Unauthorized Reincarnation — Season 2

  Chapter 4 : A Dream of Another (part 1)

  Every night before bed, Mama brushes my long black hair. Papa named me Iris, but he always calls me Iri. I don’t like it when he does—yet it’s just one letter, so I let it be.

  I already miss him.

  Papa’s name is Boran. It means strong. Mama’s name is Flora. Hers, like mine, means flower. Our house is made of wood—Papa built it with his own hands. People always say I look like Mama: moonlight skin, black eyes, black hair. They’re not wrong. But what they don’t see is what I took from Papa. I’m strong. I’m not afraid of anything.

  I have six friends, all girls like me—beautiful and bold. “Hi Nessa. Hi Zara. Hi Bree. Hi Sale. Hi Mira. And finally, hi Nora.”

  Yesterday, we agreed to meet at the eastern edge of town, where the meadow kisses the forest. Papa said it was safe there. So we played, running until our throats were raw and the sun melted into bruised purple.

  Then a voice carried on the wind:

  “Iri! Iris! Come home—it’s getting dark!”

  Before I could shout back, another voice ripped through me—not from outside, but inside.

  RUN. YOU DAMN BRAT. YOU AND YOUR FRIENDS—SURROUNDED. RUN—RUNNNN—

  I froze. “What… was that?” I whispered. “Did someone scream… inside me?”

  A real scream pierced the twilight.

  “Wolves—they took Nessa!”

  “Girls! Please—don’t leave me—please hel—ahhh!”

  My friends.

  I spun toward the trees. The shadows moved.

  “Run!” I screamed. “Run!”

  So I ran. I ran harder than ever, lungs burning, branches slashing my arms, roots grabbing at my feet. The screams behind me didn’t stop—they just disappeared. One by one. Zara’s cut short. Bree’s turned into a whimper. Then silence.

  My legs gave out. I fell into cold leaves.

  “Huh… huh… girls?” My voice cracked. “Am I the only one left?”

  “Iris… Iris…”

  Mama’s voice. So faint.

  But then—

  Growl.

  Not one growl. Many. All around me. The whole forest breathing hunger.

  Eyes ignited between the trees—green-gold and starving.

  Teeth. So many teeth.

  “I’m surrounded…” I whispered. “Mama—Mama, help—”

  Pain exploded everywhere at once. My leg, my shoulder, my back—fire ripping through flesh. A weight crushed me.

  “It hurts—it hurts so much!” I screamed, choking on blood. “I don’t want to die! I just wanted to grow up… to be beautiful… to marry Papa…”

  Warmth poured out of me. Bones cracked like dry twigs.

  The world drowned in red.

  Darkness closed in.

  I’m dead.

  “Ahaaaaaa!”

  Daniel woke up—sweating, gasping, his chest heaving like he’d been running for miles. His eyes darted across the dim room until they landed on the figure beside him.

  Kyrrha. The beautiful daemon.

  She stirred, brushed her eyes, and looked at him—his body slick with sweat, his face pale with shock.

  “Daniel… what happened?” she murmured softly. Then she pulled him into her arms—four of them, wrapping him completely.

  “Come here, sweet one,” she whispered. “Now tell me—what did you see?”

  Daniel’s breath still came in shudders. “I saw… a horror,” he whispered. “I was a little girl—and I had six friends. All girls. We played near the woods, and then… wolves came. They hunted us. All of us. Even me.”

  Kyrrha tilted her head, her expression softening in a way that seemed foreign on a daemon’s face. She reached out and brushed Daniel’s reddish-yellow mid-length hair back from his forehead.

  “My grandfather once told me,” she murmured, her tone low and almost wistful, “that we all live many lives—the ones we’ve lived before, the one we live now, and the ones waiting ahead. We just have to accept whatever comes. That’s what he said.”

  Daniel gave a faint, unsteady laugh. “Am I still dreaming, then? Because the last thing I remember, you were beating the hell out of me. And now you’re holding me like I belong to you.”

  Kyrrha’s lips curved into a sly smile, her lower hands tightening gently around his waist. “You’re not dreaming. And you guessed right.” She paused, her tone dipping into something darker. “Last night, the chief declared you’re not the savior. She decided to keep you as a slave.”

