Avalel restlessly taps on the bed railings. What am I supposed to do with this boredom? He looks around and sighs. None of the nurses are asleep.

Ever since that day in the cave, Avalel could feel he is much more closely monitored than before. At least two nurses constantly sit at the door, as if guarding the entrance in shifts. Sometimes, one would occasionally doze off, but the others would always be awake and vigilant. Just like this, three days have passed, with each day being more agonizingly boring than the previous.

The door creaks open, and Murab enters, his expression gentle as always. “How are you doing today, Avalel?” he inquires.

“Bored as usual,” Avalel replies tiredly, “Isn't there something I can do to pass the time?”

“I understand you want to train with your sword, but you should know your condition isn't ready yet. However, there are some things you can do that don't require much activity.”

“Do you have any suggestions, Doctor?”

Murab thinks for a moment. “Do you like reading?”

“I think I've read a few books, but I haven't read any since I came to Thille.”

“How about let's take a trip to the library of Thille, then?”

“Well, anything's better than sitting on the bed doing nothing.”

Stepping off the bed, Avalel grabs his coat and boots before following Murab out of the hospital. Despite the warmth inside the coat, his exposed face is immediately hit by a freezing gust of wind as they open the door, turning his nose slightly pink.

“Do you need a scarf, Avalel? These few days have been particularly cold,” Murab kindly suggests.

“No thanks,” Avalel replies, “I'll manage.”

Silently, they travel past many crowds of people, weaving between them as they cross streets and walk on avenues. Above them, yaravezas zip across the web of tubes, whistling as they speed back and forth. The bustling roads are filled with chatter, whether it be the cries of children, the shouting of workers, or the muttering of salarymen.

“It's quite busy, isn't it?” Avalel wonders.

“We just happened to coincide with the busiest moments in the morning, that's all,” Murab answers, “It's because of the hard work of the military that allows this city's inhabitants to continue to thrive.”

Finally, they arrive at a large park, surrounded by a tall fence with a single gate for entry and exit. Trees and shrubs decorate the sides of the main path leading to a white, cube-like building. Avalel could see several people walking about, their poses relaxed.

“We're here,” Murab says as he enters the gate, “The library of Thille.”

This is the library? Avalel thinks as he follows Murab. Inside, he could now see wooden benches dotted around the park, a single lamp nearby warming any who sits on it. The path, made of smooth stone, leads them to the main white building, a contrast to the organic colors of the park.

“It's quite difficult maintaining such vegetation in a city like ours, but thankfully, in the years since this library was built, there is always a resourceful and responsible team of custodians who takes great care of the library,” Murab explains as he pushes open the glass door to the building.

Inside the library is a mix of gentle green and white, soothing to the eyes. All levels of the building are visible from the main hall, with gleaming white stairs leading to each level. Warm orange lights fill every corner of the hall, giving off a welcoming presence. People sit at the many comfortable chairs and couches in the library, their eyes fixated on the transparent screens displaying the literature. Many janitors slowly move about in the library, wiping the wooden desks and sweeping the floor. A single custodian sits on a faded but grand wooden chair at the end of the main hall, her fingers carefully flipping through and smoothing out pages of a book, with piles more by her side on the table. It all is magical for Avalel, yet…

“Why do I see no physical books other than the ones by the custodian?” he asks in curiosity. Even in the village there were at least some of them.

“Physical books are a relic of the past, with us common folk only being able to access the digital archives,” Murab explains, “The custodian there is doing preservation work on books. Her hands are coated with paper strengthening liquids that especially help for fragile corners.”

“I see.”

“Well then, what sort of book would you like to read? The library of Thille is one of the few places that avoided the purge of literature from the Confederation years ago, so we have a significantly larger amount of writings. How about you start off there, so you can immerse yourself in works that are practically extinct elsewhere?”

Avalel walks to a vacant seat by the wall, the table cleanly polished and the light blue screen welcoming. With assistance from Murab, a long list of titles are shown, highlighted in a light red. “I'll see what I can find, doctor,” he says. The sheer amount of literature is too overwhelming.

“I hope there's something that piques your interest,” Murab smiles, “But for now, I'll sit a little distance away behind you. You still need some supervision, after all.”

“You're just planning to take some time to slack off, aren't you, Doctor?”

Murab laughs, “Your instincts are still sharp, Avalel.”

Let's see what we have, Avalel thinks as he cautiously taps at the first title on the screen. To his delight but confusion, it is not a particularly wordy article, but rather the handwritten notes of a person. Is this a diary or journal? Before he can realize, his vision is immersed with the large scrawls in front of him, his mind deciphering the meaning behind the unknown author's words.

“One-three, 998:

The festival ended up being quite successful, but it is far quieter than before. The people are on edge, afraid of both the insurrectionists and even us… I didn't have any time to enjoy myself, not when the nation is in shambles under a civil war… Oh look, there is yet another riot outside the gardens, according to my guards. When will I ever get a good night's sleep?”

998… isn't this eighteen years ago? Avalel wonders. And a civil war? He tries to remember what Ipela had said to him when they first met, but to his frustration, he finds only blankness inside the archives of his own mind.

“Three-six, 998:

My secretaries all said I looked quite tired today. Well, they’re not wrong. There's been increased tension between the rebelling factions and us. I wanted more time to prepare my forces before the inevitable, but the pressure is already at a boiling point. The gardens were almost stormed today by yet another angry mob, yet somehow they are calmed by the words of Nasition alone, according to the reports I've received from my guards. Perhaps I should ask my old friend more for advice. There's this deep charisma within him that can be quite powerful.”

