Chapter 6: A Father’s Story and a Mother’s Lullaby

I am flying. I barely feel any pleasure anymore — not even the wind. My mind is polluted. What I wanted so badly this morning already feels banal.

Upon entering the house, I noticed I still needed something: paper, a quill, and an inkwell. Those last two had been ruined long ago, and obviously, we don't have them at home. My mother is illiterate, after all. At most she has some religious books she has no idea how to read. And Gustavo only reads; he has never written anything.

But he knows how to read. Where did he learn that? At the church. So they must have what I need there. All priests know how to read — they have to, for the liturgical texts.

Since I was reborn, I'd been there a few times with my mother and brother. Only a few. From the time I was a baby, they were afraid I would cry or throw a tantrum, even though I had never cried in my life. Recently I started going on more Sundays and discovered a great way to cure my insomnia.

Anyway. I just need to get there—

"Whoa!!"

My head cracked against a black stone monument before I even saw it coming.

I hit the grass hard, eyes squeezed shut. When I opened them, a bump was already rising on my forehead.

"I guess I still don't master flying very well..."

I got to my feet and looked up. The church loomed above me — massive, absurdly grand for a village this size. The door was smothered in carvings of ropes, shells, and petrified vines. The twisted columns flanking it looked like the masts of old ships. Every stone worn smooth, like it had been standing long before the rest of Fecho existed.

The Church of Fecho.

"A very beautiful place..."

Inside, it was silent and dark. No candles lit — today was neither Sunday nor a holiday. The pews ran in straight lines toward the altar, where a wooden crucified man hung above the platform. Everything inside was wood, which struck me as odd given the stone exterior.

Is it empty? I picked the wrong day. Or maybe not. I can just go in and... borrow what I need without returning it. No one should complain or notice, right? It's just paper and a quill — a single page obviously isn't enough, so a blank book? What are the chances of finding one? A stack of loose sheets? That would be harder to—

"What are you doing here, youngster?"

I froze solid.

"H-Hello?" I have to act childish!

Turning only my head, a man stood a few paces away. Black cassock, bald, middle-aged, glasses—wait.

"Dr. Flamber?!"

"Yes, it's me," he replied calmly.

"What are you doing here?!"

"My job."

I will never be able to forget that this is the man who delivered me. That will always be strange.

I took a breath. "Are you also a priest?"

"Doctor and priest. Cool, right?"

I couldn't imagine doing two jobs at once. Jeez.

"Do you have something to take care of, young Nicolau? Don't tell me a child came to confess? Haha — don't worry, God forgives children—"

"No... I wanted to borrow something."

"Ah, alright. Come with me."

He turned and walked toward the back, where the candlelight didn't reach. He stopped at a candle mounted on a post and said, "Fire Magic I: Light up." The flame caught and pushed the dark back a little.

I have questions for him.

After a few more steps, Dr. Flamber tapped the floor three times. A section dropped open. We descended into a room that, by Fecho standards, was enormous — walls lined floor to ceiling with books, broken only by a small desk with writing items set on top.

"Is this a library?" I asked. I'd seen something like it at home, but nothing close to this scale.

"Good question." Dr. Flamber settled into the chair at the desk. "Hundreds of years ago, the Rei at the time ordered that the most precious books in the country's history be hidden here."

That explains why this building is so out of proportion with the village.

"Why Fecho? Isn't it too isolated?"

"Precisely for that reason. If an army invaded Lusitania, they would never think to search a small village surrounded by mountains. It has been this way for hundreds of years. Only the guardian of the church changes — I have held that role for thirty years."

"Is Fecho really that old?"

"Yes. In fact, the village was built for the sole purpose of guarding the royal books. Nowadays, only the Rei and I know about this."

So Fecho isn't some random village.

"Anyway." He raised a friendly hand. "What are you looking for, Nicolau?"

"An inkwell, a quill, and a blank book. Or a stack of blank sheets; that works too."

"What do you intend to write?"

Uh— shit! No one here is supposed to know how to read or write, let alone children. Except for people linked to religion, obviously.

"N-No, I just want to make drawings! Y-Yeah, some scribbles."

Good excuse for a child, right?

He sighed, not entirely convinced. "You are a very smart child, Nicolau."

"W-What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing. My apologies."

Dr. Flamber stood and disappeared into the shelves. When he came back, he was carrying a book in one hand.

"Here. This one is just blank pages throughout. As for the inkwell and quill, take the ones from the desk — I have more."

"Thank you!"

I turned to look. A plain, rustic writing desk. Inkwell, quill, right there.

...Oh. No way I can carry all of this home with just my hands. Damn—

"Here." Something tapped my shoulder. He was holding out a fairly large box.

"What is this?"

"Three sealed inkwells, five quills, and the book. All yours."

My eyebrows shot up. "Seriously?! All of that?!"

"Of course. Don't worry, I have plenty more. Ask anytime."

I took the box. Heavy, but nothing my strength couldn't handle.

"I have no way to thank you."

"You don't need to... Actually — when you've accomplished what you want, show me. I'm curious."

"Oh, sure."

I'll have to pretend I lost it or something.

