"Don't get me wrong—I don't want to kill my mother," she said, clenching her fist. "I just… despise her."
She stood abruptly. "Let's find something to eat."
Without a moment's hesitation, she pulled Daylan to his feet. But as soon as he stood, a sharp pain exploded in his head. He clutched his skull instinctively, a scream tearing from his throat as he dropped to his knees in agony.
Concerned, Medora dropped beside him, trying to get him to speak—desperate to understand what was happening. But Daylan's vision blurred, and her voice grew more distant with each passing second. It felt like thousands of needles were being driven into his skull, again and again, with relentless precision.
Before he knew it, Daylan collapsed, unconscious. Panic gripped Medora as she shook him, calling his name—but there was no response. Her hands trembled as she used her healing magic, casting it over him in desperation, but it had no effect. Heart racing, she bolted out of the library and returned moments later with Astara. Together, they did everything they could to wake him, but nothing worked. With no other choice, they rushed him to the infirmary.
It was clear he was still alive—his heart continued to beat—but his senses, his consciousness, were far beyond their world.
All Daylan could feel in his unconscious state were memories—fragments of the past flashing through his mind with unsettling clarity. They were Daylan's, that much was clear, but they came in scattered pieces, disjointed and incomplete. It felt as if something deep within him was clawing for a specific truth, something just out of reach.
And as the memories crashed over him, a voice—his own, yet distant and distorted—began to echo through the haze.
Revenge… Revenge!
Each time the words echoed through his mind, his temperature spiked, and the pain surged as if he were reliving every moment firsthand. Slowly, his body began to settle—his heartbeat still rapid, but steadying. Yet, he remained unconscious.
After hours of unconsciousness, Daylan's eyes slowly fluttered open. The world came back to him in fragments—soft light, the quiet hum of silence—and then he saw her. Medora sat by his side, watching over him.
"Hey, Dora." He wore a big smile, his eyes squeezed.
Medora turned to him in an instant. "What happened? Are you okay?"
Daylan gave a faint nod and slowly adjusted himself, pushing up to sit upright on the bed. Pain flared in his head, sharp and unrelenting, forcing a grimace as he clenched his teeth.
But he endured it. Before he could say a word, Medora reached out, her hand glowing softly as she cast healing magic over him, easing the pain.
"Can we talk? I think there's something you must know… by the way, I remember everything about you now." He grinned.
"Oh… so you have your memories now."
"Not really. But I have enough."
Daylan rose and picked up his uniform, heading for the door with Medora close behind. Without a word, they made their way straight to the library. The moment they stepped inside, Astara rushed over to him.
Her face etched with worry, she reached out and gently touched his cheek.
"Are you okay, Day?"
Daylan offered a warm smile and gave a small nod. Medora gently took her seat.
"What happened?" Astara asked, watching Daylan head for her seat.
Daylan sat down, leaned back, and propped his legs up on the desk, a fearsome smirk playing on his lips.
"I want revenge."
"What do you mean?" Astara asked, turning to Daylan.
"There's no twist to it… I want revenge." He folded his hands behind his head, his tone dark and unwavering.
"I don't know much, but that's what Daylan wants—and that's what I want. Whoever killed me knew me well. I still remember the mocking smirks on their faces as they praised their leader, mumbling about how my blood would make her stronger."
He dropped his legs and leaned forward, propping his elbows on the desk. His voice turned colder.
"This world is cruel—filled with power-hungry tyrants and monsters who hide among the innocent. Just like the one I came from. Everything revolves around power and money. That's why I'm going to make them pay."
His gaze darkened. "I still remember the pain in my eyes as they stole the oxygen from my lungs. I begged them, tears streaming down my face… but they just laughed. Repeating, over and over, how their leader would rise above all—with my blood."
Astara and Medora's eyes flickered with unease, their lips slightly parted. They had never seen Daylan look so sinister.
"I was reincarnated as Daylan for a reason—a reason no one gets to force on me. Not my former parents, not fear, not even a sense of humor." His voice was low and resolute.
"Humans are cruel—they've always been cruel. It doesn't matter the dimension or timeline. The inhuman look in their eyes… it was the same gaze my parents gave me for fourteen years."
He paused, bitterness bleeding through his words.
"And now I understand it too well. Humans will always kill for what they want."
He leaned back into his seat.
"Princess Astara…" he smirked, locking eyes with her.
Fractal Echo—he thought, his nerves relaxed.
*What's he thinking? He looks terrifying… Wait—did he remember something about my parents? Are those who killed him involved with my parents?* Astara's mind raced, but her face remained unreadable.
Daylan's smirk deepened the moment he saw straight through her calm facade, her eyes flickering.
"I'm afraid the tables have to turn, Princess. Help me get my revenge—and while I expose the church for what it truly is, I promise you this: I'll make sure you uncover everything there is to know about your parents."
Her eyes widened as she froze in place.
Medora spoke up with a grin. "Well, you already know I'm in—especially when it comes to you and the church."
She met Daylan's grin with one of her own, a spark of defiance in her eyes.
Daylan was grateful for Medora's loyalty—he needed her. But not as much as he needed Astara. With her on his side, he could reach places far beyond the limits of his own influence. More importantly, he needed her quiet, unremarkable strength at his disposal.
Yet Astara remained frozen. It was as if the realization that Daylan knew something about her parents had shattered her world. Whether it was fear or relief, he couldn't tell.
Astara's expression suddenly softened. "I'm in," she said quietly, then added with firm resolve, "But we're not doing this to lose—we do it to win."
That was the energy Daylan had hoped for.
He smiled.
When he delved into Daylan's memories, he realized they had more in common than he'd ever imagined. Their worlds had always collided—they didn't need a spell from a comic book, or Zalithor and Nerathis, to become one.
The world had always looked down on them. No matter what they did, it was never enough.
For Dexter, the only ones who truly understood him were his fans—yet even they had no idea how slowly the world was swallowing him whole.
And for Daylan, the only people who ever truly saw him were those he called family. But even then, the world refused to let him protect them. It devoured him too, piece by piece.
But now, they were one. And together, they would strip the world of people like that—those who fed on others and called it strength.
Without a moment's hesitation, Daylan slammed his hands on the desk, rose to his feet, and said firmly, "Let's start planning our next move."
He glanced around the room. "For now, all I need is this library. I'll read every book here within a week."
His gaze shifted to Astara. "At that time, I need you to ask around. I doubt anyone would turn you down—ask if they've seen or heard anything about the men in black."
Then he turned to Medora. "I want you to issue us quests as a cover, and speak with your friends in the Honor Guard. See if any of them have encountered these men."
He stepped back, voice firm. "But that's not all. We train—hard. No excuses. We give it everything."
Daylan wanted to head out and conduct his own research, but he knew it had nearly been a week—meaning the Bastian family would soon come after him. For now, he had to stay indoors, gather as much information as possible, and train for what was coming.
He wanted to start reading right away but wasn't sure where to begin. Then it hit him—there was no doubt Mr. Enzo would come after him too, and both the Jireh and Bastian families held deep roots in the history of Honor City.
Given his recent discovery that a Jireh was among the founders of the Anti-Diviners, researching those families wouldn't just help him counter their moves—it might also lead him to valuable clues.
Without wasting a second, he dove in.