A soft breeze rustled the leaves above the palace kitchen. Beneath its shade, a young golden-haired boy sat hunched over a thick book, his eyes scanning the pages without truly reading. Reinhardt was waiting—he always waited in that same spot, a quiet corner where the smell of baked bread lingered and the gossiping maids rarely ventured. His book rested more in habit than interest today. He was waiting for him.
"Reinhardt!" a voice called with eager delight.
Kael came running across the courtyard, breathless and grinning, his arms holding a bundle of cloth clutched to his chest. When he stopped in front of Reinhardt, he dropped to his knees and opened the bundle with a theatrical flourish.
Reinhardt's eyes widened. Inside the cloth was food—real food. Warm, butter-glazed bread, bits of roasted chicken, and even a sweet pastry. It was far more than he ever saw on his plate.
"What if some maid saw you steal this?" Reinhardt whispered, his voice sharp with fear. "They'll punish you. The Queen Consort—"
"Don't worry," Kael interrupted with a mischievous grin. "I have my ways. I made friends with the kitchen maids. They like me." He puffed up proudly before sliding the food toward Reinhardt. "Eat this. I know you've been starving. I heard... she doesn't allow good food into your room."
Reinhardt blinked down at the bundle. The scent hit him like a memory—something he hadn't tasted in weeks. He could still recall last night's supper: a piece of stale bread with green mold and a cup of water tinged with something bitter. His fingers hovered over the fresh meal but didn't move.
"But..." he said slowly, "I can't. This is yours. You got it. Not me."
Kael just tilted his head and gave a patient smile. "Then let's eat it together. I can't finish all of it alone."
He tore the bread in half and held one piece out to Reinhardt, who, after a second's hesitation, took it. As they ate, something unspoken warmed the silence between them—an invisible bond forming, quiet and solid.
But peace never lasted long.
A sharp voice cracked through the courtyard like a whip. Reinhardt froze mid-bite. The color drained from his face.
"So," came the voice, cold and accusatory, "you've now made friends with a servant?"
The Queen Consort stood tall in her noble garb, flanked by two stone-faced guards. Her eyes burned with fury as they landed on Reinhardt. Before Kael could react, she snapped her fingers. The guards grabbed Reinhardt by the arms.
"Wait!" Kael shouted, stepping forward, trying to pull Reinhardt back. But Reinhardt shook his head subtly, eyes wide with fear. He didn't fight. He let them drag him away like a prisoner, tears shimmering in his eyes.
Then she turned to Kael.
The slap came before he could brace. Pain bloomed across his cheek as he fell to the ground.
"Don't you dare get close to that brat again," the Queen Consort hissed, then walked away without a second glance.
Kael remained on the ground, stunned, his hand pressed to his burning cheek. He didn't cry. He simply stared at the dust between his fingers.
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Kael woke up sitting on his bed. His palm instinctively touched his cheek, as if the sting from the dream still lingered. His ears rang, the sound of the Queen Consort's voice haunting him even now.
It was another dream.
No—a memory. Not his own. Old Kael's again.
Lately, they came more often. Memories of Reinhardt and a palace Kael had never lived in, of bruises and bread and quiet corners. Sometimes joyful, sometimes unbearable. And every morning he woke up more unsure of whose heart was hurting—Kael's, or the soul that now lived inside him.
He didn't tell anyone. Not even Reinhardt. He didn't want to.
The door opened with an easy creak, and the voice that followed was too cheerful for Kael's groggy state.
"Good morning~" Reinhardt chimed, balancing a tray with breakfast and a cup of coffee. He stepped in like he owned the morning, grinning as he placed the tray down. "What's with the long face?"
Kael gave him a dull stare. He didn't need words to make his disapproval clear.
Reinhardt laughed. "Tough crowd, huh?" He took a sip from the extra cup he brought for himself. "Anyway, I thought we could take a walk today. There's a lake near the edge of the garden. I discovered it last night. Very scenic."
Kael didn't nod. He didn't shake his head either. He just sipped the coffee Reinhardt gave him and let the silence answer.
It didn't matter. Reinhardt would drag him along either way.
The walk through the garden was quiet. Reinhardt led, Kael following a step behind. In Reinhardt's hand was a white cloth bundle—bread and fruit, just like the one in his dream. Kael's eyes lingered on it. The coincidence felt too sharp.
