Namet

Born a Demon, I expected my life to be one of a discriminated race.

But, I was proved mostly wrong.

The city I was raised in was a mostly demon-full place. I don’t think there were more than two digits of other races.

Mostly because of the location.

The ‘Hellish’ races, Demons and Devils, were extremely resistant to all forms of heat, I’ve been told.

So, due to the city, I live close to the top of an active volcano, the heat that wafted through the streets was enough to bake cookies with.

Of course, it didn’t feel that way to me, but I did actually see some people on the streets with black pans and dough, baking right there.

It seemed to be similar to the tourist attraction of this place.

So, other than being a demon, I seemed to be born into a noble family with an appearance to uphold.

From the time when I could move, I started being ‘trained’.

My body was built up through constant work. I was taught skills with the family sword style, which happened to be a katana. (It surprised me too.)

My mind was expanded through many different tutors, teaching me all sorts of things. I learned to use my mana at the tender age of half a year old and was able to use it in daily tasks three months later.

When I’d turned a year old, I began sparring with my father, a doting parent that showed no restraint when it came to bending rules for me.

My mother liked to watch these matches, even though her health was getting worse.

Sometimes we had to end the sparring matches short to take her to her bed.

Although, the matches were short anyway. Swordfights do not take a very long time unless you are being taught. But my father moved his blade as if I was an enemy.

Generally, I moved through these things emotionlessly. I moved robotically, making my schedule habit.

It worked wonderfully, most of the times.

Once I’d become two years old, things began to change.

I was out in the yard, practicing my ten thousand swings, the sword in my hands probably over half my weight.

A step forward, the beginning of the downward motion. Foot hits the ground, the blade stops just before the pommel hits your waist. Raise the sword once more as you draw the foot back.

Repeat.

Up. Step. Down. Step. Up.

“Observe the environment as you swing!”

Step. Down. Duck, step. Up.

The stone soared over my head, crashing into the bushes on the edge of the property.

A new training method. Observation.

Step. Down. Step, duck. Up.

Another rock straight into the bushes.

A fox came rushing out, seemingly disoriented as it ran directly towards me. More accurately, it ran towards my sword, as if it wanted to get sliced.

I slowed the blade so that it wouldn’t hit the animal, and it slowed down as well.

So, you want to get hit?

Too bad.

I slammed my sword down into the ground, shearing through the loose dirt of the training grounds. The fox ran into the flat of the blade, taking no more damage than a little pain on its nose.

A girl rushed out of the same bushes as if she had jumped through them.

“Fenrir! Are you alright?!” She yelled out.

I know that name… isn’t it some mythological creature?

“Your fox is fine. I made sure it wasn’t hit.” I lifted the sword from the ground and rested it on my shoulder, being careful not to put too much weight on it.

“Ah, thank you…” The girl seemed confused, checking over the fox as if looking for an injury that should be there but isn’t.

By her movements… Something failed.

So, she wanted me to hit her pet?

“Why do you want it to be hurt?” I asked, tilting my head.

She looked up at me as if I had just revealed a huge secret.

“Why would I want Fenrir to get hurt!? I-I would never do such a thing…” She looked away, fidgeting. Totally sketchy.

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She was Loki, of the nobles.

She would use her pet, Fenrir, a rare black metal wolf, to get compensation after having it injure itself from nobles.

“That’s pretty simple. Not even a really long and difficult plan to accomplish…” I muttered, listening to my father speak about her actions, the girl in question tied up next to me, tearing up while desperately trying to escape.

My sword balanced on the edge of the table, some constant pressure on the handle the only thing keeping it from dropping the blade downwards upon her head.

To keep her under pressure, and to ease my boredom from listening to my father speak, I lessened and greatened the pressure, leading to the blade rising and falling dangerously close to Loki’s head.

“So, Namet…” My father seemed sheepish, pressing the ends of his fingers while turning his head and glancing at me once every few seconds.

By his actions, something in me told me to move the sword, so I turned it over, leaving the flat of the blade tottering above Loki, instead of the blade. She breathed out a sigh of relief.

“How would you feel about getting a sister?” He slammed his table and blurted this out.

The sword dropped out of my control, slamming upon the shocked Loki’s head. She made a yelp of pain before curling on the ground, trying to hold her head, but being unable because of her tied hands.

I started, picking up my sword, and apologizing softly to Loki.

“Now then, what?” I asked my father.

“How would you feel about getting a sister?”

I thought about my mother’s condition.

“Are you sure Mother will be able to handle that? She might die.”

My father took a second to process my words.

“What?” I asked, seeing his confused expression.

“No, it’s just that’s not what I was talking about.”

“Huh?” I thought for a second, glancing down to the girl on the ground, “Oh. That’s what you meant. Yeah, sure, why not?”

I thought only of the Pros and Cons of taking her in as a sister. My emotions were dulled as I thought of it.

In the end, I decided that it wouldn’t be bad to take her into the family. She’d stop causing people trouble, so it wouldn’t cause trouble later on, no matter how small that chance would have been in the first place.