I turned to go, box in both arms.

"Well, I'm going."

"Use that handle to get out. Come back anytime."

Above me, the trapdoor handle.

"Bye!"

"Wait a bit." He stood, turned toward the shelves, pulled out a book and dropped it in my lap.

"Open it."

The title read: The Adventure of Neter Mate: The Man Who Conquered God. Thin, full of illustrations — the kind of thing you'd finish in a day.

I flipped through quickly. Very little text. The story was about a king who gathered five Crowns, earning a single wish. He chose to meet God, and it happened. But at the end, Neter Mate discovered one crown was still missing.

What is this supposed to mean? Is there a moral here?

"Doctor, I don't understand what you're trying to show me." I closed it.

"Look at the author's name."

I checked. Tommy Britton.

"That book was written by your father when he was young."

...What?

"He gave it to your brother as a seventh birthday present. But Gustavo decided to keep it here."

I half-jumped out of the chair. "H-Hey, do you know something about my father—"

"Of course. He was a great friend of mine. I miss that man."

"W-What do you mean? How—"

"I met him when he moved here with your mother, just before your brother was born. Quiet, simple. But friendly."

I opened my mouth and nothing came out.

"Your mother loved him a great deal, Nico." He looked at me steadily, hands folded behind his back. "Just like your brother did."

Gustavo... I still don't know whether Tommy was really as distant from him as I assumed, or if that was something Gustavo built in his own head.

"That was all, Nico. I felt it was my duty to give you this book."

I smiled at him. "Thank you very much, Father. But no."

I handed it back. "Better to leave it here, if that's what Gustavo wanted."

He scratched his cheek. "Don't blame me — I thought it was yours by right."

What a cool guy.

"Anyway, bye! Thank you very much!"

And I climbed out of the underground hiding place, box tucked under my arm.

It was a short trip. In the blink of an eye, I already found myself at the door
of my house. I really am getting faster!

The sky was already dark. That is bad. At night, I have no light to write.
Eduarda and Gustavo do not leave any candles in my room. Because, first, the
house is made entirely of wood, and I am a small child. Second, at night, all
the candles are extinguished to prevent nighttime fires (Eduarda and Gustavo
have an unlit lamp in their room, however). Third, I told them I wasn't afraid
of the dark in an attempt to look cool. Only to find out that this was the
common mindset of children in the Middle Ages.

Anyway, I found myself in my room, dark and empty. Just me and the darkness,
trying to fall asleep.

I already put the box away; I have nothing to worry about. The only thing I need
to do is sleep. Sleep deeply to wake up full of energy tomorrow.

What is that famous technique? Counting sheep, right? Well, I have already tried
it before; it doesn't work. There is the 4-7-8 breathing technique. That doesn't
work either.

I think there is nothing to cure my insomnia.

This is strange. I used to think I couldn't sleep early because my sleep cycle
was incredibly irregular. But ever since I became Nicolau Britton, I am always
going to bed at the hour Eduarda tells me to. And even so, I can never fall
asleep easily.

I guess that's it... The only option then is to wait for my eyes to get heavy
while I stare at the dark ceiling.

W-Wait, it's not completely black. There is light!

"Are you alright, darling?" I heard a sweet voice approaching my bedroom door,
along with a light and a very familiar face.

"Are you having trouble falling asleep?" Eduarda asked.

She was holding a lamp in her hand and took very slow steps in my direction.

Normally in these cases, I would pretend to be asleep. But right now, I don't
think it's worth it.

"Yes, mom... I have a problem with that."

"I noticed. You have the best dark circles in the world." She sat on the bed in
front of me.

"You said... best?"

"Of course. Everything coming from you is cute and perfect." She pinched my
cheek gently.

I-Idiot. "That just makes me more awake!"

After a bit of a struggle, we shared light laughter, even though I was a little
offended.

"Hey, darling," she asked me.

"What is it, mommy?"

"Do you want me to sing a lullaby to you?"

A lullaby? I confess I have never heard Eduarda sing. Nor do I intend to. I am
already four years old; lullabies don't work on kids that age, I am almost
certain.

"A-Ah, mommy, it's just that... I-"

"It's one that my mom used to sing to me. I used to hum it to your brother when he was younger too."

"Uh, but actually-"

"Little star, shining bright~" she started, even without my permission.

Damn it, how embarrassing... Seeing an adult woman trying to make me fall
asleep.

"Drifting softly through the night~"

That is not going to work! I am not a real kid-... k-kid...

My eyes slowly closed.

"Close your eyes and rest your head~"

I think she must have used some spell...
Tsk, I wish I had enough energy to thank her.

"Dream on clouds of silver thread~"

And finally, I drift off.

---

1 year and six months passed. I'm six years old now. A huge part of that time went into one thing: writing down the world-building of Earth.

Earth's world-building is actually impressive when you see it laid out. Especially as fiction. Five continents, vast ice and sand deserts, enormous isolated islands, hidden civilizations, technology and industry pushed to extremes, wars fought on sea, land, and sky. It reads well.

