The first time Altair had laid his eyes on the Dungeon Town- Nereus Aquillion, he had found himself gasping for air. The sprawling vista that stretched beneath his feet was a sight to behold, a township of vivid cerulean blue and distinctive marble white spanning a few leagues from one end to the other.
A set of azure double doors lay nestled in the heart of the city, their domineering presence commanding attention from passersby. The thirty meter tall beast of metal and attuned mana crystals beckoned to those with adventurous spirits by mere virtue of its existence, the grandiose reliefs sculpted into the surface of the door something that Altair could barely manage to make out from atop the small hill he gazed at the town from, as sunlight reflected off their polished surface.
Altair had known of no man capable of sculpting metal to such a degree that he could still make out the intricacies of its details from such distance, but then again, he supposed that the Dungeon Entrance was work of no man.
The gateway entrance, rather anticlimactically, led to a gently sloping azure-colored earth that receded into the ground; its secrets shielded and horrors contained from the outside world. That had come as no surprise to Altair, for that was the least to be expected if the town was considered habitable.
What did, however, was water bubbling up from the underground, a clearly man-made circular canal ensconcing the Dungeon Entrance in its gentle embrace. Altair had read about this phenomenon before, only representing a fraction of the knowledge he had amassed after reading every book in Mother’s study, but… seeing it with his own eyes was a different matter.
Daring, to the adventurous. Audacious, to the reverent. Simple, yet brilliant. The water bubbling up into the canal did not show any sign of ebbing, for its source was the Dungeon itself. From the circle branched out four canals, each claiming one cardinal direction— dividing Nereus Aquillion into neat sectors.
Of course, if that were merely all, Altair would be far from impressed. He had seen far more grandiose constructions, far more ostentatious cities. One simple difference changed that conclusion— the water-like substance was no liquid. It was pure water mana, untainted and untouched by any but the forces of nature. Mana so pure that it could not be stored or contained in any form, only harnessed.
And harnessed it was, as the canals crashed against the city’s borders. An endless supply of pure water mana, fuelling the Tier 4 Magic Circle that served as the Dungeon Town’s guardian angel.
Elegant white marble constructions stood in striking contrast with the veins of liquid sapphire that neatly divided the town into four equal parts. There was still surprise to be had, for sunlight didn’t reflect off the polished, textured surface of the marble houses like Altair had expected it to; didn’t render the town’s landscape into a cascade of blinding light and scorching heat.
Instead of reflecting off the white marble’s surface, the light seemed to gently bounce off it. Polished surfaces reflecting light was a basic law in physics, but Earth’s physics did not take into account the interactions light would have in presence of copious reserves of Water Mana flowing through the city.
The result that awaited at the end of those reactions was something that caused Nocturne’s gaze to gleam with unconcealed anticipation, for every house, every storefront and every building was bathed in an ethereal, fleeting white glow, as if the entire township had been granted the blessing of a deity.
And then the magic ended, as Isadora beckoned at them. The time to depart had arrived.
Altair allowed himself one last glance at the city, visually identifying it’s sectors and taking in the differences before he and Nocturne trailed behind mother with clearly awed expressions.
The gently sloping hill was easily navigated for mother and Altair had adapted well enough to his new body. Nocturne still carried an uncertainty in her movements, though it was not the uncertainty of a child navigating an unfamiliar path, no— it was as if she were afraid, afraid that her body would fail her, terrified of the possibility of the strength in her limbs receding like the ebbing high tide— a hesitation that had been engraved into her very soul.
Yet, she persevered.
Nocturne was happy— the happiest she had ever been, in both her lives. Every passing day was like a dream come true.
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Eight years in Alecdoria, eleven on Earth. That made her nineteen years old. But Nocturne didn’t feel like she was that old. Their house, a small manor resting at the bottom of the hill was where an overwhelming majority of her time had been spent, not that she had any complaints about it.
Nocturne was different from Altair. She didn’t know why mother had forbidden them from going to the Dungeon Town until they were older. She didn’t spend her time thinking about why mother never talked about who their father was, why there was never any mention of their extended family. Curiosity led to uncertainty. Uncertainty, to suspicion. And suspicion to paths Nocturne cared not for.
As far as she was concerned, everyday spent in Alecdoria was a gift, a blessing from a deity. Their house was warm, cozy and inviting. Each day, mother would personally cook three meals for Nocturne and Altair, sometimes sweet, sometimes savory and oftentimes both— dishes that sated her childish sweet tooth as much as it did her desire for new, refreshing cuisines that she had never sampled before.
Everything and anything mother cooked was infinitely better than the nutrient-rich hospital food she was used to.
A week later, their supplies would be restocked. Fresh herbs. Tender vegetables. Cuts of meats she had never seen before. Flower extracts that came in a plethora of hues and colors. A bluish-white syrup that contained the goodness of sugar without any of the guilt, used to season many of their dishes— for mother said it was good for them. Each day, Altair and Nocturne were fed well, never knowing the clutches of poverty.
The only time when mother wasn’t keeping watch over them was when she was working in her study, for a few hours every day.
Nocturne didn’t know what mother’s job was. Isadora didn’t volunteer information. So Nocturne didn’t ask.
The status quo was fine.
The wish she had yearned for with all her heart had come true.
And most of all, she loved mother.
The delicate care with which Isadora treated her children, the tender love of her embrace wasn’t something that had gone by unnoticed.
As for Doctor Ryan…
The last couple of years had given her plenty of time to organize her thoughts and emotions.
Her guilt at making Doctor Ryan accept the pretty lady’s proposal had lessened when he had revealed to her that he was an orphan. Revealed to her that he had neither spouse nor children who would be saddened at his demise.
She didn’t expect the guilt to ever truly leave her— for she knew how much Doctor Ryan loved treating his patients. She had found herself being forced to confront a question that had left her with many sleepless nights… How many other Sophies out there had she denied a chance to get a Doctor as wonderful as Doctor Ryan to care for them?
The guilt she had felt at that question was immense, but try as she might… Nocturne could not bring herself to feel any regret.
For as much as Nocturne had grown to admire the Doctor, the very nature of their connection would have been a wedge that drove them apart. A Doctor’s purpose was to treat a sick patient. What happened when the patient was no longer sick? What would have happened if Doctor Ryan had successfully managed to cure Sophie?
They would have become strangers.
A transactional relationship concluded. The Hippocratic Oath fulfilled. A contract that had been executed.
Perhaps she could visit from time to time but in the old world, she would only be a hindrance to the person that had saved her life. A hindrance that got in the way of him saving other lives.
How long would such a connection have lasted?
A few weeks? Perhaps. Months? Maybe. Years? Doubtful.
That was the day Nocturne had come face to face with her own selfishness.
Because…
Altair was different.
The invisible, intangible wall that had and would have forevermore continued to exist between them due to the roles society had assigned… no longer existed in Alecdoria.
Altair Isadora-Braveheart was not as composed as Doctor Ryan Kimura. He was not as wise, as patient, as calm, as analytical or as Doctor Ryan had been. Altair had not seen as much of the world as Doctor Ryan had, for he himself had admitted that his memories were incomplete.
And even when they would completely return, he would not be the same person.
But the biggest difference, if Nocturne had to point out one, was the fact that…
Altair genuinely considered her as his sister.
Altair genuinely loved Nocturne as his sister.
She was certain of it.
And it filled her heart with a joy that was incapable of being expressed in mere words.
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