Music is Lilium from Elfen Lied, covered by the Grissini Project. Play it!

******

I'm immediately thrown into agony.

Fight it, I tell myself. Fight it!

The darkness presses heavily against my mind, seeking to gain control over it. This presence is not just dark—it's cold. The cold of death sweeping across a battlefield. I recognise it all too well. It slams wave after wave of terror into me, as though trying to intimidate me into submission.

But a Champion of Pst. Bronicus never surrenders.

I release a roar of defiance against the darkness.

The presence suddenly pulls away.

I blink, refocusing my vision. Diomedes is right before me, keeling over the snow. My sword is in my hand, its blade gleaming red.

Despite the wound I had inflicted upon him unknowingly, Diomedes grins. "Certainly didn't predict this," he wheezes. He points a finger at me. I freeze. "I'll give you this before I go: that wound can only be healed if you return to the Cave of Three Souls."

Then he drops face first onto the ground, blood leaking onto whiteness.

That's when the shadow that had been controlling my arm withdraws its grip on me.

My fingers immediately release the sword.

The presence is gone from my mind. But I can still feel traces of it pulsing beneath my skin. The numbness that had come with the Champion's State is gone.

My Champion's State.

Right on cue, the backlash comes for me.

My mind, broken enough as it is, receives further blows from the backlash. Abrupt exhaustion punches my head; it feels as though every single bit of energy is being drained from me. Even thinking itself is tiring.

"Hubert," a woman's voice barely reaches me. The woman stands in front of me, blocking my view of Diomedes. She's tall, broad-shouldered, bundled up in layers of fur. Her amber eyes lock with mine; they look like they're trying to convey some sort of message. Her heavily-tattooed face looks haggard. "Stay with us now. Kendra has to perform the final passing to banish Diomedes's soul. Then we can finally rest."

Kendra... Of course, Kendra. She's standing right above Diomedes's corpse now, both arms raised, a small knife with an obsidian blade clutched in one hand; the other empty, palm facing downwards.

She closes her eyes. Murmurs something beneath her breath. Something that doesn't sound like any language of this world. At least, a language not of this era. Energy hums in the air.

It feels like an eternity before she's done doing...whatever it is she was doing.

When she reopens her gaze to the world, they look unusually dark. As though she'd just taken a glimpse into the Seventh Hell itself. "I'd start a fire to cremate his corpse," she says, "but I doubt that we'll hold out long enough in this blizzard. Even with Luise's help."

The golden-eyed Ravurkian woman nods, a weary set to her shoulders. "I'm almost drained. Pinning Diomedes down for Hubert to land that blow took too much energy," she says. "I'm barely keeping this barrier up now, so I'd really appreciate if you all could dispose of him as soon as possible."

"I could start the fire," a broad-shouldered man pipes up. I don't know why, but his skin is fairly sizzling with power.

An image of the man unleashing fire upon the world flashes across my mind. I have a feeling that I have known this man for years. In fact, I feel like I should know everyone here. If only I can remember...

How did I get here anyway?

Ice... Flames... Diomedes. Who's Diomedes again? Think, Hubert. Think. You can remember. I clench my fists by my sides, trying not to cave in to the despair building inside me.

Think!

It's an alien voice in my head. I should scream; I may be confused, but I know that having a foreign presence in one's mind certainly isn't normal.

Yet I don't. Because some subconscious part of me is telling me to think—to heed that strange voice's command.

"I'd rather if you don't, Percival," Kendra's words draw me back into the current situation. "Your fire is different from our usual variety. There's no telling what it could do if it burns a dead necromancer."

"It worked fine just now, didn't it?" Percival protests, stormy eyes livid. Stormy eyes... Are my eyes a similar greenish-grey as his? I can't recall. Why can't I recall?

"That's because in that situation, there was no life to give Diomedes, since he was still breathing at the time." Kendra nudges the corpse with her foot, as though testing if it were truly dead. "Now that I've officially banished his spirit into the Seventh Hell, your flames might be the catalyst he's seeking to get a foothold on life."

"Wait, I want an explanation for all this." Another man steps forward, his dark eyes seeming to access and evaluate every step someone takes. His hawkish nose looks like the sort that would poke itself into other people's business. "We weren't told of...this."