I wrote out 120 countries and 75 capitals. Twenty-seven American states. All 44 European countries. I drew flags in black and white, which created a problem — several countries share the same design but use different colors. Germany and the Netherlands, for instance. Not much I could do; one flag covered both.

I also wrote about my past personal life. I managed to remember my sister's name. My parents' names. My grandparents'. And that was roughly the end of the list of people who mattered.

...Why am I doing this? What use will any of it be to Nicolau Britton?

Honestly, I have no idea. Maybe someday I could pass it off as ideas for a fiction story and sell it.

No. I'd never do that.

Maybe I should forget my past life entirely and just be Nicolau Britton.

But I can't. I don't know why.

In any case — during that time I also had to endure Mr. Miguel's jokes. Eva's father. The most memorable: "I used to hate facial hair… but then it grew on me."

I'll admit, that one made me laugh a bit. He is improving!

I rarely flew or used my Totalizer powers. I simply didn't need to. Funny how the thing I wanted so badly was overtaken by something this ordinary.

Of course I still trained with Gustavo a lot, but not as we used to. I think we grew a little distant.
Yet I'd say I'm quite strong now.

But there's something more important.

My mother and brother haven't exchanged a single word. Literally not one.

They both smile at me. But when they're alone together, they won't even look at each other.

I don't know exactly what to do. But I can try something.

In my past life, I know what I would have done: nothing. Stayed quiet, watched from a distance, and let it all fall apart. Partly because there was no one I really trusted. I never opened up to anyone, and no one ever opened up to me.

This time is different.

I'm not going to make the same mistake. I won't close off and keep everything inside. I want to at least try to help — even if I fail, even if they think it's just a little kid being sweet. As long as I don't offend anyone.

But I can try.

It took six months for me to figure that out.

After flying a good stretch, I came home and found a young man sitting on the roof, swinging his feet over the edge.

"Gustavo!" I called as I came in close.

"Ah, hi Nico." A smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

I sat next to him. We both looked at the sky.

"How is it going, Gustavo?" I asked, direct.

"Hm? That's a bit sudden... I think everything is fine—"

"Stop lying," I said.

He blinked. "Wow. Alright, fine, I'll be honest."

Gustavo lay back on the roof, watching the blue and the white overhead.

"Nico, what do you want to do when you grow up?"

"Don't take it the wrong way, but I think I'd like to leave this village. The world is too big not to explore. Don't you think?" I said.

"I can't blame you. I used to feel the same way."

I think he forgets I remember that.

"I told mom I wanted to spend my life in Fecho, but..." Gustavo stared at his own palm. "Do I really want that?"

Honestly, I don't know. I've lived beside Gustavo my whole life here, but I can't read his heart. He genuinely seems unbothered by staying. But what kind of young person plans to spend their entire life in one village? I must be misreading something.

"You know, Nico, maybe it would be cool, but... mom would be alone. And so would you."

"Don't you think the neighbors would look after her?"

"That's not the problem. I trust them, sure. But could mom really handle living without her family?"

I didn't answer.

"Nico, do you think I'm selfish?"

Ah. The famous question. He has no idea I heard everything.

"I don't get it — I told mom I want to stay home, that I don't mind looking after both of you for the rest of my life. So why does she call me selfish? That makes no sense," he said.

He was close to tears.

Poor guy. Too much weight for a sixteen-years-old.

And there is something I have to tell him. I can't sit on it any longer.

"I'm sorry, Gustavo, but I heard your conversation." I pulled my knees to my chest. "By accident, I swear. I didn't mean to listen."

"R-Really?!" He lifted his head. "That changes things... I'm sorry, you shouldn't have heard that—"

"I'm going to be honest with you." I looked at him. "I actually think you're right. How does mom call you selfish?! You said you wanted to stay, to look after the house, to be here for us — and she calls you selfish? That makes absolutely no sense. If you want my opinion, ever since dad ran away—"

Slap.

The sound was flat and sharp. My cheek stung.

"Don't talk about your mother like that." He stared at me, jaw tight.

I probably deserved that.

"II'm sorry..."

He lay back down. "You're still just a child, Nico."

"Gustavo, I can take care of mom for you. I'm already big!"

"Didn't you hear me? I'll admit — sometimes talking to you feels like talking to an adult. But you're still a child. Maybe when you're grown."

Fair enough. I can't really argue that.

Wait. He said grown.

"Hey, Gustavo."

"What?"

"When I turn fourteen, will you let me take care of mom? That way you can leave Fecho and know we're safe."

"What are you talking about? You just said you wanted to see the world."

"I don't mind staying. Honestly — if I have a good life here, I don't think I'd mind working the farm."

"Hahaha. You really do sound like me right now."

Am I saying this just to make him feel better? I don't think so. I actually care about this family. About him.

It seems that even with an adult's mind, I can't easily heal the rift between them. Not yet.

At least I feel like I understand Gustavo's tangled head a little better.

"W-Wait, Nico, can you see it?" Gustavo shouted at me.

"Huh?" I sat up. "What are you talking about?"

He pointed to the well, visible church.

We both dropped off the roof, landing at the front door. From there we could clearly see two men standing in front of the church — swords at their hips, spears in hand, and horses beside them.