4 - Smells Like Iron

  The path was long. Cold.

  Even with the rays of sunlight passing through the enormous windows, I saw the golden beams of dawn reflecting against the walls of that place. The ancient architecture still tried to deceive.

  Each step that man took echoed with a dry sound, marking a constant, suffocating rhythm.

  The guards behind walked in absolute silence. Even the servants—men and women—weren’t truly people, molded in the same coldness that he carried in his eyes. No one stood in that man’s way.

  As we passed through the great gates, we entered a conference room that, despite being brightly lit, seemed to carry the shadows of silence itself.

  Chandelier-shaped candelabras hung from the ceiling, casting a golden light that made the stone walls seem alive… watching.

  The red and gold tapestries with dragons swayed gently, as if moved by a wind that didn’t exist, while the sound of footsteps echoed dry and rhythmic, making the air vibrate with a tension that was almost tangible.

  It was an oppressive beauty, suffocating, from a century long gone.

  The guards repeated their usual formalities and positioned themselves in the corners, as motionless as statues.

  The subordinates, aligned around the long table, bowed slightly, remaining on their feet.

  In the corner, a single chair remained empty—and only when he walked to it, sat down, and crossed his legs with glacial calm did the others, almost in sync, allow themselves to sit.

  The silence was absolute.

  Heavy.

  Almost tangible.

  Who would dare speak before their leader?

  It was then that Ryskai slightly raised his hand to the right.

  — Call the maids to prepare things. First, a bath for the new heir.

  The last guard on the right bowed and left the room, making the heavy doors close with a muffled thud that reverberated through the walls.

  Ryskai adjusted himself slightly in the dark leather chair—more a throne than a seat compared to the others—glancing over each face at the table.

  With a slow movement, he lowered his hand, lightly touching my baby face, as if toying with my fragile existence. His red eyes shone with a mixture of pride and coldness as he saw me clumsily reach for his finger. I wanted to push it away… but in the end, it made him smile.

  — Reports — he ordered. His voice was sharp, as cutting as a blade. He didn’t even glance at the men around him. His focus was still on me.

  — Sir, before we proceed... — one of the men said, slowly rising.

  The tension in the room grew even thicker. His eyes briefly flicked to me, cradled in Ryskai’s arms, as if the simple fact of that baby being there completely changed the course of the meeting.

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  — The birth of the new heir changes everything. The State’s structure was already fragile, sir... the recent attacks, the deaths of the two heirs... have deeply shaken our stability. The people are already murmuring... afraid that history will repeat itself. We must reinforce security immediately. Not just for him... but because he’s the only future of this nation.

  His voice was firm, but trembled at the edges, as if each word was a blade against his own throat.

  Ryskai remained silent for a moment, lightly tapping his fingers on the table—the rhythmic sound ticking like a bomb over everyone’s heads.

  — So be it. Increase the forces in the east wing. Reinforce the accesses to the adjacent mansion. Double surveillance in all sectors. Cancel my garden events. And I want eyes... even in the shadows. — His voice was frigid.

  Then he adjusted the baby in his arms and looked at those present.

  — The future of this State is no longer uncertain. I made sure of that. We wouldn’t want, gentlemen, the... “accidents” from nine months ago staining my legacy again, would we? — His voice slid like silk, while his crimson eyes gleamed with an unspoken threat.

  Silence lingered. Some of the men averted their gaze. Others simply bowed their heads in respect... but I could tell it was fear that truly emanated from them.

  — Continue. I want the full report on the remaining rebels... and external movements.

  The weight of that place crushed even my breathing.

  My eyes, heavy, fought uselessly against the exhaustion.

  The rigid arms holding me.

  The dry, cruel tone that filled the room.

  It wasn’t enough.

  My baby body couldn’t handle it.

  My head slumped against Ryskai, and even with my heart racing from an instinct I didn’t even understand... consciousness slipped away, dragging me into forced sleep—a sleep where, for a brief moment, the sound of threats and cut-off breaths disappeared.

  Even knowing I would wake up in a world that offered no refuge... I still wished I could return to my old home.

  My old family.

  My old self.

  My old world.

  For a while, my being found peace in sleep, but a sudden discomfort made me stir lightly. A hand gently brushed over my head, and as if an unknown instinct were triggered, I fell asleep again.

  I don’t know how much time passed, but when I woke up, I was lying in a crib, in an unfamiliar, bright room — and, of course, hungry.

  The strangeness of being a baby hit me again. I only noticed the hunger after hours without eating, as if my infant body was slow to recognize its own signals. I let out a weak murmur, preparing to cry, but before I could, I heard hurried footsteps.

  I didn’t even need to cry — someone was already there, feeding me.

  How strange this was. It was just a small murmur — I didn’t imagine they would be so quick. I slowly opened my eyes just to see, right in front of me, a calm maid sighing as if truly relieved.

  — This child only woke up now... after so long trying to wake him to eat... only now.

  — We were lucky. If there’s a next time... we might not be here anymore.

  — Sometimes... I wish it were a robot taking care of the child instead of us.

  — Me too. But you know how Master hates technology inside this house. Feels like we live in an archaic time every time we walk in here.

  While the two talked, something different hit me. It was strange... as if I could actually feel their relief. It wasn’t imagination — it seemed like a weak, but real ability. I could sense, even if faintly, the emotions of those around me.

  I closed my eyes for a moment.

  My stomach was full, but an uncomfortable memory invaded my mind.

  In my last life... when I died...

  I remember clearly: something strange happened.

  There was a reddish glow, exactly like the magic Laine used.

  And now... being her child... maybe, just maybe, I could do that again.

  I focused, forcing my fragile baby mind to recall that sensation.

  I concentrated so much, so much... that I ended up soiling my diaper.

  Even as I was being changed, I didn’t give up.

  I kept trying, insisting, until a metallic smell invaded the air — the smell of rust, of iron.

  The maids didn’t seem to notice, but I saw it clearly: a red thread, fragile, descended from nowhere toward me.

  It was small.

  So delicate.

  That when it touched my cheek, it felt like an invisible finger — cold, but somehow comforting.

  For a second, it glowed... and vanished, as subtly as it had appeared.

  Exhaustion hit me like a heavy tide, dragging my consciousness. Without strength, I surrendered to sleep, unable to resist... but I could still smell rust.