Edited by: bafflinghaze
The man winced as he felt a sharp pain in his head.
He had been walking. The entourage of priests and priestesses that followed his every step were annoying, but it was, nonetheless, a leisurely walk.
It became a not-so-leisurely walk when he heard the cries of alarm.
There was a commotion near the gates; lots of shouting and screaming. The man turned toward the entrance and tried catching a glimpse of what was happening.
Someone picked up a body on the ground and started running.
Huh.
“Your Eminence, are you alright?”
His attention was brought back to his group of followers. They immediately surrounded him like pigeons to bread and voiced their concerns like well-rehearsed thespians.
The weather was too warm.
They should have brought a parasol.
Why did he insist on walking? They would have gladly carried him on the sedan chair.
None of them paid any mind to the chaos happening near the gates.
Honestly, he thought, helpless. Was he the only one worried about what was going on over there?
“I’m alright.” He tried to reassure them with a smile, as if he hadn’t fainted last week.
“It is too hot, Your Eminence. Your face is turning red. Shall we go inside?”
Before he could object, they hurried him back to his chambers.
In the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but wonder about the strange feeling he had when looking at the gate.
—
Aurelion was on a cliff. Below, violent waves were crashing against the stone. The sky was dark and grey, and rain pelted against his skin.
His clothes were soaked through, his hair was wet, and it was difficult to see through the rain.
There was a familiar figure standing at the edge of the cliff, staring at him with pity while blood seeped from thin pale fingers trying to put pressure on a stab wound.
“Aurelion,” his brother said, voice soft. Gentle. Heartbreakingly sad.
There was a trail of blood that followed Nazareth to the edge. He stood there, however, and watched him.
A strange anger surged through Aurelion’s body as he met his brother’s gaze.
He took a forward step, his grip tight around his heavy sword, intending to finish what he had started.
His brother took a step back. A few steps more and he would fall.
—And for some reason, Aurelion felt elated at the thought.
Confusion stirred in the back of his mind.
What was happening?
His brother continued to bleed, face twisting lightly when he moved. His hand was soaked through and no amount of pressure was going to help the injury.
Belatedly, Aurelion wondered, did he do that?
Why?
“It’s not your fault!” his brother yelled, voice nearly lost in the rain. “It’s okay, Aurelion. Everything will be fine.”
But nothing was going to be fine.
This was the end.
Warm vermillion eyes bore into him as if reading his mind.
“It’s okay. I’m here—”
“It’s not okay!” The words tore out of him before he could stop himself. He rushed forward and swung his sword—
Nazareth managed to dodge, falling to the ground.
Aurelion continued swinging his sword, crazily attacking without purpose.
“You don’t get to tell me what to do! Stop looking at me like that! I don’t need your help! I don’t need anyone’s help—”
“Wait, stop—!”
A blade sunk between Aurelion’s left shoulder.
He froze.
Dropping his sword, he looked at Nazareth, who was now on the ground from dodging his attacks.
His brother stared at the blade that had gone through his shoulder.
What the fuck is happening?!
He shouted something, rising to his feet despite his own injuries.
Aurelion felt the blade suddenly pull out of him roughly and he swayed.
But then, warm arms wrapped around him and he heard the melody from before being hummed in a voice unused to the action.
Aurelion tried to struggle out of those arms. He felt the blood that wasn’t his own dampen his clothes, and he wanted to escape as far away as possible.
His mind was riddled with guilt and resentment.
Why did he feel as if he already knew the outcome of all of this? No, the story couldn’t possibly end this way—
—
Consciousness returned to Aurelion slowly, like molasses. But then it slapped him across the face.
“Wake up.”
Ah, no. That was just Guinivere.
She delivered another slap across his face.
“Wake up.”
Aurelion peeled his eyes open, trying desperately to ignore the pounding in his head. He found his sister hovering over him with a blank expression, hand raised for another slap.
“I’m awake,” he said hoarsely, painfully aware of how sore his entire body was. His neck was especially throbbing. Was he lying on the ground or something?
As a matter of fact, he was lying on the ground, and the only thing cushioning his head was his traveling bag.
Guinivere leaned back, expression set cold and emotionless.