I’d get some experience in taking care of somebody as well, something I’m sure I could use later on in life.

And that’s how I ended up with a sister. She ended up the same age as I, with her birthday just a month and a half before mine, technically making her the older sister.

“It’s time… to… WAKE UP!” Loki yelled as she leaped upon my stomach, waking me up quite thoroughly.

I coughed for a moment, curling up to protect my organs.

“Ah… I’m so glad I got training to strengthen my body… That may have just killed me otherwise…” I sighed, half joking.

“Breakfast is ready!”

This little girl showed a grin at my reaction, baring fangs gleefully. Her ram’s horns prodded my stomach a little bit. They were almost in line with her nose at the tips. After making sure I was awake, she got up and ran out to the kitchen.

It’s been almost a year since then, and Loki’s gotten pretty accustomed to everyone in the family. In fact, I’d say that she’s basically fitting right in. It’s as if she was always here… without proper thought, I’d forget that she wasn’t.

I wonder if that’s just her trait, or if it’s a form of aura?

“Mother!?” I heard her scream.

Indeed.

This was the time when I became aware of my ‘detachment’.

My mother, Arachne. She’d cared for me as much as possible, loving me even though she was weak and dying because of me.

I should have realized it by then, for I didn’t really care about any of that.

But now she’s lying on the floor, blood coming from her mouth, Loki kneeling over her with tears falling from her eyes.

The thoughts running through my mind are those of disbelief.

You got attached that quickly? How did you even manage?! You haven’t even been with her for a year, and half that time she’s been in bed! Sure, you had more time with her in that time than I’d have had in the past year, but still?!

There’s no reason that you should be crying over her. She’s my mother and your foster parent. You shouldn’t even be that attached to her.

I realized the severity of my thoughts and paused.

Shouldn’t I be the one crying right now?

Instead, no tears dripped down my face. I watched the scene in front of me, my mother dying, my older sister crying over her, and my father yelling and screaming for somebody to help.

But I stand here, leaning against this doorway, with an empty feeling in my heart.

And I inspected that.

This feels… familiar… I’ve felt this way in my previous life, before, too. I had just strangely gone through a period of gray, where everything seemed to be deadly boring and I didn’t care about anything I should’ve. I’d diagnosed it as shock just now, but I guess that may’ve been wrong.

Perhaps my reincarnations are all pieces of who I once was? Who I acted like?

Personalities? Ah, well, I didn’t have multiple personalities, so I guess they would be my Personas.

Something within me clicked as if telling me that I was correct.

I felt proud of what I’d accomplished and fought the smile that was threatening to come to my face.

Smiling at a body growing cold is not a thing many people are praised for, after all.

My mother died that day, and the family went into mourning for a week. Well, I was an exception from that. Instead, I thought of my personas, as I’d taken to calling them, and how I could end up meeting them.

I thought of my previous self.

I’d taken many forms and shown many sides of me to the world.

How many of them were taken out and shown here, in this world?

Was my rational side, full of self-restraint, here?

Was my truthful side, unable to lie, here?

Was my Fun side, searching for nothing but what he wants to do, here?

Who was I, and which one of the thirteen that came here is the one who is really me?

These thoughts took my mind and occupied me for a very, very long time.

“Namet… Do you not care about your mother dying?”

Loki asked me one night, sitting next to me on the bed.

I wondered, for a second, about what I should tell her. I decided, only a moment’s worth of hesitation, to tell her the truth.

“No. I can’t say I do.”

She looked up to me, her eyes glistening in the soft manalight that hovered around the room.

“Why don’t you care?”

“Why should I?”

“Because your mother just died! She gave birth to you!” She gripped my arm and began to cry. I reached over with the other one and pressed her face to my chest, really beginning to think about what she asked.

“I don’t know… I guess a few pieces of me are missing. I wouldn’t say I don’t care, so much as I’m not sad. It’s strange. If nothing else, I’ll be here for you to cry on.”

I whispered in her ear and held her as she cried. I didn’t feel my heart stir from being in contact with a pretty girl. I simply went back to thinking about my other pieces.

Eventually, she’d fallen asleep, and I carried her back to her bed. I’d taken quite a while to decide to do so, though. It would have just been easier for me to take her into my bed. The walk was a pain.

But I decided that it would be better to let her wake up in her own bed and be able to reassure herself, if she needed to, with the thought that it may have been a dream.

After that, I went to sleep myself, after a few hours of thought.

The next few days I got very little sleep, having to comfort Loki nearly each night, as she was seemingly unable to fall asleep without crying herself there.

So I made true on my promise and held her as she cried, before carrying her to her own bed each night.

If nothing else, I guess it worked my legs out?

I’m not sure if I’d say that nothing happened before I turned four years old, considering the aftershock that my family suffered from, but I found nothing important lingering in my memory afterward, so it couldn’t have been that bad.

I resumed my training and found it easier to do with each passing day.

As I went to school, when I was home, I would be taught sword techniques, as I was told by my father.

So, I simply waited for my body to develop, relations to break or reinforce, and time to pass.

Eventually, I’d be able to go to school without too many problems.