Here I Am Again.

A curly haired man opened his eyes. Reading glasses rested loosely on his face. A quill and parchment lay beneath his elbows on a wooden desk.

“…Back here again.”

His voice was quiet. Almost numb.

“You would think I’d be used to this by now.”

His gaze fell to the papers in front of him. The same reports. The same ink. The same life.

“…And yet every time feels worse than the last.”

Silence filled the room.

Then suddenly

The chair scraped loudly as he stood.

A sharp crash followed.

The desk flipped over, wood slamming against the ground. Ink spilled across the floor. Glass shattered. Papers scattered like fallen leaves.

“Damn it.”

His breathing grew uneven.

“Damn it… damn it all…”

His knees gave out. He collapsed, one hand gripping his head tightly.

“Is this a joke to you?”

His voice rose, shaking.

“Why…?”

His fingers dug into his hair.

“I worshiped your temples for eight lives.”

A pause.

“Was it because I stopped?”

His hand trembled.

“…Or maybe…”

Slowly, he stood again.

This time, there was no hesitation in his movements. Only intent.

A sword hung at his side. He drew it in one clean motion and hurled it across the room.

The blade struck a painting.

A man being stoned to death.

The canvas tore apart.

Dakkeron exhaled.

“…Maybe you’re not a god at all.”

His voice turned cold.

“…Just evil. Or incompetent.”

“My lord!”

The door burst open.

A young woman rushed in, long black hair flowing behind her. Two guards followed close behind, weapons drawn.

“Forgive us for barging in,” she said, slightly out of breath. “We heard unusual sounds and feared an intruder… or that you might have been injured.”

Her tone was calm. Controlled.

But her eyes

They were tired.

“…I’m fine, Eliza.”

Dakkeron pressed a hand against his forehead.

“Everything is just… tiring.”

A small pause.

“…I overreacted.”

“My lord, must you always overwork yourself?” she said, stepping forward. “You should rest. What good is a duke if he is gone?”

Her posture was straight. Proper.

Her frame was small.

Her black eyes and hair matched perfectly,almost as if god used the same shade of black.

“Guards, you are dismissed.”

Dakkeron made a simple gesture. Two fingers to his chin, then a slight swipe.

The guards immediately obeyed and left the room.

“Honestly, Eliza…”

He let himself fall onto a blue sofa, covering his eyes with one hand.

“You worry too much… you always have…”

He peeked at her through his fingers.

“If I do not, my lord, who will?” she replied calmly. “You are precious to the citizens. Out of all your brothers, you are the most beloved.”

She continued without pause.

“You did not even need to enforce military service. The citizens came wanted to serve you willingly”

Dakkeron stared at her quietly.

…Strange.

No matter how many times I return

She never changes.

The same half smile.

The same tired eyes.

She became head maid so young. It must have been exhausting.

But…

Has she always looked this worn?

“My lord?”

Her voice pulled him back.

“Is everything alright? Is there… trouble in the east?”

“…Trouble in the east?”

His eyes widened slightly.

“Yes, my lord. You were reading the requests, were you not?”

“Right… yes.”

He let out a slow breath.

“Eliza…”

He stopped himself.

…Wait.

Trouble in the east?

The reports about monsters attacking my brother’s territory

Those do not arrive for another week.

Then how does she know?

“…Eliza.”

His voice sharpened.

“Did you arrange the delivery of the wedding gift to Count Lawrence Ninet?”

“Yes, my lord. The pocket watch you selected was received with gratitude.”

Silence.

“Eliza…”

“Yes, my lord?”

“I have not selected a gift.”

The room went still.

“Nor is he married yet.”

A pause.

A long one.

“…Who are you, Eliza?”

Her body stiffened.

Her hands tightened around her uniform.

“I am… your humble maid, my lord. I do not understand what you mean…”

Her arms trembled.

The air grew heavy.

Dakkeron did not look away.

“I must have mistaken it for another gift…” she continued softly. “Please forgive me.”

“Why…”

His voice cracked.

“WHY ARE YOU LYING?”

His shout echoed through the room.

“The count’s wedding is in a month! I have only ever sent him a pocket watch once. One lifetime.”

His breathing grew sharper.

“So how do you know that?”

A flash of steel.

In an instant, a dagger was pressed against her neck.

Her expression stilled.

“You will tell me now,” he said, his hands trembling. “Are you the reason I am here?”

His voice broke.

“Are you working with the Dark Lord? TELL ME!”

He forced her to the ground, the blade hovering dangerously close to her throat.

Her eyes met his.

Dark. Deep. Endless.

“I am sorry, my lord.”

Her voice was soft.

“I would never hurt you.”

A small pause.

“…No matter how much I wanted to at times.”

His grip faltered.

“You… wanted to hurt me?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Why?”

“Because you can be stubborn.”

His voice dropped.

“How?”

Silence.

“You never give up, my lord.”

Her hand slowly rose.

“…Sometimes, I wish you would.”

She placed her hand gently against his cheek.

“I am sorry, Dakkeron.”

Tears began to fall.

“I could never be better for you. I tried to change things. I tried to go home. I tried to live a full life.”

Her smile trembled.

“But I always end up here.”

Her voice softened.

“With you.”

“I always end up caring for you.”

Dakkeron’s eyes shook.

“So you knew… all this time you knew… and you stayed?”

His voice broke apart.

“Why… WHY, ELIZA?”

Tears fell freely now.

“There was no version of you that I could leave behind. I didn't want to”

Something inside him collapsed.

Completely.

“I am sorry, Dakkeron…”

She was crying now too.

“I did not know you remembered.”

A weak smile formed.

“But I am glad… that you do.”

“Please do not cry, my lord…”

Her voice trembled.

“What would your citizens think?”

“…Eliza…”

His voice was barely a whisper.

“How many?”

A pause.

“How many lives?”

“…Eighteen, my lord.”

His breath caught.

“So all those times…”

“Yes.”

“I was always there.”

“I thought you remembered none of it.”

A small, fragile smile.

“But I am happy you remember some.”

“I am sorry… for all the trouble I caused you.”

Memories flooded his mind.

Hunting together.

Her scolding him in the kitchen.

Her voice. Her presence.

Always there.

“Why are you apologizing…?”

His voice trembled.

“I could not save you in any lifetime.”

His hand tightened.

“And I still cannot…”

A hollow laugh escaped him.

“How does someone even begin to apologize for that, Eliza?”