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Chapter 34 - Chapter 34: Zagan Anlit

(Zagan Anlit POV)

It has already been eight years since my class and I were reincarnated into this world. Sometimes it still feels surreal. In my previous life, I was a teacher—the kind of woman who would scold students for dozing off and then stay up too late grading, sneaking a manga chapter between stacks of essays. I loved fantasy stories—swords, castles, magic—and that probably made it easier to understand what happened to me when I woke up here. Understanding, though, wasn't the same as accepting. It took a long time for the muscle memory of the old life to stop twitching under the skin of the new one.

Getting used to this body and this station wasn't immediate either. The food tastes cleaner here, sharper at the edges; the sky stretches wider, like the world is always inhaling. And then there were the people—bowing, waiting, anticipating my needs before I had them. As a normal teacher, you never have servants. In the first years I'd flinch when someone called me "young master" and try to carry my own tray just to prove I could. Now I catch myself waiting with an empty hand, expecting a cup of tea to appear in it, and it does. I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy the convenience. The best part of being young in a new world is the excuse to experience everything for the first time again: to be shamelessly curious, to learn like you're starving.

And this world fits me a little too well. There's no stale smell of exhaust, no stacked glass cages scraping the sky. The roads are dirt and stone, the nights actually get dark, and if someone wants to make a point, they draw steel rather than draft an email. War hammers, sabers, spears—real tools with weight and grain and balance. In my past life, I spent half a paycheck at a time on replica weapons and bored my favorite student, Shiro Adachi, with photos and specs. He'd listen with that sly little grin, the one that said he was amused and too polite to say so. Thinking about that used to warm me; now it's a cold echo.

Because I know who he was. Because under the smile and the neat notes and the quiet competence, he was a mass murderer. The boy I called a friend killed his family and everyone who worked for them. I test the thought sometimes, like pressing on a bruise: does it still hurt? Yes. Different pain, duller, but still there.

He doesn't matter, I tell myself. Not anymore. What matters is Amari.

Even now, the idea of being engaged to her feels like something I dreamed too hard and then got punished by waking up as someone else. She's beautiful in this effortless, dangerous way—like a flame that doesn't notice itself burning. When she looks at you, her eyes soften and sharpen at the same time, and you want to do better because she's watching. I fell for her at first sight, and then again when she laughed, and then again when she said my name like it was a promise. The twist? She's also one of the reincarnations from our class. That fact tied my old teacher-self in knots. Me, marrying a former student. We talked. She was patient. I confessed. She didn't flinch. It's different here, we told each other. We are different here.

It helped that I changed, too. In my past life I was a woman; here, I'm a man. Gender-bent, yes. The first time I saw my reflection, I stared so long I forgot to breathe. Strange at first, then a relief, then something I stopped second-guessing. It didn't change how I felt about Amari. If anything, it made it easier to let the feeling stand without apology.

Two days ago she and her father traveled to their border mansion to see her adopted sister—the one they took in three years ago who never once visited the capital. Amari was nervous, excited, and a little jittery in a way that made me want to hold her shoulders until the jitters had somewhere to go. Then the message came: attack. The mansion—destroyed.

I didn't think; I went cold. My mind jumped ahead to scenes my body wasn't ready for: Amari under stone, Amari surrounded by men in iron, and Amari's voice trapped somewhere I couldn't reach. I contacted Sebastian, their head butler. He took his time answering, as if he knew I'd fill the silence with fear and it would make the relief hit harder. "She's fine," he said. "Shaken. They are returning to the capital." I thanked him and then thanked him again, like gratitude might bribe the world to keep her safe.

They returned quickly thanks to the "creators"—two in the royal family, both reincarnated nerds from our class, who decided the laws of distance were just another exam to pass. The trip that should have taken days took hours. Amari sent a short note that night: tomorrow, come. I didn't sleep much. I kept getting up, thinking I'd forgotten something, putting on a cloak and taking it off, and checking my blade edges even though we both knew I carry my swords in the place that follows me everywhere, like a well-trained shadow.

The gates of the mansion creaked open with their familiar sigh of old hinges, and I stepped through with my heart beating a little stupidly hard. I expected Amari on the steps, or at least a maid to lead me to her. Instead, Lady Draig stood there with her arms folded, the morning light outlining the line of her jaw like the edge of a knife. The Weapon Queen in a casual mood still looked like she could commandeer an army by clearing her throat.

"Good morning, Lady Draig. It has been a long time," I said, bowing deeper than necessary because my body fell back on old formal gestures when my head was busy remembering not to be terrified.

She studied me with a conflicted look, like she had two thoughts and neither would cede the floor. Then she shook her head once, sharply. "How many times do I have to tell you not to do this formality nonsense here?" she said. "Where are your guards?"

I straightened and unclenched my hands. "I dismissed them. I wanted to be alone with Amari today."

Her mouth curved, not quite a smile. "I don't think that will happen. Her sister is here. They're catching up."

The way she said "sister" carried weight, like a name dropped on a table. I tried to set mine down beside it without scratching the wood. "I almost forgot," I said. "I hope nothing happened to her in the attack."

