The birds were humming their cheerful melodic songs. Another pleasant morning had dawned.
Sitting up on a grassy patch next to a creek, Xavier stifled a yawn. Then, with slightly watery eyes, he languidly looked at the familiar scenery that laid out before him.
The village looked just as he remembered it, albeit more bright and saturated in colour than he had imagined. The large, flat expanse of lush green in the distance marked the grazing fields for the village’s cattle. In front of the fields was the chapel, the only brick-and-mortar building in the village. Meanwhile, the tiny wood and mud huts that were home to the villagers he grew up with surrounded the chapel in concentric circles. Pillars of smoke rose from a few of the chimneys in sight, and he could hear the faint tolling of bells coming from the chapel.
Of course, there was no way all that was real. Rasputina had been on the Orient Express just mere moments ago, returning to her compartment after a long and relaxing bath with Anastasia. She must have been so tired after the day’s events that she fell asleep immediately after stepping into the warm comfort of her living room.
But why would she become her original self in this dream? Ever since she had taken on her new body, her dreams had changed to reflect herself instead of Xavier. Yet somehow, here she was back in Xavier’s body, gazing emotionlessly upon the place he once called ‘home’.
“Around this time of the year, it would start to snow in Kolmheim Village,” a voice spoke from beside him.
He started and instinctively backed away from the unexpected stranger.
Strangely enough, the stranger’s features appeared hazy when he tried to peer at their shadowy figure. Did he know this person? He had heard from someplace that the people who appear in dreams take on the appearance of someone familiar to the dreamer, since it was impossible for the human brain to conjure up new faces. But the more he stared at the figure, the blurrier their features became. Just like the painting in the cathedral, it was as though there was some kind of veil obfuscating his vision; though, when he blinked and glanced back at the village, everything looked normal. With a puzzled frown, he looked back at the stranger again and noticed that the distance between them was now closer.
“Who are you?” he asked, slightly alarmed.
“I’m the creator of this world you’re in,” the stranger answered in a cryptic voice that sounded more mechanical than human. He could sense that they were smiling at him. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you, Xavier of Kolmheim. I hope that us being in a place familiar to you will help ease the awkwardness that naturally comes with every first encounter.”
“So, you fabricated this reality in order to meet me?” He glanced around him sharply. The warmth of the sun, the cool sensation of the breeze, the smell of grass and mud, the murmuring of water flowing down the nearby creek—they all seemed so convincingly real no matter how hard he examined his surroundings. Could this stranger be a god?
“Yes, you’re right,” they replied, locking their hands behind their back. “I am what your kind considers to be ‘God’. Every place of worship in your world bears an image of mine.”
Somehow, Xavier wasn’t too surprised by the fact that they had read his mind. However, he didn’t quite know what to say next, so he simply kept silent and waited for the stranger to continue.
“I’m the one who granted you the body of Saintess Rasputina, my dear Xavier,” they added after a long pause. “In fact, I’m pleasantly surprised at how well you have adjusted to your new form—”
“Y-you did THAT?!” Xavier exclaimed, his mouth gasping open in shock. He found it suddenly difficult to maintain eye contact with the stranger. “W-w-what have you…”
“I’ve seen it all,” they confirmed, and he thought he could hear the faintest hint of amusement in their voice. “The fate that binds you and Anastasia together is strong, stronger than you may think. Even after she knew your true identity, she never stopped loving you, did she?”
“H-huh?”
“You were expecting her to be disgusted by you, weren’t you?”
“I-this-um…”
The stranger chuckled, and for a moment, Xavier thought it sounded like the laughter of a young man.
“As her kindred,” they continued, spreading their hands in a “you see” gesture. “I can see that she’s formed a very special relationship with you.”
He hesitated. “You are Anastasia’s…kindred?”
“I may be ‘God’ now, but even gods have their humble beginnings,” they said, gazing up at the clear cerulean sky. “I was from a different world, you see. The same world where she comes from. But I wasn’t as fortunate to start my new life in a position of power like her, so it took me many hardships and suffering to reach where I am today.”
Xavier remained silent. There was something off, something in the stranger’s words that made his skin crawl uncomfortably. He pursed his lips in displeasure and asked, “you can read my thoughts, can’t you? You must know what I’m thinking of right now. Tell me, am I right?”
The stranger didn’t reply immediately. Their figure glided over to the creek in an unhurried, almost wistful motion; they stopped just before the edge of the flowing water and tilted their head slightly as if beckoning at him.
“Do you know the history of this Empire?” they asked softly.
Xavier raised his eyebrow as he tried to read the stranger’s visage. “Only some general knowledge, nothing too in-depth.”
They didn’t seem fazed. “I believe you’ve heard of King Cetheri the First?”
“The founder of the Aetherium Empire,” he mumbled. “And the progenitor of the Cetheri royal bloodline.”
They nodded their head almost imperceptibly. “Then, do you know who came before the first Cetheri King?”
“Huh?”
“You learned of his name in the cathedral, but you do not know yet of its significance,” they answered in a small voice. “Amīr al-Muʾminīn.”
