Ruvian pulled the tunic across his shoulders; the stitching scratched faintly against his skin. The seams are a little tight.
After shutting the door to his room, another memory gradually surfaced.
He recalled Ruvian's mother bent over the fabric late into the night, diligently trying to sew him those clothes.
He should feel affectionate from reminiscing about that memory, but rather, it made his skin itch more than the fabric.
'I mean, this all still feels weird.'
'I don't even know if I should be calling her "my" mother.'
Affection is fine, only when it's yours. But when it's borrowed, it feels invasive in a peculiar way that he couldn't describe it.
It was very confusing to him. But it's not like he can wipe off those memories. So, he simply let the thought rot in his mind, pushed it away, and made his way down the staircase.
The kitchen smelled faintly of honey and smoke. Ruvian walked and took a seat in the usual chair that OG Ruvian always sat on. The dining table was small, but the sight of it eased something in his chest.
A bowl of porridge steamed in front of his seat, the honey melted into slow spirals he could almost trace with his eyes, chopped nuts dotting the surface.
Across from him, a small figure hunched over her bowl, legs swinging beneath the stool. She gripped her spoon with her right hand, half asleep, her messy black hair spilling over her face in every direction.
'So that's her, huh? My little sister. Or, I mean, his little sister.'
Ciela Castelor.
Seven years old, maybe a little less. She was small enough that his chest tensed with the instinct to shield her, but her restless, twitching energy seemed to spill into every corner of the dining room.
She had the same dark hair as her mother, soft and long. Even her eyes were the same shade of sapphire. Ruvian's eyes, in comparison, were darker with only a faint hint of blue.
There was softness around her that he found it difficult to understand. But as far as he knew, she wasn't spoiled with any luxuries or toys. Only affections.
'I'm a brother now…'
Yuzuki didn't have any younger siblings, so it took him a while to register that new feeling.
Ciela looked up now, mouth full, catching Ruvian in the act of staring at her.
Something warm grew in his chest. The warmth wasn't fully his, but just watching her chew with puffed cheeks steadied him more than the food in front of him did.
"Why're you lookin' at me like that?" she mumbled, cheeks full like a chipmunk mid-heist.
Ruvian blinked, caught off guard.
'Had I been staring that long?'
"Ciel… you… you look like a squirrel," Ruvian said flatly.
Her face scrunched, offended, until a smile broke through.
"Whaaat~ Nuh uh, I don't. And by the way, squirrels don't eat porridge."
She declared, full of absolute certainty, and none of the logic to back it up.
The warmth of her childishness spread through him, filling his hollow. Ruvian sighed, spooning another bite into his mouth before the girl added another declaration.
"You need to read more books, brother. Mom always says that if you don't read, you don't learn. So maybe learn first about squirrels before saying silly things."
She winked once as if to tell him that she was just teasing him and was not being serious about it.
'This child…'
From the kitchen, Ruvian could hear his mother laughing at Ciela's devastating, honest-to-a-fault statement.
'Ah, whatever.'
Ruvian turned his head towards the empty chair.
Normally, their father, known as Dieren Castelor, would have already been at the head of the table, halfway through his breakfast, preparing for another long day of work.
Their father didn't speak much, as he was never that sort of person, but when he did, it was only for something important.
So, even with his presence, it wouldn't make any difference. All he knew was that he had left early for his work.
His gaze deviated to Ciela again, still kicking her legs and chewing like breakfast was the most important mission of her life.
It was a small, peaceful life, tucked away from the chaos that ruled elsewhere.
'For now, at least.'
He set his spoon down. Throughout the meal, or what passed for one, he tried to piece together the original boy whose body he now inhabited.
There was no mystery to him; the memories painted Ruvian as a quiet child, dutiful to a fault. The type who never raised his voice and never caused trouble.
So, it wouldn't be a problem for him to impersonate Ruvian's character. He can easily imitate that, but with his sister? A totally different story. Most likely because the original Ruvian spoiled her rotten.
That is something he couldn't afford to be.
'What kind of sis-con does that? A brother's job is to keep a child grounded, not feed every ridiculous whim like a personal servant. Piggyback rides included!'
Even now, halfway through her porridge, she kept sneaking glances at him.
'Hmm, no surprise this chipmunk stuck to him like a limpet.'
Then, a thought fitted briefly across his mind, and a deeper question lingered. What had happened to this family when the world collapsed?
'Did they… survive?'
He sighed in exasperation.
Even so, he already knew. The answer sat in the back of his mind. He pushed the thought aside and reached for his spoon again.
"Eat slower," he said.
Ciela shook her head, honey on her face and zero intention of listening.
*****
Ruvian returned to his room. It's been 2 hours and 9 minutes since he has been in this world. Ruvian closed the door quietly as soon as he entered the room.
At least for now, breakfast had done its job; his stomach no longer protested with the sounds of a dying beast, but it had done very little to quiet the deeper hunger clawing at the edges of his thoughts.
'If I want to survive, I need to plan.'
The room he stepped into carried no surprises. Just the same familiar press of wood and dust he had grown used to. It was home. Or at least, it had been for the other him.
A plain wooden desk waited beneath the window. When his fingers brushed across it, he felt the uneven scuffs, as if someone had once tried to polish them smooth.
To the right of the wardrobe, a stack of boxes pressed neatly against the wall, their edges rough beneath his palm when he checked them.
Inside lay everything for his departure: the stiff fabric of Academy-issued clothing, notebooks, a pair of boots worn soft at the heel, and a leather pouch that gave a reassuring jingle when he lifted it.
The OG Ruvian had bought and packed them.
Ruvian's gaze lingered on the boxes until his eyes began to sting, as if staring could change what they meant.
'Why am I feeling sentimental now?'
Shaking off the weight of it, he moved toward the desk, pulling the chair back with the finality of someone about to start a contingency plan.
Stray papers littered the desk; study notes, practice schedules, even a half-written letter to the Academy—he brushed them aside, the dry edges scratching against his skin, none of them mattered now.
Then, Ruvian found a fresh sheet.
The quill in his hand felt foreign and awkward. He hesitated for a while before finally setting the tip of the quill to the paper.
'How to survive inside a damnable novel?'
He scribbled the question down…
Then, he let out a dry, self-mocking smile.
"Well, first obviously, the story must progress as it should."
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[Chapter 5: His Name Now (1)]