Who is this Nasition that he speaks highly of? Avalel wonders, Never mind, I'll read onwards to see what I can find. As Avalel continues going through the journal, he finds only more writings on the apparently large-scale civil war, the entries gradually becoming shorter as he progresses. Still, he did not seem to make much sense of it, the increasingly desperate words sounding very distant from the relative stability in Thille. That is, until a familiar name appears.

“... I am lucky to have as reliable a guard and friend as Faresoenn.” Wait… Dad? Confusion immediately floods his mind, blocking out all other ongoing thoughts. What did he call himself on that night? The captain of the… Guard? Wait, why did his name appear here? This must be a coincidence, right?

He rushes to Murab, out of breath even though the distance between them is only a few steps away. “Doctor, please explain this to me!” He shouts as shoves the screen in front of Murab's face.

“Quiet down, Avalel,” Murab scolds as he begins to read. After a short while, his eyes leave the screen and stare at Avalel gently. “What exactly do you want me to explain?” he asks softly.

“The name 'Faresoenn' is written here,” Avalel replies as he points to the name.

“Faresoenn, huh,” Murab ponders for a moment, “He was quite the celebrity, back then. As it says here, he was the captain of the Guard. For the late Achien Empire, to be exact.”

That name? “Doctor, can you explain more on this Achien Empire?”

“You must've come from somewhere very remote to ask for this,” Murab says as Avalel nods in agreement. As I thought. “Anyways, the Achien Empire was the most powerful nation the world had ever presented, at least until the last few decades. This journal here, at least this entry, was written a little less than two years before its collapse, I assume from the tone by none other than the last king Stasibel.”

“How did it collapse, though? The author seemed to be trying his best to rebuild the nation.”

“I assume you haven't seen the so-called 'Core Lands', Avalel,” Murab sighs, “I've been there a few times before the empire collapsed, and the situation did seem to be improving, until…”

“Until?”

“Until Stasibel was assassinated by a group of his own guard, led by his friend Nasition. He's the one that leads our enemies to the west in the Core Lands, if you don't know already. This is their emblem. You should've seen it if you've been in battle.” He shows an image from his own screen.

Avalel takes a step back in shock. It's that emblem… Was it him who wanted to kill me, controlling from behind the scenes?

He fervently shakes his head. No, this is not what I came to ask for. “What about Faresoenn, then?”

“It was proclaimed by Nasition himself that every single guard that protected Stasibel till the end was slaughtered, but I have heard of rumors that Faresoenn wasn't in the Paladeia at the time.”

“The…”

“The Paladeia, residence of the Achien monarchs for centuries,” Murab clarifies, “Anyway, nothing was heard about him since that day sixteen years ago, and I would assume he actually just died.”

No, this doesn't make sense. “Doctor, it may seem strange that I'm claiming this, but my late father…” How awkward to call Dad anything other than Dad. “... His name is Faresoenn.”

“And? Faresoenn is a rare name, but I would assume there are many Faresoenns in this world.”

“You probably already knew this when I arrived at your hospital, whenever that was, but I'm sixteen years of age.”

“So you're saying that Faresoenn had a child after he disappeared, and that was you?” How absurd! Yet Avalel, standing before him, is completely serious, like some naïve child searching for some special meaning in his life.

Wait… “I remember your birthday was unknown when I asked your superiors for your personal information.”

“My Dad always said my birthday was on the sixteenth day of the eighth month.”

“That's just impossible, then!” Murab exclaims, “Your birthday was just one month before the assassination, and Faresoenn seldom ever left the Paladeia in the final months, not to mention it was just to escort Stasibel around!”

“So you're saying…” No, this can't be true.

“Your dad Faresoenn wasn't the Faresoenn mentioned here, the captain of the Guard.”

“But I remembered he called himself that on the night…”

“On the night?”

“On the night he died. He wouldn't fabricate such a lie just before his death, Doctor, if it's as absurd as you say.”

“You must be remembering things differently, then,” Murab sighs in exasperation, “Your head injury must've been getting into you.”

“But…”

“Well, it was a nice trip to the library, but it's time to go back now, Avalel,” Murab stops him with a smile, “We can always discuss this later.”

Reluctantly, Avalel follows Murab to the exit as they return to the hospital yet again. By the time they arrive, Avalel has given up complaining and instead decides to make sense of his conversation with Murab alone as a means to pass the time. However, he is not the only one. Murab sits at his desk, his chin resting on his hands as he wonders about the conversation.

He remembers the reputation of Faresoenn all those years ago, one of simple righteousness, loyalty, and cruelty all in one. Faresoenn was known as the Devil of Achien, but only for his enemies, most of whom never witnessed his power beyond a glance. Often, Murab would hear of Faresoenn buying groceries from local markets when he is on a break, talking with the people, even stopping to play games with children. For him, of all people, to have an illegitimate child would be beyond impossibility.

Yet there is Avalel’s peculiar birthday and appearance. Being born just shortly before the collapse of the Empire, it could’ve been no more than a coincidence. However, he has the appearance of one originating from the Core Lands with his tall, lean build, even looking similar to the killed royal couple, bearing the eyes and stature of Stasibel while having the fine, brown hair of Macrera. It could still be merely a coincidence… but what if it isn’t?

Well, then, if that is the case… who are you?