By 'this', I assume that he's referring to the ice barrier, as well as Percival's informed ability over fire. Kendra casts him a sharp look. "My apologies, Captain. But you'll have to wait to get your answers. Unless we deal with Diomedes's corpse first, I'm not entertaining any demands from any of you."

The Captain presses his lips into a thin line, eyes almost black.

Really though, the way they're arguing about how to deal with a dead body is ridiculous. Pietists Above, how hard is it, really? "Why don't you just chop the damned thing up and scatter the pieces?" I offer crankily.

Everyone looks at me.

"What?" I glare at each of them in return. "If he's a—what's it?—necromancer, even if he manages to revive himself somehow, it'd be harder for him if his body isn't intact, no?"

"Of course!" Kendra exclaims. Then turning towards the rest: "Carve him into seven pieces."

"The sacred number?" a middle-aged man shrieks.

"Yes, Isaac. The sacred number," Kendra reaffirms, rolling her eyes. "Now do it. Quickly."

The men obey her.

Meanwhile, I watch them in silence. They don't ask me to lend a hand; perhaps it's because they know that I'm in no shape to do anything.

Remember, I have to remember...

Think, Constantine! cries the alien voice again.

Constantine. That's not my name, is it? But I know it. As though I've heard it in a dream. In fact, all this seems like a dream. I should wake up anytime soon...

Constantine, please come back! a new voice screams. A mix of emotions stir in me: longing, happiness, comfort. I hear tears in the voice though. Strange. Usually it's so cheery—full of sunshine. Hold on, how do I know that?

Gilbert.

An image of a young man forms in my mind: dark hair, olive skin, with queer amber eyes that don't quite match his complexion. It holds an odd resemblance to Luise's features. The stand out difference is that the young man has a crooked grin splitting his face into two, as opposed to Luise's stern expression.

Gilbert. He's waiting for me in the physical world.

That's when I truly remember: I am Constantine Rutherland, and these are my predecessor's memories. I am not a part of them—my mind is still my own.

Something seems to lift me away from the memories—a sense of being dragged backwards. The people's faces blur, their voices as they argue about how to proceed gradually becoming indistinct.

"That was close," Abner chides.

I blink, trying to realign my senses. I'm back inside the pool, its glowing waters rippling around me.

"You almost lost your mind. Literally. Again." Abner huffs, exasperated, burying his face in his hands. "What about holding onto the picture that reminds you of who you are?"

"It...didn't work?" I try to think back to the time when I was inside Lord Hubert's memories. No, it didn't work. I couldn't even think of anything resembling a forest, what with my mind being scrambled alongside my predecessor's.

"Of course it didn't work!" If Abner had eyes, I'm sure that he would have flashed the whites at me right now. "Thank the Pietists that the boy managed to pull you back through the mind-world."

"What is that?" I ask automatically.

"The world in which you once used to seek me out," Abner explains. "Before you transcended yourself and could talk to me directly."

"I see." Yes, I remember. Abner had once told me that that place was my mind in itself. However... "Gilbert managed to cross the borders of his own mind and link it to mine?"

"Something of the sort. He hasn't transcended, after all. Naturally he'd spend more time exploring the mind-world."

"Ah..." An image of my fellow Champion arises in my head once more—the one that had saved me from completely losing myself into Lord Hubert's insanity.

"Anyway, I assume that you found what you were looking for," Abner says. The image dissipates.

"Yes. But not quite," I reply. "I know my father has the same fire abilities as I do. It was called the Fire of Life by Diomedes. As for Luise... Gilbert has her ice. I'm sure of that. Their resemblance is astounding."

"Hmm. And what do you suppose you can do with that information?" There's no mockery in Abner's tone; it's all gentle probing.

"I'm not done yet," I snort.

"Then pray, continue."

"Anyway, Diomedes was killed. I couldn't exactly tell how—Lord Hubert had the infection eating into him at the time, I assume. But from the conversation after, as well as the sensation of me—that is, Lord Hubert having his arm controlled by shadows to deal the final blow, I surmise that Kendra was the mastermind behind the attack. Flames, ice, shadows—they all worked together to finish off Diomedes. Throw in two Champions of War, with the ability to 'control all things, whether living or dead', and you'll have all the major players completed.