  Daniel froze, her words sinking like stones in water.

  Kyrrha leaned closer, her breath warm against his ear. “So,” she whispered, “I asked her to give you to me.”

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  A small smile tugged at her lips.

  “My slave.”

  The hide flap stirred without warning.

  Solmir stepped inside, eyes narrowing at the sight before him.

  “Holy Cineris… what in the world is going on here?” he muttered, squeezing the bridge of his nose like a man witnessing something profoundly distasteful.

  Kyrrha didn’t move—four arms still wrapped possessively around Daniel, her chin resting on his shoulder.

  Solmir sighed, voice dripping with disbelief. “Chief didn’t give him to you to have—” He stopped himself, exhaling sharply. “Ah, whatever. Just—can you release him for a second?”

  Kyrrha’s eyes flared crimson. She only tightened her grip, glaring at him like a child guarding her favorite toy. “No,” she said flatly. “He’s mine. You can’t take him.”

  “Kyrrha,” Solmir groaned, “he’s not a damn plush. You can hold him later; I just need—”

  Before he could finish, she shifted, pulling Daniel closer to her chest. “No!” she snapped, baring her fangs.

  Solmir tried prying Daniel free, muttering curses under his breath. The struggle looked almost absurd—an exasperated elder trying to outmuscle his feral niece. Kyrrha’s grip didn’t budge. When he forced her lower arms apart, she bit his wrist.

  “OW! Are you insane?!” Solmir yanked his hand back, shaking it furiously. “You bit me, you lunatic!”

  Kyrrha just hissed, eyes glowing, all four arms locked around Daniel like iron chains.

  Then—

  a long, unmistakable growl filled the room.

  Both froze. The sound didn’t come from Kyrrha. Or Solmir.

  It came from Daniel.

  His stomach roared like a starving beast. The silence afterward was so thick it almost echoed.

  Solmir blinked once, then twice, and finally let out a dry, humorless chuckle. “From the sound of it,” he said, rubbing his temple, “your little slave is hungry.” He stepped closer, lowering his tone to something mockingly patient. “Why don’t you get him something to eat, Kyrrha? If you think you can carry him around all day, you’re mistaken. Everyone in this clan wants their hands on him. Go on—get him food. I’ll keep an eye on him while you’re gone.”

  Kyrrha narrowed her purple eyes. “You’re lying.”

  Solmir raised both palms. “Lying? Me? Absolutely not. You think I want your sweaty human? Please. Go feed him before he eats me.”

  Kyrrha hesitated, glancing between Solmir and Daniel, torn between suspicion and possessiveness. A small puff escaped her lips in irritation.

  Daniel just sat there, half-dazed, clutching his stomach as it growled again.

  Kyrrha scowled, still unconvinced, but Daniel’s second growl broke her will.

  “Tch… fine,” she muttered. “But if he’s gone when I return, I’ll rip out your spine and hang it above my bed.”

  Solmir offered her a lazy salute. “Understood. I’ll try not to die.”

  With a last glare, Kyrrha stormed out, her footsteps fading outside.

  The moment the door shut, the warmth drained from Solmir’s face.

  His posture straightened. His voice sharpened. His entire aura shifted from sardonic uncle to something cold, deliberate—dangerously intelligent.

  He reached into his coat and pulled out an artifact: a circular amulet no larger than a palm. Its surface pulsed faintly, runes flickering in rhythm with a mechanical hum—magic and machinery fused into one.

  “That night,” Solmir said quietly, “your team took this from a newly formed dungeon that resembled planet Oblivara.” His eyes, now a hard crimson, locked onto Daniel’s. “I’m certain this artifact is from my planet too. So tell me—why were you after this, and not the dungeon itself?”

  Daniel’s breath hitched. He looked from the amulet to Solmir, then back down. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “I wasn’t told.”

  The words had barely left his mouth when the sigil on his left forearm flared.

  Light burst from it—lines of code-like script winding under his skin, pulsing as if installing something.

  Memories—fragmented, foreign—slammed into his mind.

  Rufus.

  Voices.

  Orders.

  His head snapped back slightly as the images blurred together: a year of carrying gear, listening, pretending not to notice.