Lady Draig's laugh was brief, bright, and not comforting. "You don't need to worry about her. She isn't a pushover."

I hesitated. "Forgive me, but… With you here, how could the mansion still be destroyed? How many enemies attacked?"

"Seventy, give or take," she said, like she was estimating loaves of bread for a feast. "And the mansion wasn't destroyed by them. It was my daughter." Her eyes flicked up to gauge how I received that. I must have made a face, because she added, "Where did you get your information?"

"Sebastian," I said. "And—wait. Amari destroyed the mansion? She's only thirteen." My voice did that crack. I wish it didn't do that when my brain sprints faster than my breath.

She chuckled. Not unkind, but not soft. "You'll find out soon enough. When you see Amari, let her tell you the truth about Nova and Kitsuna. You'll be family in a couple of years; you may as well start hearing it from us." She turned and walked back inside, her shoulders saying the conversation was finished even if my questions were spilling over.

I took a breath and let the familiar corridors pull me along. I know this house well—how the carpets swallow footsteps, how the paintings on the second-floor landing pretend not to look back, how the garden smells at different hours. Four years of engagement teaches you the small rhythms of a place. Amari has a favorite bench out there, under a tree that used to look ordinary before today, and she goes to it when she wants to think where no one thinks she's thinking.

She was there now, a quiet figure framed by green, the sunlight threading gold through her hair. The sight knocked something loose in my chest. I smoothed a hand over my cloak, for no reason other than to put my fingers somewhere, and put a smile on my face.

"Good morning, beautiful lady. May I have a seat next to you?" I asked, giving the dramatic bow she pretends to hate and secretly expects.

"Zagan!" She didn't pretend this time. She sprang up, the bench scraping lightly, and threw herself into my arms. Her laugh hit my shoulder and stayed there. "It's so good to see you again."

"Same here." I wrapped her up, slower, memorizing the way her spine curved into my palm and the way the tension eased out of her shoulders by degrees. "When I heard about the attack, I was terrified you might've been caught in it."

"Oh no," she said, pulling back enough to tip her face up at me. Her eyes were bright, but I could see the edge of tired at the corners. "By the time Father and I got there, it was already over." She sat, smoothing her skirt, and the movement was so normal it made the world feel tilted for a second. Over, as if battles came with end credits.

"That's good to hear," I managed and sat beside her. The bench creaked under the shift of our weight. I watched her hands, because her hands tell the truth when her voice does the family version.

"Last time we met, you said you were going to get your class," she said. "Did you?"

"Yes." Pride sneaked into my mouth before I could be modest. "I got an exotic class."

Her smile widened into something that looked like a sunrise on purpose. She hugged me again, quick and fierce. "Congratulations, Zagan!"

"Thank you," I said, laughing a little as I hugged back. Her hair smelled like smoke and something sweet. "My family isn't thrilled, but they'll get over it."

She leaned back and studied me with that measuring look she shares with her grandmother. "I wonder how you'll fare against Kitsuna, though."

"Kitsune?" The name sounded like a prank.

"My sister," she said.

"I heard she was here." I glanced toward the house, expecting to see a small shadow dart past a window. "Where is she?"

"She's… sleeping," Amari said, choosing the word like it had pricks on the inside. "If you want to meet her, we'll have to wake Nova first."

"Nova?" I repeated. "Who's that?"

She didn't answer. She just pointed, her arm a straight line carving the air.

I followed it and saw the tree. I've seen the Guru tree before—broad, rooted, and ordinary in its own holy way. This wasn't that. The trunk was snow-white, thick as a keep's wall, and the canopy was luminous, with pale leaves catching the light like scales. It was huge—thirty meters across at least, twenty meters tall—and so still it felt like the world had paused to make room for it. It stood about two hundred meters away, exactly where the old tree had been, as if this one had grown overnight by swallowing its predecessor whole.

"Isn't that your Guru tree?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. "What happened to it?"

"I don't know," Amari said softly. "I wasn't talking about the tree. Look beneath it."

I squinted. The shadows at the base shifted, and then my brain made sense of the shape: a massive ball of fur, red darkened by shade and shot through with black. It looked like someone had dropped a comet made of fox and winter on the lawn.

"How did I miss that?" I muttered. "That fluff ball?"

"Yes," she said. "That's Nova."

"Is she… your sister's pet?" The question felt safer in my mouth than the alternatives.

"You could say that," Amari said, her tone unreadable. She stood. "Let's go wake her."

We started across the grass. The air changed before the ground did. Every step closer shaved a degree off the temperature until the breath leaving my lips smoked like a hearth. I rubbed my hands together and then shoved them under my arms, trying to keep the bones from aching.

"Cold already?" Amari teased. She looked unaffected, her skin flushed with the kind of warmth that comes from the inside.

"How are you not freezing?" My teeth clicked at the end of the sentence. I hated that.

She lifted her hands, and let lava mana ripple over her fingers, small, controlled, and bright as a molten coin. It cast orange light on her knuckles and threw soft shadows up her wrists.