He sat up. She handed him a waterskin.
After taking a few slow sips of water, he gave it back to her.
“What happened?”
The room they were in was empty. The walls were cold white marble, pearlescent beams extended from the floor to the ceiling, and large windows overlooking the city. It was an open space that left a very hollow feeling in his chest.
“After you fainted from heatstroke, they brought us here. It’s the prayer room.”
Aurleion paused. “The what now?”
“The prayer room, for the sick and injured.”
He squinted at her. “Should I not be in a healing chamber? Or an apothecary?”
“I’m afraid the Holy City does not have any of those, Young Master Aurelion.”
Lethe entered the room with a bowl of water and a towel.
“They do, however, have blessed water.” The servant dipped the towel into the water and wrung it. “I got this blessed by one of the priests.”
They handed the wet towel over to Aurelion, who hesitantly wiped his face and neck with it.
Ignoring the fact that the Holy City had no medical facilities—seriously, what the hell—Aurelion stood up.
“What time is it?”
Lethe checked the sand clock in their pocket. “It is an hour before sunset.”
He slept for how long?!
“How did we get through the gates?” Last he checked, they didn’t carry any identification with them.
We’re sorry for MTLers or people who like using reading mode, but our translations keep getting stolen by aggregators so we’re going to bring back the copy protection. If you need to MTL please retype the gibberish parts.
Guinivere shoved her scarf in front of him and flipped it over. Near the edge of the woven fabric, there was a small embroidered symbol.
“Benedick puts his personal seal on all his belongings.”
Well, that was convenient.
And also explained why Benedick and Dagon sent them off without any identification plaques.
A man dressed in priestly robes suddenly burst into the room.
“Excuse me, are you a part of the Benedick Pilgrimage?”
“Yes, we are. Is something wrong?” Aurelion asked.
The priest shook his head. “No, we just need you to vacate the premises. The rooms for the Benedick Pilgrimage have already been set up for all of you. Please inform Heir Benedick that his personal suite will be made available once he arrives.”
Then, they were promptly kicked out of the prayer room (for the sick and injured).
“Make way for His Eminence!”
Right as they started to leave the hall, a crowd of people all dressed in white rushed past them, carrying a figure in a sedan chair.
They all entered the prayer room and slammed the door shut.
“So,” Aurelion said, after a moment. “What are we having for dinner?”
—
As it turned out, dinner would be served at sunset. To accommodate the large intake of visitors during the pilgrimage season, the Church had a large dining hall that could fit about fifty-thousand people.
For ninety days straight, the dining hall kitchen served two meals per day, breakfast and dinner.
One at sunrise, and one at sunset.
For free.
To fifty-thousand people.
Which was good because most pilgrims took a vow of poverty and did not carry coins.
When they entered the dining hall, the first thing they noticed was how noisy it was.
There were rows and rows of long tables, each capable of seating what looked to be hundreds of people.
The meals were served by young holy disciples, children of pilgrims who were blessed by the gods. There were many of them darting around from person to person, with water jugs and food. Their white robes didn’t deter them from maneuvering around the chaos that was fifty thousand hungry people.
Aurelion, Guinivere, and Lethe took their seats near the end of a table toward the very back of the dining hall. This particular table had more room than the ones up front, which indicated that it was the last table to be served in the entirety of the dining hall.
For hungry visitors, this was an unfavorable spot to be in, but for people like them, it was the perfect place to be.
“Is this seat taken?”
A tall man with brown hair and brown eyes appeared in front of them with a smile. Beside him was a woman in a plain black dress.
Aurelion scooted over and made a gesture with his hand.
“All yours.”
The pair took their seats quietly. No one said a word as they waited to be served.
Aurelion secretly observed the pair from the corner of his eyes.
The man was dressed in a simple sleeveless tunic that had certainly seen better days. Tiny white scars littered his arms, which were enviably massive. He looked as if he could lift Aurelion with one arm.
As for the woman, she had her ash-grey hair pulled into a tight bun that made Aurelion’s scalp tingle. There was a cold presence around her which naturally warded off anyone who might have tried to sit beside her. Her eyes were pitch black and lacked the bright relief of simple pilgrims awaiting a free meal in the Holy City.
