I tried to open my eyes, but they felt unbearably heavy—like something invisible was holding them shut.
After what felt like an eternity of struggling, I finally managed to pry them open… barely.
The last thing I remembered was the blinding light—the one that had swallowed me whole.
But what greeted me now was something entirely different.
Sunlight.
Warm, radiant sunlight greeted me, as if celebrating the very essence of life.
My vision blurred and swam as it adjusted to the brightness around me. Slowly, shapes came into focus.
A ceiling.
Vast. Ornate. Laced with golden inlays and elegant carvings—so refined it could rival the royal palace of the Zenithara Kingdom.
There was a chandelier hanging above—like a moon in the cloudless sky, shining brightly.
This unfamiliar scene felt strangely familiar. It was as if I had seen that ceiling before.
A sudden pang shot through me.
No… it can't be.
I gasped.
This is… my room.
The same room I stayed in, back when I was still—
I tried to sit up, but the moment I moved, a stabbing pain exploded in my skull.
"Ugh… what the hell is ha—"
Then it hit me.
The memories.
My past life. All of it crashing back at once—unstoppable, violent.
My stomach churned.
I gagged—and before I could stop it, vomit spilled across the sheets.
Warm. Bitter. Violent.
It was disgusting, but I couldn't help it. I collapsed back, breathing heavily, trembling as wave after wave of nausea passed through me.
After what felt like hours, the storm inside me began to settle. The pain didn't stop, but it dulled—like a fire reduced to smoldering embers.
Regaining my senses, I shakily swung my legs off the bed. My bare feet met the cold marble floor, grounding me in this unfamiliar moment—within a place that felt far too familiar.
I turned my head to the right.
There, on the wall, hung the one thing I could never forget.
A portrait.
Framed in aged wood, preserved with care. Not a speck of dust dared settle on its surface.
And in that portrait… stood a woman.
Beautiful. Graceful. Her presence lingered even through the canvas.
Long dark hair flowed like springwater. Her delicate nose, her serene eyes, her quiet strength—
They were mine.
No… hers.
Ours.
I reached up, my fingers brushing against my own hair—long and soft, just like hers.
"...Mother," I whispered.
I was immersed in her memories—fragments of warmth that could only be described as the most beautiful moments of my life.
Now that I try to recall it… yes, she died from an illness. I still remember how I cried for an entire month. Even until the day I died, not a single day passed when she wasn't in my thoughts.
She lived on within me—etched into my memories. Her words, her gentle care, the motherly affection she gave from the day I was born to the day she left this world… they never faded.
"Sigh…" I exhaled softly, my eyes fixed on the portrait. Those times felt like a distant dream now—faded yet never forgotten.
Come to think of it… the year should be around 1250 EC to 1260 EC [1], I guessed, still staring at my mother's gentle face.
While I was still staring at the portrait, a foul stench suddenly struck my nose.
My clothes were damp and stained—though they'd dried a little, the smell still clung to me.
But more than the discomfort, something stirred within me—something deeper than scent or memory.
She should still be here… right?
"Let's call her," I murmured to myself, feeling a strange blend of nervousness and hope.
"Charlotte... Charlotte..." I called out softly, almost afraid of silence in response.
"Yes, co... coming!" came a voice from beyond the door.
Hearing her reply, a warmth bloomed in my chest. A smile tugged at my lips.
She's still here…
While her footsteps grew closer, the image of a beautiful blonde woman with golden eyes flashed in my mind—graceful and radiant, in her early twenties. A woman whose beauty could leave even royalty in the dust.
Thump.
The door creaked open, and a girl around thirteen stepped into view.
Huh…?
It took me a moment to realize—my memories of her were from ten years later. Of course she looked younger. That made sense. She was still just thirteen or fourteen.
I don't quite remember how she came to live with us; I was too young at the time. But my mother once told me she had found her during the inauguration of a hospital—an orphan, lost and alone, with no memory of her name or where she'd come from.
From that day forward, she grew up beside me. We were inseparable.
My mother named her Charlotte, after a woman of beauty and bravery—someone who once defied the world to protect her honor. A name meant for someone unforgettable.
And she was always with me—until the day she took her own life.
It happened after she heard news of my death in the war… in my previous life.
When I learned what drove her to it, I was devastated.
Only then did I realize—she was someone I had cherished more than my own life.
"You okay? Earlier, you collap—eek! What is this?"
She recoiled, frowning at the sight of me covered in dried vomit.
"It's been a whil—" I stopped myself mid-sentence.
"…What time is it?" I asked instead, trying to change the subject.
"It's 6:30… in the evening, I think? Why do you ask?"
"Oh. Could you prepare bathwater… and change the bedsheets?" I said, already unbuttoning my sleepwear.
"Okay, I'll do it. Huh? Now that I think about it—you suddenly collapsed this morning right after waking up. Are you sure you're okay?"
She stepped closer, her eyes filled with concern. "The physician said it was just fatigue, but still…"
"I'm alright. Just fatigue, like he said."
I tried to reassure her, but she still inspected my whole body with hawk-like focus.
"I'm fine now. Go prepare the bath," I repeated.
Maybe she finally noticed the smell, because she backed off immediately.
"Okaay… Oh, and the head of house said you should join everyone for dinner tonight."
"The head of the house said?"
Vitra kael
The moment she mentioned him, a surge of anger swept through me.
Vitra, huh?
Remembering him never brought anything good.
I hated him, yes—but I didn't want revenge. That hate had long turned to apathy.
I'd gotten used to the feeling.
Now that I've regressed, with all my memories intact...
This time, I'll use every last one of them—my family included—to become a saint.
Not just any saint.
One truly worthy of worship.
_________
[ EC stood for Early Civilization—a time when kingdoms were still forming, when myths were slowly becoming history, and the world teetered between the ancient and the awakening. Magic existed, but it was rare. Technology hadn't yet taken root. It was an age of simplicity, survival… and slow, uncertain progress.]