Servants passed them and bowed respectfully. Kael's eyes wandered among them, searching. Still no sign of Robert.
"Are you looking for Robert?" Reinhardt asked casually, glancing over his shoulder. Kael said nothing, but the look was answered enough.
"Don't worry. I ordered him to rest. You remember when you were sick and he shared his mana with you?" Reinhardt sat down on the grass near the lake and began unwrapping the bundle. "He barely has enough for himself, but he insisted on helping you. I saw him a few days ago. His mana's almost gone. He looks worse than I've ever seen."
Kael's hand tightened slightly around the cup. He remembered Robert's pale face when he woke up after the fall. How had he missed it?
Reinhardt smiled, softer now. "That's why I told him to rest. He'll be fine. Let him be."
Kael slowly sat beside him. The lake rippled peacefully, as if unaware of the memories swirling inside both of them.
"You know," Reinhardt began, staring at the bread in his hand, "this used to be a luxury for me. Real bread. Not spoiled. Not moldy."
Kael watched his face carefully. It was unreadable. Not sad, not angry—just blank.
"You used to steal fresh bread for me. You were always smiling back then." He chuckled. "Since then, I've hated anyone serving me food. Unless it's you."
He leaned over and tapped the bread against Kael's cheek. "But now, I'm the one serving you."
Kael gave him an annoyed look and lightly slapped his shoulder. Reinhardt just laughed.
But the laughter faded as quickly as it came. Reinhardt looked at Kael again, his tone more cautious now.
"Hey, Kael..." His voice dropped. "You really don't remember anything?"
Kael turned his head slightly, expression unreadable. Reinhardt's eyes were hard to decipher—neither mocking nor sad, but empty in a way Kael didn't like.
"If I remember anything," Kael replied at last, "what will you do?"
Reinhardt smiled awkwardly. He didn't meet Kael's gaze. "Well... living without memory is just... lonely."
His smile didn't reach his eyes.
Kael's gaze lingered, searching—but Reinhardt suddenly went still. His posture stiffened. His eyes locked on something beyond the lake.
Kael followed his gaze.
A figure stood on the lake's surface. Cloaked in robes, face obscured, and impossibly still—floating. Watching.
Reinhardt rose immediately, stepping protectively in front of Kael.
"Hi there," he called out, his voice no longer playful. "I don't remember inviting anyone."
The figure said nothing, but raised one arm, pointing a finger directly at Kael.
A flicker of black light sparked, growing into a swirling arrow of energy.
"Get back!" Reinhardt shouted—and in a flash, a spear appeared in his hand, summoned from thin air. The dark arrow flew toward them, but Reinhardt's spear intercepted it with a crackling shock of energy.
Kael stumbled back, stunned. He couldn't speak.
"Don't get far from me," Reinhardt said sharply. "This thing...is serious."
And then he was gone—sprinting toward the figure, spear gleaming, the air crackling with tension.
The clash was sudden and violent—Reinhardt's spear met black magic in a burst of force that cracked the surface of the lake. The robed figure fought with magic that pulsed like shadowy lightning, but Reinhardt moved like a storm. Fast. Controlled. Lethal.
But then Kael heard footsteps.
He turned. Three more figures had appeared, circling him.
Reinhardt saw it, cursed, and tried to break away—but the first figure blocked him, hurling another blast of magic that pinned him back.
Kael was surrounded.
The three hooded figures chanted something in a language he didn't know, moving slowly, tightening the circle. Kael looked around, his breath trembling, panic rising. One of them stepped forward and placed a hand on his back.
A searing bolt of electricity surged through Kael's body.
He screamed, his vision flashing white, pain lighting up every nerve.
And then—thud—a lightning arrow pierced the first attacker's chest. Then another. And another.
From the mansion's window, Elric stood, bow drawn, expression cold. Her arrows flew with precision, striking down each figure before they could utter another word.
The electricity ceased. Kael collapsed—but Reinhardt was there, catching him just before he hit the ground.
Kael's breathing was shallow. His skin was burning. The world was fading.
And then—he saw him.
A boy standing by the tree. Small. Crying.
The boy from his other world.
The one who always waited in silence.
"Don't forget me..." the boy whispered.
Kael's eyes fluttered closed as darkness took him.
In Reinhardt's arms, he finally fainted.