No, on second thought, despite how the man and woman tried to disguise themselves, Aurelion realized they were just like him and his sister.
Pretenders.
Aurelion checked his color-changing charm around his wrist, making sure they were still active. The pulse of magic calmed him.
He was being paranoid. The charms should still be active for another few hours.
Guinivere jabbed his side, and he hissed at her in annoyance.
He was still unused to seeing her hair colored with red. While traveling with Benedick and Dagon, she could have easily claimed she was the long-lost brother of Benedick or something along those lines.
Perhaps they should have done that instead of having to go through this whole farce as servants of the Benedick Family.
The thought of Benedick and Dagon made Aurelion somewhat nauseous. They had left them in the literal nowhere of the Desertland to fend off an army of Sand Nomads.
Despite all the jokes about babysitting, Aurelion didn’t truly believe they would go so far to protect them.
And now, he and Guinivere had to trust that the pair would arrive on time for the extraction in two days.
That’s right. They had two days to get the Saintess out of here.
The weight of the mission suddenly felt overwhelming.
Nazareth…
Would his brother ever wake up?
With each day that passed, he felt so useless.
It was the same feeling as all those other times when he failed to protect himself against Nazareth’s attempts on his life.
Useless, like the stupid child his brother always thought—
The slap came out of nowhere.
“What the hell, Guinivere?!”
There were a few gasps around the table.
“Language, young man!” a woman cried out.
Excuse me?! His sister just slapped him for no reason!
Aurelion whipped his head around to tell the woman off when a spoon was abruptly shoved into his hand by Lethe.
“Perhaps you should eat first… Lio,” Lethe said. The slight pause in their sentence was subtle. The servant was unused to addressing him so casually.
“You’re right,” Aurelion said through gritted teeth, glaring at his sister who slowly ate her food as if nothing was wrong.
Aurelion shoved a spoonful of gruel into his mouth, not really tasting anything. The dish was bland but filling.
The people beside them suddenly erupted with laughter. Aurelion turned and saw that the brown-haired man was telling a funny story. Beside him, the expressionless woman pulled the corner of her lips into a subtle smile.
“… so my brother asked Airua when her brother decided to add the feathers and she claimed it was his wife’s idea. Of course, my brother tells her that Gerald’s wife is a genius, and in the back of my mind, I’m thinking, ‘is she?’, but of course, I can’t say that unless I have a death wish, and my brother-in-law would have to ruin my life if I did—”
It was certainly cozy on that side of the table.
“Cas,” the grey-haired woman said in a warning tone to her… husband? Yet, there was a spark of humor in her eyes.
The man was funny, and the way he spoke drew people’s attention to him. He had undeniable charisma and his speech was very sophisticated.
Aurelion paid close attention to the man. There was something strange about him that he couldn’t pinpoint.
Perhaps it was the hint of an accent in his voice. Almost… Polska in the way he pronounced certain words. Though the accent was largely hidden, it was audible to those who were looking for it.
The rest of the evening meal continued in this manner, with laughter and voices and silent observations.
—
Royce entered the gate with his pilgrimage in tow at dawn.
He was exhausted and in dire need of a bath. Battling Sand Nomads under the sweltering heat of the Desertland was messy and sweaty and he desperately needed to get rid of the smell of blood, urine, and shit on his clothes.
People underestimated what the body was capable of doing in death.
Disgusting and horrendous and PTSD-inducing, but he didn’t have time for a panic attack when there were more important things on the line than his current mental bandwidth.
All in all, no one in their party died, thankfully. A few people were injured, and both Royce and Finneas were sporting some cuts and bruises, but there were no deaths or life-threatening injuries, which was good.
Neo’s siblings should have made it safely past the pearly gates of hypocrisy and nepotism as well, so that was one less thing to worry about.
The check-in process for his party went quickly. The suite set up for him was nice.
Royce stripped down and got into a steaming tub, feeling his cuts sting once they made contact with the hot water and soap.
He washed his hair thoroughly, removing sand and gunk from the strands.
Behind a privacy screen, there was a splash. Finneas was also washing up.
“Fuck,” Finneas cursed quietly, no doubt feeling sore from mana depletion.