  “I was just the porter,” Daniel finally said, his tone low, detached. “A pack mule for their team. Those three—Achilles, Minoru, and Robert—they were mysteries. Never took quests from public boards. Every dungeon, every forest, every ruin we went to was already chosen for us. All planned. All fed to them by anonymous task givers.”

  He clenched his fists. “But their stupidity couldn’t contain all their secrets. In the middle of an argument, Achilles slipped—called their benefactor ‘the Little Princess.’ That’s all I ever got.”

  Solmir studied him in silence, thumb brushing the amulet’s edge. Then he smirked faintly.

  “I see. Then I’ll hold on to this… until I find the answers.” He paused, then corrected himself, voice softer. “No—until we find them. You were betrayed by those three too, weren’t you? You must have your own reasons to hunt them.”

  The coldness melted from his tone, replaced by something familiar—his usual lazy, teasing drawl. He leaned closer until their faces were inches apart, smirk curling his lip.

  “By the way,” he said, eyes glinting, “what was that move you pulled on my niece last night? The one that fried her brain for a solid minute?”

  Daniel blinked, deadpan. “That’s called a liver shot.”

  Solmir arched a brow. “A what now?”

  Daniel sighed. “The liver’s an organ—under the right ribs. Hit it hard enough, and it triggers an autonomic reflex. Intense pain, paralysis, loss of breath. The body just… shuts down for a few seconds. Perfect for dropping someone without killing them.”

  Solmir stared for a long moment. Then his expression twisted into something between awe and horror. “So in short—punching someone really hard under the right ribs knocks them out?”

  Daniel nodded once. “More or less.”

  “…Damn.” Solmir tapped Daniel’s shoulder approvingly, still shaking his head. Then, with his other hand, he pointed to Daniel’s metal mask—specifically around where his forehead would be beneath it. His tone dropped again, suddenly weighty.

  “The chief and the elders,” he murmured, “missed something important back there—to check what you have up here.”

  He tapped twice—metal ringing softly against his fingertip.

  “Whatever they think you are, Daniel… it’s only the surface.”

  The hide flap stirred again.

  Kyrrha returned, holding a small wooden plate with both upper hands. On it lay a single roasted bird—its skin unevenly charred, smoke still curling from the surface.

  She froze at the sight of them—Solmir standing close to Daniel, hand still resting lightly on his shoulder.

  “Uncle,” she said sharply, “take your hands off my slave. I brought him food.”

  Solmir turned, glanced at the plate… and burst out laughing. A deep, uncontrollable laugh that echoed through the room until tears streaked down his black eyes.

  “This—” he gasped between laughs, “this is what you call food?”

  Kyrrha closed her eyes. “Tch.” She turned her head slightly to the right, refusing to meet his gaze. “Mama said we’re low on rations. And they won’t feed a slave who didn’t help collect them. So…” she lifted the plate defensively, “I caught a bird for him myself.”

  Solmir wiped his eyes, still chuckling. “A hunter and a chef. Impressive.”

  Kyrrha ignored him and crouched in front of Daniel. Her expression softened again, the fire in her eyes dimming to something almost tender.

  “Here,” she murmured, tearing a piece of the meat and raising it toward his face. “Eat.”

  Daniel hesitated, then slowly reached up to unfasten his metal mask.

  The sound of the clasps echoed faintly. When the mask came off—

  Kyrrha’s eyes widened. Her lips parted.

  She didn’t move, but her expression faltered—something between pity and unease.

  Daniel noticed. A faint, tired smile tugged at his mouth. “It’s fine,” he said quietly. “I’ll feed myself.”

  Kyrrha blinked, guilt flickering in her gaze. She placed the plate gently in his hands and stood up without a word.

  Daniel looked down at the meager portion. The smell was sharp, the taste burnt—but when he bit into it, tears welled up in his eyes.

  It was rough, dry, almost flavorless.

  And yet—

  for him, it was a miracle.

  He chewed slowly, trembling, as if afraid the moment might vanish.

  “I can taste…” he whispered, voice breaking. “After all this time… I can actually taste…”

  Solmir turned away, his usual smirk fading into silence. Kyrrha stared, unsure why the sight of her slave crying over a half-burnt bird made her chest ache.

  The only sound that filled the room was Daniel’s quiet, uneven breathing—

  and the faint crackle of fire from the hearth.

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