₊ 𖦹﹕𝗠𝗘𝗧𝗘𝗠𝗣𝗦𝗬𝗖𝗛𝗢𝗦𝗜𝗦！(🩸)

⩩ ┊❝ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈 ❞

第一章 . . . 000
@/mxtsuro | AO3 & Wattpad
Myrddin Emrys © 2025

﹒  ◠  METEMPSYCHOSIS    ⊹    ﹒
— “ reincarnation ” !
Man is not what he thinks he is, he is what he hides.
★ . André Malraux » +

೯⠀⁺ ⠀ 𖥻 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈 ⠀ᰋ
── ★ ˙ the scent of woodsmoke, a familiar comfort, carried her back to childhood summers spent with her grandfathers, his stories etched in the bark of ancient olive trees  ̟ !!

Fuyuki City
3rd of September 2004, 5:30 AM

         The morning air was crisp as the early rays of sunlight filtered through the canopy of trees surrounding Ryuudou Temple. The autumn leaves, a mural of fiery reds and golden yellows, rustled gently in the cool breeze, casting a kaleidoscope of dancing shadows along the stone path that wound through the temple grounds. The chirping of birds and the occasional distant rustle of wildlife added a serene ambiance, yet within the temple walls, the air felt different---heavier somehow, as if something unseen lingered just out of reach. Galateya stirred from her sleep, the warmth of her thin blanket doing little to ward off the residual cold from the previous night. She blinked her heavy eyelids open, momentarily disoriented by her surroundings. The dream---no, the nightmare---still clung to her, its vivid images etched deeply into her mind.

           In her mindscape, Galateya witnessed countless blood-soaked fields stretched endlessly before her, the sound of steel clashing against steel ringing in her ears. The faces of warriors, unknown yet somehow familiar, blurred together in a frenzy of violence. Among them, a conqueror---a tyrant, his oppressive presence suffocating---and a pair of courageous men standing against him. The sense of fury, of grief, of an unshakable purpose, rippled through her chest, and though the faces and names remained a mystery, something in her blood recognized the scene.

          Galateya sat up slowly, her small hands brushing against her tear-streaked cheeks. She had not realized she had been crying. Her chest tightened, the remnants of the nightmare lingering in her mind like a dark cloud. She glanced around the quiet room, looking for any sign of her companion. The note beside her, neatly placed atop the folded mat she had been using as a pillow, caught her eye. In Romani’s familiar, efficient handwriting, the note read: "Stay there. Do not leave the temple while I am gone. I am just picking up breakfast for us."

           Galateya's frown deepened. He always seemed to leave quietly, slipping away like a shadow while she slept. The empty room now felt impossibly large without his presence. She folded the note and placed it in her lap, glancing around at the wooden beams of the temple. It was quiet---too quiet. And then she noticed it. The sweet, almost cloying scent of white lilies clung to the air, filling her nostrils with its overpowering fragrance. Her brow furrowed in confusion as she sniffed the air, looking around the room for the source of the scent. There were no flowers, nothing out of place, yet the smell grew stronger, so much so that it felt as if it was enveloping her. Then, it dawned on her. The scent was not coming from the room---it was coming from her.

          She brought her hands to her nose, breathing in, and there it was. That same sickly-sweet aroma. "Why do I smell like this?" she whispered, her voice trembling with a hint of fear and confusion. Galateya had never encountered lilies like these, nor did she understand why their scent seemed to cling to her like a shadow. Her small form trembled slightly as the unease from her nightmare coupled with the strange phenomenon crept up her spine.