Royce leaned back against the tub and closed his eyes. “You good?”
“I hate sand.”
“Same here.”
“Everything hurts like a bitch.”
“That’s what happens when you summon lightning.”
“Hrghhh.”
Royce opened his eyes and sighed.
They washed up and called Tybalt.
—
They were waiting.
Guinivere knew little about patience. She was, after all, her mother’s daughter. Patience was a virtue, but battle required decisive actions and honed instincts. Perhaps in another world, she would have taken after her father’s careful temper, but this was the world they lived in and they needed to make do with what they could.
She was her brother’s protector—his sword, his shield, and his second.
Until the day he becomes Duke, she would remain beside him.
As was tradition.
Though, traditions have already been broken long ago.
First was Nazareth, their older brother.
And now, it was their Aunt.
Guinivere wasn’t stupid. The clues were all there, laid out neatly in front of them.
Their father was not the first-born child. He was named after a sword and should have been a protector himself, and yet, he was named the Heir.
Then he went on to sire three children.
Perhaps everything started with father, the protector turned heir.
Aurelion crossed his arms with a raised brow. “Interesting theory, but you are aware that father isn’t the first second-born to take over, right?”
Guinivere frowned. “Brother’s birth mother.”
Her brother froze. “I thought we agreed—”
“I am right. Say it.”
Aurelion glared at her. Guinivere glared back.
“Say it.”
Both their jaws were set in that particular stubborn way as they glowered at each other.
“You know, I once saw a portrait of Lady Alousyia in Brother’s room. Before he burned it.”
The painting was made by an artist who was profiting off of Lady Alouysia’s image. They disappeared several years ago after Nazareth found out what they were doing.
Aurelion narrowed his eyes. “What are you implying?”
Guinevere shrugged. “She looks awfully similar to Duke Elys—”
“Guinivere!”
The temperature of the room dropped, and the atmosphere was filled with tension.
Guinivere wasn’t willing to back down from this. As rare as it was for her and Aurelion to fight, they still had their disagreements.
It was strange to be arguing about their brother of all things, and yet, here they were, asserting dominance against each other while trying to kidnap the Empire’s Saintess in a bid to save him.
Ridiculous.
It was all so ridiculous, and she had no patience for this farce any longer.
She wanted Nazareth to wake up and she wanted him to wake up now.
The silence drew on and Guinivere refused to relent.
Finally, Aurelion looked away.
“We’re not sharing,” he said. “He’s ours.”
“Of course we’re not.” Guinivere rolled her eyes, exasperated. “But I’m still right. Say it.”
“… Fine. You’re right. Happy?”
“Very.”
Her brother huffed. “So what? You think the stars aligned and now the curse is broken? What is this? The Astronomical Collision Theory?”
“Yes.”
Guinivere didn’t bother defending her points. She was steadfast in her beliefs and knew she was at least eighty-five percent correct. She ran the numbers. Nazareth would be proud.
The two of them sat in their room in silence, waiting.
When the sand clock indicated that the time was close to noon, Lethe entered the room with intel.
“The Saintess will be making an appearance at the Hall of Blessings.”
Guinivere and Aurelion stood up from their respective beds.
Their previous information was correct. The annual blessing only happened twice, and they made it just in time for the one the Saintess was responsible for.
—
At noon exactly, they arrived at the Hall of Blessings.
The room was packed with people of all shapes and sizes. There were noble families and their representatives standing toward the front of the room while pilgrims and devoted believers took their places toward the back.
Guinivere and her brother stood beside a group of servants from the Benedick Family.
Looking around, there was no sign of Benedick or Dagon anywhere, which only meant they had gone to do whatever it was they intended to do in the Holy City.
Guinivere recalled receiving the missive from Benedick earlier this morning when he and Dagon arrived at the city. The extraction plan to get out of the city was still scheduled for tomorrow, which meant they needed to get into contact with the Saintess as soon as possible.
The noise in the room quieted when a priest and priestess appeared at the entrance of the Hall of Blessings.
The pair walked through the crowd, which parted for them like the Cardinal Sea.
Once they reached the very front of the room, they spoke in unison.
“Kneel before the presence of Her Eminence, Saintess Auria.”
