Class ended peacefully. Lumiel walked home under the afternoon sun, a quiet joy blooming in his chest. Today had been special — new friends, new experiences, new faces. For once, things felt light.
He entered his apartment, slipped off his uniform, and collapsed onto the bed with a soft sigh.
Then, her voice returned.
"Lumiel... when you're alone, be strong. Make friends. Be kind. And never hurt anyone."
Lumiel smiled faintly. "Mom… I did what you told me," he whispered to the ceiling.
Kurt's voice appeared beside him, calm and curious. "You really love that woman, huh? Your 'mom.'"
"Of course. She's the one who raised me."
There was a pause. "Even though she left you behind... and she's not your biological mother?" Kurt's tone was hesitant now. "It seems... your real mother was someone named Affia."
Lumiel's smile faded. "I know."
His eyes grew distant as the memory returned.
---
"Lumiel, mama will go shopping for a bit. Make sure you stay home and be a good boy, okay?"
"Yes, mama! I'm always a good boy," the young Lumiel had said with a bright smile.
She smiled back — then left.
Hours later, in that same house, young Lumiel had wandered curiously into the storage closet. Inside an old wooden box, he found a faded envelope.
His tiny fingers opened it. Inside was a letter:
> "If you ever see this, please just take the baby and the money inside the envelope. I don't want to accept that this was my child. — Affia."
He waited for his mother to return. She never did.
For years, he survived alone. The money in that envelope kept him afloat. He never saw her again.
Now, the old envelope still rested in the drawer beside his bed. He took it in his hands, staring at it for a long time before setting it ablaze over the kitchen sink. The fire crackled — and with it, the last tangible piece of his past was turned to ash.
"I don't need that anymore," Lumiel whispered.
He returned to his bed and closed his eyes.
---
When Lumiel opened them again, he wasn't in his apartment.
He was lying on a massive silk-covered bed in an ornate chamber the size of his entire home. The room reeked of nobility and power. Confused, he sat up.
"Huh? A dream already? But I just had one yesterday…"
He tried calling out to the System — no answer.
He tried summoning his blade — nothing.
Then he remembered: in dreams, he couldn't access his powers. Only the powers of the body he inhabited remained.
Suddenly, a knock came at the door. A young maid entered, bowing low.
"Emperor Augustus, it is time for your appearance, Your Majesty. Your bath and attire are ready."
Lumiel, still dazed, simply nodded and followed her.
As he moved through the halls, a sharp pain lanced through his skull — and the memories of the body came crashing in.
---
"I have a meeting today," Lumiel muttered, more to himself than anyone. "A messenger from the neighboring empire…"
He prepared himself and made his way to the grand throne room, seated regally, though anxiety sat heavier than any crown. Today was critical. Emperor Augustus had proposed an alliance — and this messenger would deliver Emperor Draevos's answer.
Hours passed.
At last, the grand doors opened, and a man in formal wear stepped forward.
"Glory to the Empire, Your Majesty," the messenger said, kneeling. "I humbly deliver this urgent message from Emperor Draevos."
"You may speak your word," Lumiel said, the words flowing naturally from the Emperor's tongue.
The messenger bowed again — then smiled darkly.
"His answer… was death."
In a blink, the messenger blurred forward. A dagger pierced Augustus's chest with brutal precision. The assassin vanished just as quickly as he appeared.
Everything faded.
---
Lumiel expected to wake — but he didn't.
Instead, he opened his eyes again… in darkness. Hooded figures in black cloaks stood above him, chanting in an unknown tongue. He tried to move, but his body felt like it was controlled by puppet strings.
Then, a voice.
"Necromancers," it ordered, "make him stand and kneel before me."
Lumiel's body jerked upward, stiff and unnatural. He was forced to kneel.
Before him stood a man draped in regal armor, his smile cold and cruel.
"Well, Emperor Augustus… no, Augustus. How does it feel — to have the body of the undead?" Draevos sneered. "I guess your new corpse isn't quite able to speak, huh?"
He kicked Lumiel across the chest and walked away, laughing.
---
Time passed.
Too much time.
Draevos now commanded Augustus like a weapon, using his powerful gift — the Army of Cavalry Knights — for destruction. Only now, they were dead. Undead. Each soldier fought without fear or pain. Limbs lost? Heads severed? They marched still, relentless and broken.
Villages fell. Then cities. Then kingdoms.
And then… Augustus was forced to march against his own empire.
He killed his own people. Burned his own towns. Watched helplessly as Draevos made sport of his suffering.
The world came to call him not Augustus the Wise, not Augustus the Brave — but Augustus the Undead Emperor.
Years passed. Centuries, maybe. Lumiel, trapped within, stopped counting. He began to forget what was real.
Was this still a dream?
---
Then — a flash.
Lumiel gasped and sat up. He was back. In his apartment.
Everything was still as he had left it.
But he… was not.
The System's voice chimed in:
> [System: Warning — High Emotional Surge Detected.]
Hate. Fear. Loneliness. Sadness. Anxiety. Guilt. Frustration. Shame. Helplessness. Miserable.
Lumiel stared blankly at the ceiling, body trembling.
His voice was barely a whisper.
"So that was his wish... Not power, not glory, but peace. A release from everything he became."
A dead man, cursed to never rest — whose last dream was to be seen, remembered, understood.
And now… that memory lived on in him.