed. Arms trembling, even with body strengthening magic pulsing through their veins.
I looked around.
Customers were staring. Forks halfway to mouths. Tankards paused mid-sip. A couple in the corner blinked in confused silence.
I waited for the silence to pass.
Eventually, Ethan and Alexa managed to unclip the bracelets and pass them back to me, still panting.
Ethan coughed once. "So… what level are you at?"
I examined the bracelets, then slipped them back on.
"Eight."
Alexa, ever the optimist, grinned between gasps. "We're… not that far, then!"
I smiled faintly.
"You were each wearing one."
Their faces froze.
Alexa's voice shrank. "Wait. Don't you… always have them on?"
I nodded. "Day and night. Except for sitting down and sleeping."
They stared.
"I live life at level eight," I said. "Working toward nine."
Ethan sat back against the bench, silent.
Then, hesitantly: "Do we have to… do that?"
I shrugged lightly.
"No," I said. "My pursuit of mastery is my own dysfunction."
They laughed. Tired, nervous laughter.
But they understood.