Around them, people dropped to their knees in awe.
Guinivere and her brother kneeled on the ground and clasped their hands together.
The large door behind the priest and priestess flew open with a resounding bang, startling everyone in the room.
A moment later, a woman stepped through.
There were several surprised gasps as she made her way down the Temple steps. Her feet seemed to be gliding as she carefully moved.
She wore a white chiton dress and a long sheer veil that covered her face and hair. The bells around her ankles echoed cheerfully as she drew closer to the crowd of worshippers, until finally, they stopped.
It seemed as if everyone was holding their breath as they waited.
“What is your name… young man?”
Guinivere saw the hem of a white silk dress appear in her line of sight.
“…”
She felt a nudge from her brother.
Raising her head to shoot him a glare, her gaze stuttered to a stop and she looked up.
Guinivere paused.
Blue sapphire eyes met her own from beneath the veil.
She recognized that face.
The Saintess could have been mistaken for a female version of their father.
And now that the hair and eye colors were correct, Guinivere realized this was the same woman who sat beside them during the evening meal.
“Your name?” the Saintess repeated again.
“… Gary, Your Eminence,” Guinivere answered without shame.
The Saintess nodded. “You will have my blessing, Gary. Follow me.” She turned to walk back up the steps.
Guinivere stood, but she did not follow. “What of my brother, Your Eminence? He is a fool and cannot be left alone.”
The temperature beside her dropped by several degrees.
The Saintess continued walking, throwing out a sentence. “He may come as well.”
The crowd parted once more. Expressions of wonder and envy could be seen among the worshippers.
Guinivere followed after the Saintess with her brother.
When they stepped past the priest and priestess, she noticed that both of their faces were twisted with fury.
The priest looked as if he wanted to say something. He tried to approach them, but the priestess held him back. He could only swallow his anger and glare at the Saintess’ retreating back.
—
They didn’t know where they were going.
The Saintess took them down a hallway that stretched on and on. This place was completely devoid of decorations and, strangely enough, windows.
The hallway echoed with their footsteps, creating an eerie sort of anticipation as they walked.
Finally, they arrived in front of a large double-door entrance with a holy knight standing guard.
The holy knight greeted the Saintess with a bow, their armor creaking as they did so. They wore traditional full-body armor with a helmet and white cloak, and their saber sword was kept sheathed on their back.
The ensemble looked incredibly stuffy in the hot summer weather.
“You may reveal yourself, Casimir,” the Saintess ordered once they stepped into the room.
Aurelion’s mind stuttered to a halt.
“It’s you.”
Beneath the helmet was the man who had sat with them at their table the night before.
Which only meant—
The Saintess took off her veil.
Rather than ash-grey hair and pitched black eyes, Aurelion was met with the sight of raven black locks and Sapphire eyes.
The Saintess wordlessly stared at him and Guinivere, the action sharp with a cold and assessing gleam that reminded him so much of their father.
“Take off your charms. I want to see you,” the Saintess ordered.
They did as they were told without arguing.
Suddenly, three very similar faces looked at each other.
There was a whistle. The man—the holy knight, Casimir—leaned against a wall and crossed his arms.
“You weren’t kidding when you said those genetics were strong.”
The Saintess raised an unamused brow at him, which shut him up completely.
She turned back to the siblings and offered a small smile.
“I am your aunt, Auria. Your father has told me much about you two. It is a shame we must meet under these conditions, but I believe we will have more time to get to know each other in the future.”
Instincts fell into place with the formal introduction and both Aurelion and Guinivere bowed respectfully to their aunt.
“A pleasure to meet you, Aunt Auria. I am Aurelion, the heir. You are right it is a shame, but I have no doubt we will be seeing each other more from now on.”
“I am Guinivere, Aunt Auria. I, too, hope to meet you often in the future.”
“How sweet. I am charmed. May the gods bless you, dear one.”
The three of them paused.
Ah, it seemed they all reverted back to their formal etiquettes.
As they say—when in doubt, follow the social etiquette dictionary every Odum child between the ages of six and twelve was required to read. If someone introduced themselves and the situation was not favorable for pleasantries, reassure them and make promises one could reasonably keep.
