"Alright," Kael muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. "Let's not think about the mountain of problems right now. One crisis at a time."
His reflection in the cracked mirror looked miserable—dark circles, greasy hair, and that faint, lingering stench of alcohol.
He grimaced. "First things first… let's not meet the family looking like a zombie."
He stripped off the old clothes, rinsed himself with cold water from the basin, and scrubbed away the sourness clinging to his skin. A few minutes later, with clean clothes and a damp towel over his shoulders, he looked—well, not noble, but at least human. The sharpness in his features, once hidden beneath the hangover, had returned. His dark hair was tidied, his eyes clearer. For the first time since waking up, he didn't look like a walking disaster.
"Much better," he said, exhaling. "Now… time to meet the family I apparently inherited."
The corridors of Duskmoor Castle stretched long and empty.
Dust clung to the window frames, and the faint smell of damp stone hung in the air. The place was large—absurdly so for a family on the verge of bankruptcy—but nobles had appearances to keep. Pride and architecture, it seemed, were the last things they'd be willing to sell.
Kael's footsteps echoed softly as he walked.
For a while, he didn't see a single soul—not a maid, not a guard, not even a servant cleaning the hall. The silence was eerie.
"This place could fit a hundred people," he murmured, "and I can barely count ten. Great. A noble manor that's half mausoleum."
He sighed again and made his way down the main staircase. The stone steps groaned faintly beneath his feet, and the golden banisters had long lost their shine. After a few turns through fading tapestries and dim corridors, he finally reached the dining hall.
Three figures were already seated around a long wooden table that could have hosted twenty.
At the far end sat Lady Olivia Valenheart, his—no, their—mother.
Once a beauty by the looks of her portraits, she now bore the marks of years far heavier than her age. She was only forty, yet the lines on her face made her look closer to fifty.
Grief had aged her—grief and worry. Losing her husband, watching her son drown in the same despair—it had carved exhaustion into her bones. Still, there was something gentle in her eyes, like a candle that refused to die out.
Beside her, seated with a straight back and folded arms, was Maya Valenheart, his older sister.
An elegant beauty—dark hair tied high, eyes sharp and steady. Even at a glance, her posture screamed discipline. Her toned arms bore faint scars, souvenirs of sword practice and skirmishes past. She was dressed simply, but the way she carried herself made simplicity look like authority. Kael could feel her presence before she even looked up.
And at her side sat Mia Valenheart, the youngest.
Thirteen years old, but her expression didn't belong to a child. Her long brown hair framed a delicate face that should have been full of laughter, yet her eyes held only quiet restraint.
Too young to shoulder this family's decline, yet already doing it without complaint.
Kael paused in the doorway, taking them all in.
A lump formed in his throat—not his guilt, but the lingering remorse of the man whose memories he carried.
The previous Kael had failed them—drunken fits, shouting, wasted coin. He'd given up long before he died.
And now, somehow, he had to face the consequences of that failure.
He exhaled softly. "Alright… let's get this over with."
As his footsteps echoed through the hall, the three women turned.
Olivia's eyes widened first. For a moment, she just stared. The son who usually stumbled down reeking of alcohol was standing upright, clean, even composed.
Her lips parted, then softened into the faintest, most fragile smile he'd ever seen.
"Kael," she said gently, voice trembling just slightly. "You look… different this morning."
Kael met her gaze and, for the first time since waking up in this new world, smiled back.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "I guess I finally sobered up."
****
The long wooden table gleamed faintly under the morning light streaming through the stained windows.
Servants—what few remained—moved quietly, setting out simple dishes of porridge, eggs, and a half loaf of bread that looked too modest for nobility.
Kael sat down in his usual seat, though "usual" felt like a borrowed term now. The moment he did, the atmosphere around the table shifted.
His mother's expression stayed gentle, but Maya's gaze turned away, and little Mia kept her eyes on her plate.
Even without the memories, he could feel it—distance. Not hostility exactly, but disappointment. A lingering hurt that hung between them like smoke that wouldn't clear.
From what he'd seen in those inherited flashes, the previous Kael hadn't exactly been a good brother. His drunken outbursts, weeks of shutting himself in, the servants cleaning up after his messes… no wonder they couldn't even look at him properly.
Maya broke a piece of bread and ate in silence. Every movement of hers was controlled, efficient, almost soldier-like.
Mia, on the other hand, nibbled slowly, expression blank in a way no child's should ever be. She didn't say a word.