"That's cheating," I grumbled, stepping a little closer to steal some of the heat. It licked at my sleeve like a tame flame.

"We're almost there," she said. "Relax."

"Fine. But wake it up fast so we can get out of here." The cold wasn't just cold; it crawled into joints and nested there like it had a claim. Under it, something else hummed, a low pressure like the air before a storm. My skin knew it was mana before my mind decided not to think about it.

"Why do you keep calling her 'it'?" Amari asked, a note of annoyance sneaking into her voice. Her shoulders squared a little. "She."

"Because it's a monster," I said, and heard the brittleness. "It won't care what I call it."

"Kitsuna will beat you up if she hears that," she said, almost absently, but her mouth pressed flat as if the sentence had teeth.

I tried to laugh it off. "She's the same age as me. I'm level sixty with an exotic class. She doesn't even have a class yet." I rolled my shoulders to loosen them and felt good and strong and a little foolish. "I'd win easily."

The ground hummed. Not loudly, not for long, but enough to make the frozen grass tremble. Then a voice—not air forced through a throat, but sound carried by a body big enough to be its own weather.

"It seems you've grown arrogant just because you have a class."

My swords were in my hands before my mind realized I'd called them. Steel felt right against my palms. Amari didn't flinch. The red fluff rose in a slow, uncoiling movement that made small sounds in the ice: crack, whisper, crack. Ears appeared, white-tipped and alert. A muzzle, lined in black. Then the eyes opened—gold, depthless, the kind of eyes that reflect back a version of you that tells the truth.

"It can talk?!" The words burst out of me. I sounded like a child who'd never seen a puppet show.

"Yes, I can talk," the fox said. Her voice was deep and distinctly female, threaded with an old annoyance that didn't seem to be about me, specifically. "Didn't Amari tell you who I am?"

Eight meters at the shoulder. Twenty-five meters from nose to tail tips. Most of her fur was blood-red, richer in shadow, the kind of red that makes you think of embers; black threaded it like smoke, and the tips of her ears and tail were white, as if someone had dipped them in winter. When she shook herself, snow lifted from the grass and spun in the air, chiming softly as it fell.

"We don't tell everyone who and what she is," Amari said, her voice slipping into the calm tone she uses when the situation can either become a problem or a story. "Mother said it was fine to tell you. I… wanted to make it a surprise." She gave me a small, crooked smile that confessed and dared me to be angry in the same breath.

The fox—Nova—tilted her head. Her gaze moved from Amari to me with the lazy precision of a predator that knows you can't outrun it in any direction that matters. "Sigh. What do you want, Amari?" she asked, and when she sighed, the breath rolled out cold enough to sting my cheeks.

"I want you to meet my fiancé, Zagan," Amari said. She took one step so she was closer to both of us, the way she does when she is trying to be a bridge instead of a barrier.

Nova turned more fully to me. The world narrowed to the space between her eyes and mine. My stomach dropped and then kept falling; my hands tightened on the hilts without my permission. Instinct whispered in my ear: if you swing, you will not land clean. If you run, you will not run far. If you speak, choose carefully.

I was a fool, I thought. I wouldn't scratch her if I went all out. There wasn't bravado in the thought or fear, just acceptance, the way you accept winter by putting on another layer.

"Nice to meet you, Zagan," she said. "You may call me Nova in this form." The word "form" was etched, a warning that I was only seeing the easy shape.

"Yes—nice to meet you," I said. "Form?" The question came out thin, and I despised that it did, but the curiosity stood up in me like it always does, even when common sense tells it to sit down.

"Now we've met, you may leave," Nova said. She sank to the ground with the heaviness of a living mountain. "I want to sleep."

"Kitsuna, we need to go shopping for you," Amari said. She pitched her voice not to nag, but to remind. "Wake up and change into your human form."

"No," Nova said. She closed her eyes as if the conversation bored her.

"Kitsune? Human form?" I asked because my brain had become a hallway of doors, and every single one felt locked.

"You'll see," Amari said, and then, like she was bargaining with a toddler and a tyrant simultaneously, "We can get food with lots of bones in it."

The silence that followed stretched, not long, but long enough for my breath to frost twice. I watched Amari's face while we waited—the small patient smile, the way her fingers tucked a strand of hair behind her ear to occupy themselves, and the tiny nod she gives to herself when she thinks a plan will work.

"…Fine," Nova said at last.

Ice rose around her in slabs, clean and fast, a cocoon growing itself. The edges sealed with a soft hiss, the way hot iron quenched in water sings.

"Don't come out half-naked again!" Amari shouted just before the ice closed fully.

I stared at the smooth wall where a fox had been. My mouth opened and decided not to help. The air was even colder now, as if the ice were drinking heat out of sound.

"What is going on?" I asked because all of my earlier questions had regrouped and multiplied.

"You'll see," Amari said, and then her eyes narrowed slightly, a warning sharpened by affection. "And you'd better not drool over her body."

"Huh?"

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