Lucius's Perspective
I couldn't believe Isolde had chosen to spend time with Alicia over me.
A simple decision, seemingly insignificant, yet it left me with this strange knot in my chest. I didn't remember ever feeling like this before—though I couldn't say for sure. Memory is treacherous, especially when it comes to emotions.
This… this was new. Annoyance, yes, but tinged with a quiet sadness, like dampness seeping through cracks in the ceiling. I wanted to cry, but also to yell. We hadn't even fought that hard. No cruel words, no shouting—yet it felt like my little world was… wobbling.
What is this?
"You sure you're alright?" Reginald asked, not looking up from the metal piece he was calmly adjusting with meticulous precision.
"Huh? Oh, yeah," I replied, as if waking from a dream.
"You seem pretty distracted."
"I'm fine."
"I mean… yeah, you look fine, but something's obviously off. What happened?"
Reginald watched me without pausing his work. There was something unsettling about his attention—not invasive, but too precise. After all these days together, he'd probably noticed the unusual closeness between Isolde and me. Not just physical, but emotional. He was too sharp.
"Isolde and I had a fight," I admitted, letting a pout slip out uninvited. Technically, I was still a kid. I was allowed that weakness, right?
"Ah, so that's it… What exactly happened? I've never seen you two argue before."
He was right. In these eight years with Isolde, we'd never had a real fight. It was weird. Siblings are supposed to fight, aren't they? That's the image I'd formed in my past life.
My cousins argued daily. My uncles fought with fists and shouts. Drunk or sober, they always found something to scream about—money, pride, stupid things. I grew up thinking that was the nature of family bonds. Maybe it warped my idea of what having a sister meant.
I sighed. And I told Reginald everything.
He laughed.
"You seriously fought over something that stupid?!"
I didn't see what was funny. My jaw clenched as I dropped my head onto the table, unable to hide my irritation. To me, it wasn't funny at all. I just wanted to understand why this hurt. Why it stung that Isolde had refused to come study with me, like she always did.
"You know you're gonna fight way more times than you expect, right?" Reginald said, still fiddling with his metal piece.
"I know. But I feel bad for leaving without her."
"Hahaha. Well. Why don't you just talk to her? I'm completely sure she feels bad too."
"I don't know… what if she's mad? What if she doesn't want to talk to me anymore?"
Reginald finally set down his tools and gave me a look so dry it could've withered flowers.
"Kid, you're eight. She's eight. Neither of you is capable of holding a grudge that long." He flicked my forehead. "Go apologize. Or don't. Either way, by tomorrow, you'll have forgotten this ever happened."
I rubbed my forehead, scowling.
"...You're probably right."
"Of course I am. Now get out of my workshop and go make up with your sister before I throw you out myself."
I stood up, hesitated, then muttered, "...Thanks, Uncle Reginald."
He waved me off, already back to tinkering. "Yeah, yeah. Just don't make it a habit to bring your sibling drama here."
I left, the knot in my chest loosening just a little.
Maybe fights weren't the end of the world.
Maybe some bonds were strong enough to survive them.
I felt like a little kid—not physically, but emotionally. Weak. Stupid. Afraid. As if one more word could shatter me completely.
"Hey, don't think like that," Reginald cut in, still not looking up from his work. "She's your sister, remember? And I haven't noticed her being upset with you. Doesn't seem like you've done anything worth getting angry over, either."
I sighed—a shapeless, empty sigh. The kind that doesn't seek relief, just space.
What am I supposed to do? What if she tells me to go to hell? What if she just… chooses Alicia and leaves me behind?
I wanted to think positively. I had to. But after so many years by Isolde's side, the line between closeness and dependence had blurred. Without realizing it, she'd become the anchor keeping me from plummeting into the void.
I'd never felt like this before. It was, clearly, a problem.
Since we were babies, we'd been practically a single unit. A few meters apart, and we'd burst into tears. Now, a few hours apart, and nervousness would eat at us from the inside.
When I wasn't there, she grew tense. When she was gone, a quiet anxiety would crawl up my spine.
"Would it even be… smart to talk to her?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
"It's not about whether it's smart," Reginald countered. "It's necessary. If you let this fester, it might get awkward between you two later. And you don't want that… do you?"
A brutally effective way to instill fear: painting the decay of an important relationship.
But he was right. I didn't want us to become a minefield of silences and assumptions. Even if the fight had been trivial—and it was, objectively—it wasn't worth risking our bond over pride or fear.
Besides… I'd always been the one to follow her.
"Fine. I'll go apologize."
Reginald smiled, as if he'd already predicted it.
"Good. Then go. I'll be here… in case you two come back."
I nodded. Turned to the door. Didn't look back.
And just… left.