Three days later, tired of staying locked inside, Lusian decided to walk through the castle.
Umber walked so close that he could feel the warmth of its breath: protection... or surveillance, while behind him walked Miss Mónica, daughter of Albert and Sophia's personal assistant. She carefully measured every one of Lusian's gestures with patience.
—Are you following me too now, Mónica? —Lusian asked with a half-smile.
Mónica adjusted her glasses—a subtle, precise movement—before answering with her usual trained calm.
—It is not following, my lord. It is supervision —she replied, flawlessly polite—. The duchess ordered me to make sure you do not get into trouble again.
—Again? —Lusian replied, feigning indignation—. I only died once. I don't think that counts as "trouble."
Mónica blinked, confused. Lusian smiled and continued his walk, searching the majestic castle for traces of the original Lusian's life: trophies, weapons, and books with glowing runes.
"This world feels so real... too real," he thought.
The days passed, and Lusian soon faced a problem that pushed him to the edge of desperation. Despite the repertoire of techniques he remembered from the game, there was an insurmountable gap: he could not feel mana.
He tried again and again, searching within himself for what everyone described as a current, a vibration, a pulse. But he found nothing. Only silence.
Each failed attempt wore down his confidence a little more. Because in that kingdom, not being able to perceive mana was not a simple disadvantage. It was a death sentence. And the void inside his chest was not just absence of power. It was a sentence of death.
Days later, Sophia decided that a trip outside the duchy would be beneficial, both for mind and body. They traveled to Thruin, a small and welcoming city, where markets overflowed with life and merchants called out their goods with rough voices, while the aromas of freshly baked bread, healing herbs, and roasted meat floated through the air. The cobblestone streets were lined with wooden houses with slanted roofs and balconies overflowing with flowers, and children ran between the legs of horses and carts loaded with goods.
The city, focused on trade and hospitality, still preserved an air of history: low walls and watchtowers that had resisted ancient invasions, and wrought-iron lanterns that flickered at dusk, casting dancing shadows over the cobblestones. The proximity to the eponymous ruins stirred conflicting memories in Lusian: nostalgia for the challenge of exploring the unknown and fear that this land might harbor real dangers.
A strange and disturbing memory came to Lusian. In the game, Thruin was ruins: collapsed buildings, broken barricades, and claw marks that showed the passage of massive monsters. It contrasted with the reality he saw: a safe place, with clean streets, bustling markets, and no danger to fear. Lusian remembered maps, missions, and challenges from the game. That image of the future chilled his blood. What he saw in his memory did not match the city before him; it was as if time had shown him a Thruin that did not yet exist, a devastated place that must be avoided at all costs.
The contrast between the current safety and the catastrophe he remembered from the game unsettled him. Every street, every corner of the city, now felt like a mystery: How could someone who knows the ending act in an untouched present without accelerating the tragedy he had already seen?