As Emil stepped outside the room, he felt a strange but warm atmosphere. It felt as if he had known these people all his life. Maybe it's Lugira's body reacting. He sat down, across from his father. Soft breeze running around the table. Emil, observing the family. Looking around. He voiced, "Good morning," with a sense of uncertainty if this is a habit in this world or not. Lugira's father smiled and gave a light nod.
He looks tired, well, he just got off duty just as his mother said. His father couldn't look more than 40, his stature is that of a young soldier back on Earth, his beard ate half of his face but it didn't take away the youth of his face. While Emil analyzes Lugira's father's figure, a name is pierced in his memory for about two seconds: Demio Mifyor, that's Lugira's father's name.
"Here you go, Lugi." Lugira's mother smiled as she laid down a plate in front of Emil. Emil looked down, a plate full of what looks like a mashed potato, and some crispy meat.
How did they manage to do this? Emil doubtfully looked at the food. He swore he had never heard any footsteps, any clang that might come from utensils. Yet, this food looks like it is freshly made. "Thanks, mother." Emil looked at Lugira's mom, then there it was, her name. Piercing again Emil's brain like a bullet Zasha Mifyor. Emil doesn't like this sensation at all, it is as if someone is drilling inside of him.
Emil smiled faintly, doing his best to act natural. As he picked up the carved wooden fork beside his plate, Zasha turned around and said with a casual warmth, "I'll go fetch your sister. She's probably still tangled up in her blankets."
She disappeared down the narrow hallway, the soft creak of the floorboards and the rustle of fabric fading behind her. Emil froze for a second, then resumed poking at the food on his plate. He still couldn't believe it—how could this place, so rustic, so silent, prepare a full breakfast without even the smell of fire or oil? Magic? Ritual?
Before he could spiral deeper into that thought, a muffled groan echoed from the hallway.
"I'm awaaake—!" a voice whined, sluggish but chipper. Then came soft thuds like uncoordinated footfalls on padded feet.
Zasha returned, shaking her head with an affectionate sigh, and right behind her followed a small girl—clearly no more than 13, same age as this new body, yet she carried herself like someone half-lost in a dream and half-committed to performing a musical. Her hair was long, tousled, and honey brown like sunlit bark. She wore a wide tunic that swallowed her arms, and her expression teetered between exhaustion and playful mischief. This must be Lugira's twin. The same sensation again. Lumier Mifyor. Emil sighed heavily. I think that's it? This is Lugira's family? He slowly thought to himself lifting up a spoonful of potato and meat.
Emil's eyes widened. This is just like Earth's food. "This food is great!" Emil said out loud unknowingly. In a daze, he hurriedly looked back up. Lumier was looking at her looking like someone had just spilled tea all over me.
"You complained about that food yesterday." Lumier said, while shaking her head sideways. "Now, you're acting as if it's the first time you're eating something like that." She added, giving me her doubtful look.
"Well, I just woke up differently today…" Emil said as he lowered his voice towards the end. He's saying the truth, his truth. He grabbed another bite of the food.
"Seems like you really like it today." Demio said, stern, but warm. "That's good." He smiled towards Emil.
"You woke up differently?" Lumier stood beside Emil. "Did you… still have 'the nightmares'?" She whispered to Emil's ear. Emil froze. Nightmares? He looked at Lumier, straight in the eye.
"What do you mean?" He whispered back at Lumier
"For the past few months, you said you always have the same nightmare." She said, perplexed by his brother's response. "You said you had nightmares about a guy in a war?" She shrugged.
"Did I really?" Emil asked, staring down on to the floor.
"Uh-huh, that's why Mr. Herbert told you to start journaling?" She whispered again with more annoyance in her tone. "Don't tell me you're—"
"Yeah, no, that's right. I still had it earlier." Emil immediately cut Lumier, to raise too much suspicion from her. "I just… I don't want to talk about it."
Lumier looked at her brother, not believing it. But, it's his words, and it's not like she could tell that he's lying. Lumier sighed. She grabbed the seat next to Emil.
"What were you guys whispering about?" Demio asked, clearing his throat after.
"Nothing, dad. Just asking how good his sleep was!" Lumier said, politely, then smiled.
Emil took another bite, chewing slowly now, the warmth of the food doing little to thaw the sudden frost forming in his mind.
Nightmares… about a soldier in a war?
He gripped the wooden fork just a bit tighter. A slow, eerie thought crept through him like a shadow slipping under the door.
Were those nightmares… not just dreams?
Was it possible that Lugira—this boy—had been haunted by Emil's memories before he ever arrived? That somehow, fragments of his consciousness leaked through time, space, or fate into a vessel he had yet to occupy?
He steadied his breath. No… That's insane. Coincidence, maybe. Or some shared dream symbolism. Trauma doesn't obey rules in any world.
Still, it lingered. That sharp prick of familiarity. A war… a soldier… a nightmare that repeated... It was his story. Not a coincidence. A warning, perhaps. Or something older than he could understand.
Across the table, Demio took a long sip from a thick ceramic cup, and Zasha was humming quietly from the small open-air cooking nook. Everything looked domestic. Simple. Real. But Emil knew better. He'd been a soldier long enough to recognize when something felt off—and everything here felt just right in the wrong way. Too perfect. Too seamless.
He glanced at Lumier beside him.
Her presence was unpolished, genuine… but she observed him with just a bit more awareness than a sleepy girl should. Almost like she sensed something. No words. Just a look. A subtle difference in her posture. The smallest wrinkle of her brow. Not alarm… but alert.
She doesn't know. But she's watching. He noted it mentally, as he would in a field report.
"Thanks for the meal," he said, lowering his fork with a quiet clack against the wooden plate.
He picked up the cup of water and took a slow sip, letting the coolness calm the heat of thought that surged beneath his skull. The meal was simple—some sort of root vegetable, crushed to fluff, and salted meat crisped to the edge. And yet, it soothed his stomach in a way military rations never did. Comforting. Grounding.
He looked down at his hands again. The skin was still foreign. The fingers were thinner. But they gripped with the same force of will.
As Zasha returned to the table with a cloth to wipe the edges, Emil gently leaned back. He watched the sun spill from the open window like golden dust, cutting across the floorboards in a perfect line.
"Lugi," Zasha said softly. "You sure you're alright today? You look a bit... shaken."
Emil opened his mouth, but paused.
"I'm alright," he said slowly, nodding once. "Just a strange night."
Zasha smiled, satisfied enough.
Beside him, Lumier tilted her head and rested her cheek on her palm. "You always say that," she murmured. "One day you should write your dreams down, like Mr. Herbert said. They might mean something."
He stood up carefully, placing his cup down. "I'll go clean up."
"No need," Zasha chimed. "Just leave it there, I'll take care of it."
"Alright." Emil glanced at Demio, then at Lumier.