“Seriously, are all of you born like this?”
Neither their Aunt nor Aurelion deigned to answer the question Casimir posed.
It was Guinivere who spoke, instead. “We have an ancestor named Gladwyne the Lover who had a harem of wives and husbands and was known for his generosity and affection.”
Casimir blinked, slowly. “I… see.”
“Why bring up Gladwyne?” Aurelion scoffed, “Mother and Father are generous and affectionate, and brother has shown he is capable of it, as well.”
His sister quickly realized his words were true and hummed in agreement.
Their Aunt nodded as well, sending Casimir an admonishing look. “I’d like to think my affections for you are loving enough.”
“I’m… I don’t think any of you understood what I meant, but yes. You are absolutely right.”
—
The Moores Manor was a dark building that appeared cold and lonely despite the warm summer breeze and sunlight.
Laurel stood before the gate. Behind her was the Odum carriage she borrowed. The driver waited for her as if knowing her hesitation would lead her to climb back in and pretend she was never there in the first place.
But Laurel couldn’t do that.
Not now, when a life was on the line.
But what if Astella—
Before she could change her mind, a figure approached the gate and opened it.
In front of her stood a handsome servant with silver eyes and ash-grey hair, and a large scar that stretched from his chin to his cheek. He smiled at her with all the charms of Capable Servant.
“Good evening, Your Grace. My Mistress has been expecting you.”
“She has, huh?” The words left Laurel’s mouth before she could stop herself.
The deprecating feeling she felt since the split hadn’t emerged in a long time. Astella had always driven her mad with emotions.
She followed the servant into the manor, and they walked in silence.
“What is your name?” Laurel asked.
“You may call me Llewyn, Your Grace.”
Ah.
Her wariness spiked.
The grey hair, the silver eyes, and the double letter name.
She heard the rumors of a newcomer in the underworld. The Castas Family had recently found an illegitimate grandson and many were waiting with bated breaths to see if the man could dethrone the long-reigning heir.
Oh, Astella, how far you’ve fallen.
Laurel thought with grief now that she had seen the boy.
Only Astella would be cruel enough to shackle her own half-brother before he even had the chance to prove himself to her.
Laurel knew, in the back of her mind, that the Astella she loved died long ago with the beloved older sister Astella held dear to her heart.
She was brought into a drawing room and served tea by Lleywn. After the drink was poured, the servant excused himself and left.
Laurel sat on a couch by herself and glanced at the teacup.
She picked it up, went over to a potted plant, and dumped the liquid into the soil.
The plant started to wither right before her eyes.
Laurel unwillingly felt a wave of exasperation as the plant died, because it was almost endearing in a way that was so similar—
“What does the great Duchess of Elysium want with this humble lady?”
The low cutting voice came from behind her.
Laurel froze, tea cup still angled incriminatingly.
Then she turned around to face her old friend.
Astella had somehow entered into the room without her notice and was currently sitting cross-legged while serving herself the poisoned tea.
She was still as beautiful as Laurel last remembered, with her ash-grey hair tied intricately into a bun and her striking silver eyes that narrowed with calculations.
However, gone were the sparks she once held in her eyes. She was a muted and emotionless woman made entirely out of stone, and Laruel’s heart ached.
She took a deep breath and made her way over to Astella. Astella tensed when she sat down across from her.
Laurel pursed her lips. She met (familiarkindpleadingfurious) cold silver eyes and slowly said, “Be honest with me, Stella. Did you poison Alouysia’s son?”
—
Step 49. Have people get in contact with your long-lost relatives. From here on, find a way to get said long-lost relatives back to your home. While it does feel rather illegal in the context of the situation, it is not necessarily a crime if no one is caught.
The author has something to say:
Will Neo, the main character of this story, be awake before 2025? *Stares at a vague outline* We shall see.
Interesting family history, had a Harem.
Thank you for the update 😊
I just found this story and caught up with all the chapters! Goddammit, this story got me hooked from the start. I love it!! My poor babies, bless their souls.
Thank you for the updates! Hearts to you, author ❤️
thank you for the update!!!!!!!!! I am so locked into this story!
I didn’t know that I’m reading a Sleeping beauty reimagining…