I looked around, my small seven-year-old legs trembling, and froze.
I knew this place.
It felt like stepping back in time.
The Emerald Pavilion of the Ozark Estate—the home where my siblings and I had grown up.
Memories crashed over me: laughter echoing through the halls, childish arguments, the familiar scent of the kitchen, the sharp clack of wooden swords striking in the training yard… and then the deaths.
In my previous life, I had survived.
But the rest…
Lance. Kainel. Derrick. Cecilia….
All gone.
Some fell to assassins. Some to curses. Some because I was too weak to stop the traitor in time. Cecilia—only seven—fed into a summoning circle by that smiling monster, Rod Ochilis. Kainel, dead from a curse he could never outrun. Derrick, brilliant and sharp, who caught up to Rod only to be struck down. Lance, disciplined and careful, taken by an assassin's blade.
I had lived through all of it. Watched them die. Powerless. In my darkest moments, I had dreamed of making Rod pay—of avenging Cecilia first.
I ran outside, my breath catching.
The family's knights stood at attention around the pavilion, armor polished, hands steady on their swords. Alive. All of them. In my previous life, none of them had survived.
I bowed instinctively, the small gesture feeling heavier than it should. Every one of them deserved respect. Every one of them deserved to live.
Then I saw him.
The wretch. The ungrateful traitor.
Rod Ochilis. The Vice-Butler of the Ozark clan. The man who wore loyalty like a mask and ended my family from within.
Even from a distance, my small body trembled—not from fear, but from rage. In my last life, he had smiled while the estate burned and given calm orders as chaos swallowed everything.
Now he approached, every movement perfectly measured.
"Young Master," he said, bowing slightly. "You shouldn't be outside. Everyone has been worried."
I lowered my head, letting my shoulders slump. A seven-year-old. Small. Timid. Fragile.
"I… I'm sorry," I whispered.
Rod smiled, satisfied—utterly unaware of the storm beneath my calm facade.
"You haven't eaten in days," he said gently. "Come. Let's have some food."
I followed him in silence. Not because I trusted him, but because I remembered everything. Because this time, Cecilia's scream would never be the last sound I heard in this estate. And Rod Ochilis would not escape his fate.
The dining hall was bathed in soft sunlight, the long table already set with warm food. My siblings were already seated.
Lance and Kainel, both ten, sat near the head of the table. Lance sat upright, disciplined, watching over us with a presence that felt almost regal. Kainel, restless as ever, leaned back in his chair, spinning a spoon between his fingers, sharp eyes flicking across the room. Even at ten, their talents were obvious—Lance precise and methodical, Kainel fast and unpredictable.
Across from them sat Derrick, eight years old, quiet and piercingly observant. His eyes caught everything—Rod's posture, the timing of his movements, the way his gaze lingered just a second too long on Cecilia.
And then there was her. Cecilia, five years old, bright-eyed and cheerful, tugging at my sleeve the moment I sat down.
"Brother!" she squealed. "Sit next to me!"
I knelt beside her, smiling gently. Outwardly, I looked like any ordinary child. Inside, my mind raced with memories of a future I refused to let happen again.
Rod Ochilis stood near the doorway, hands folded neatly behind his back, watching us with perfect composure. Derrick noticed. He slowly set his spoon down, his eyes narrowing just a fraction.
"Rod," Derrick said calmly, his voice sharper than it had any right to be at his age, "you seem particularly attentive to Miss Cecilia."
Rod's smile didn't falter. His eyes flicked to Derrick for a brief moment before returning to neutral.
"I simply ensure the young ones are well cared for," he replied smoothly. "She is the youngest, after all."
Derrick tilted his head slightly. "Of course. I just assumed your focus would be on the eldest young masters."
A pause—barely noticeable. Rod's fingers twitched behind his back.
"My concern is for the entire family," he said softly. "All must be watched and guided properly."
Derrick nodded, appearing satisfied, but I saw it. Something was wrong. Too careful. Too controlled.
I placed my hand over Cecilia's as she reached for a piece of bread, squeezing gently—a silent promise. Rod's gaze flicked toward me, then to her.
"I apologize, young miss," he said in a soothing voice. "If I've been overly attentive. I only wished to care for you."
Cecilia blinked, then smiled. "It's okay. I like it."
To an ordinary child, it sounded like kindness. To me, it was calculation. That apology wasn't remorse—it was observation, testing, planning.
Rod wasn't acting alone.
The Empire. Enemy clans. The Red Cult. Or something darker.
Whoever stood behind him, this time I would uncover them—and I would make sure they never touched my family again.