Chapter 391
That resemblance was not merely imitation or influence.
It felt organic, like two melodies from different eras written in the same key and scale.
His personality—neither overly silent nor reckless, yet always calculating—his distant yet deeply responsible demeanor, his way of viewing the world as something to be analyzed and protected, all of it mirrored the soul of the King from the past.
He once believed, perhaps with a trace of hidden arrogance, that he was the most perfect reincarnation, the one who most closely matched what Xavier XVII had desired or expected.
Their harmony felt seamless, like two halves of a split betel nut.
One body, with two layers of consciousness complementing each other without meaningful friction.
The young and wounded Ilux provided humanity, vulnerability, and the desire to improve.
The ancient and wise Xavier offered perspective, composure, and immeasurable strength.
They compensated for one another's shortcomings, forming a rare and precious symbiosis of souls.
'But the longer time passes… and the more honestly I reflect on everything that has happened, after all the misfortunes and unpleasant fates that have struck me, I arrive at the opposite conclusion.'
Time continued to flow like sand slipping through fingers trying to grasp it.
Each misfortune, each cruel twist of fate—loss, betrayal, unbearable burdens, and the relentless demands of a destiny that seemed scripted before his birth—gradually eroded layer after layer of that gratitude and honor.
The starlight that once felt warm now reflected only the coldness of empty space.
The comfort within that harmony began to feel like a prison built of mirrors, where every angle reflected the expectations and shadow of a legend, not himself.
The thought did not emerge as fiery rebellion, but as a quiet, cold, undeniable awareness, like frost forming after a long night.
He became increasingly convinced, with certainty embedded deep in his marrow, that true peace—if it still existed—lay in a possibility he had never possessed.
To be only Ilux Rediona.
Not a vessel.
Not a continuation.
Not the "younger fragment" of something greater.
He longed for the right to own pain that was entirely his, failure born purely from his own choices, not a misstep within a grand design centuries old.
Even his victories and strength now felt contaminated, as though they were not fruits of his own labor, but inherited relics taken from a shelf and entrusted to him for accountability.
'And that is the contradiction I cannot ignore.'
Fhoooh!
'From the outside, we do look alike. Attitude, habits of thought, composure under pressure—like two halves of the same nut. But at our core, we are in opposition.'
The realization came like a hairline crack in a mirror once believed flawless.
The deeper he delved into memories and impulses not entirely his own, the clearer he saw.
Their resemblance was merely an elaborate mask, an empty performance of two souls fundamentally opposed.
Xavier, the Hero King of the past, operated with the logic of a monument—solid, deliberate, guided by ideals that transcended the individual.
Ilux, by contrast, was a wounded child from an orphanage, surviving through vigilance, tangible pain, and lingering resentment.
One was built upon an altar of sacrifice.
The other was stitched together by unhealed wounds.
The sharpest and most painful difference shone in how they viewed Erietta.
For Ilux, that name was a knot of memory woven from shame, pain, and helplessness.
Erietta was a larger, harsher, crueler silhouette in the dim corridors of the orphanage.
She was the source of crushing ridicule, scornful stares that cut deeper than any pinch, and a constant reminder that the world had never been kind to him.
She was his tormentor, the origin of many wounds that had yet to heal.
Yet within another layer of his consciousness, he felt something entirely foreign.
A deep longing.
A gentle acknowledgment.
An unshakable love from Xavier toward the very same woman.
The contradiction tore at his soul.
How could a single existence harbor such personal hatred and such eternal love for the same person?
Xavier saw Erietta not as a cruel girl, but as a lost light, his destined companion from a previous life.
Yet the reason for that love—the bridge spanning childhood cruelty and eternal devotion—remained a tightly sealed secret.
Xavier refused to reveal it, and that refusal was a wall thicker than silence itself.
This was no longer harmony, but a silent collision between two irreconcilable truths.
The truth of Ilux's bodily memory and wounds.
And the truth of Xavier's soul memory and love.
Thus, the label "reincarnation" now felt blurred, almost meaningless.
They were not two halves of the same fruit.
They were two different seeds forcibly planted in the same pot of soil.
One seed was a magnificent oak long dead, leaving behind shadow and deep roots.
The other was a stubborn wild plant, striving to grow toward the light in its own way, yet constantly hindered by the oak's root structure.
Compatibility was merely surface illusion.
At their core, they bound one another, opposed one another, and poisoned each other's source of life.
'I can still walk straight.
At least, my legs think so.'
Time had leapt forward, leaving behind the glitter of the party and its alien white noise of happiness.
What remained were the dimly lit corridors of Star Academy, casting long shadows of a young man walking slowly.
Ilux Rediona's steps were no longer measured and machine-efficient.
He staggered, heavy, as though each inch of marble floor demanded immense concentration.
Ten glasses of alcohol—not for pleasure, but as a desperate attempt to drown an ocean of thought—had turned his deep breathing into heavy exhales echoing in the silence.
"I feel that something is wrong, but I do not know what it is.
Not a clear premonition. Not a threat I can name. Just a weight in my chest, like a shadow that has yet to reveal its form."
In that half-conscious state, the boundary between Ilux's thoughts and Xavier's voice melted like wax near flame.
And from the cracks of that melting, the noise emerged.
Not a calm whisper or authoritative counsel, but an incessant murmur, throbbing like a pulse of pain at his temple.
Xavier—the soul that usually stood as a monument of calm certainty—repeatedly voiced a worry he himself could not understand.
Its vibration was not clear words, but waves of pure anxiety flooding Ilux's perception.
A blind vigilance.
A bad premonition without form.
A fear of something unnamed.
Each heavy breath Ilux drew seemed to draw breath from that ancient soul as well, and every exhale carried the same unfamiliar tremor of uncertainty.
Xavier sensed danger, but knew not from where.
He sensed a threat, but could not identify the enemy.
He was worried, yet had no idea why that worry had rooted itself so deeply within the core of his consciousness.
To be continued…