"Kendra knew this somehow. That's why she gathered those specific people. I don't know why she had three others included though—probably to throw suspicion of the fact that the important players possessed tremendous amounts of power. But she chose wisely: those three men are some of the most loyal, influential knights around."

Then another realisation dawns upon me. My blood runs cold; my heart stops for the briefest of moments. "Wait, those three saw Kendra, Percival and Luise unleashing their hidden abilities," I say. "Sir Isaac, Sir Kendrick and Captain Eldric. This means..."

I don't dare to finish my own sentence.

Abner nods in understanding.

I want to collapse onto the ground. But since only my conscious exists at the moment, and not my physical body, it's not possible. If Sir Isaac, Sir Kendrick and Captain Eldric were indeed present when Diomedes was first slayed...

That means they know of my own hidden abilities.

Which most likely means that they know my true gender.

"Pietists. Pietists, no," I say. They know. They've always known. The one secret that I've faithfully kept to myself save for Gilbert and my family—already revealed even before I knew it.

"Constantine." Abner takes a step forward. "If they wanted to, they would have exposed you a long time ago."

A shrill laugh escapes my lips. "I know that, I know. But the fact that all this while, they know..."

"Not necessarily, remember. Yes, the Deathslayer is always a woman, but you haven't shown those abilities in public."

"Still. They know that fire runs in my veins," I say gloomily. "There's no telling what they could do with knowledge like that."

"They're your mentors, Constantine. One way or another," Abner sighs. "You know they wouldn't do anything to harm you."

I bite my lower lip, sinking my teeth into flesh so deeply that I might have drawn blood if I weren't in this strange place.

Abner heaves a heavy sigh. "Go back. I believe that's enough for today. They're all waiting for you. Not to mention worried," he says. "You dove straight in without waiting for Maya to anchor you. Thank Pst. Bronicus that I was here. Who knows what would have happened otherwise?"

"You'll always be here to catch me, Abner," I reply with a smile.

"Well, yes. But it is rather troublesome for me to keep myself on high alert just because you charge recklessly into matters. I look forward to a time when I don't have to constantly keep an eye on you."

"You're my guide. Isn't that what you're supposed to do?"

"A guide can always hope!"

I laugh. "Keep hoping then. Who knows? Perhaps I'll take your words seriously one day."

"What happens if I'm gone?" Abner continues to jab, "You'd be completely helpless. Look, I was only gone for a day, and yet you've been reduced into an utter wreck."

No hiding the truth from him—I imagine he can still peer into my darkest thoughts, even if he's not directly inside my mind. The humour on my lips dies off. "I—" My fingers curl themselves into fists. "I apologise for that. It's probably worrying you. I'll have to be more...independent." There. I've admitted that out loud.

"Remember the technique I've taught you," Abner says, not commenting any further on my admittedly brash decision. "Use that now and return yourself to the physical world."

"It didn't work the last time..."

"That's because the memory you chose wasn't significant enough then," Abner concludes, folding his arms.

"How could that be? I used the same one as I did two years ago! Unless—"

"That memory isn't significant enough anymore," Abner continues, finishing my statement. "Choose another one. On the bright side, you won't have to worry about letting your consciousness drown with your predecessor's anymore."

"That's a welcome proposition," I say sourly. Then taking in a deep breath, I close my eyes and concentrate on narrowing down on one single image in my mind.

The ritual. My arrival in Battein. The moment when I realised that Maya and I may not be so different after all. Sir Isaac. The first infected I encountered. The war council. The time I accidentally ordered Sir Cathom, Captain Eldric's second-in-command to garderobe-scrubbing duty. My father coming to visit me in Castle Larstand, a strained, rare smile on his face. Isolde's wedding invitation. Ghosts in the clusters.

Clusters. It shifts somewhere else—Battein. My lungs filled with the chill of the night. A set of hands, warming mine.

A crooked smile.

I latch onto that and will myself to go back—to where I know the smile is waiting for me.

"Constantine?"

I slowly peel my eyelids open. I'm staring at the ceiling of the cavern—and I'm lying down. Groggily, I push myself to sit upright. A spectacular headache hounds at my temples.

"What happened?" I ask Gilbert, who's crouched beside me, expression pinched with worry.

"You dove right into the pool without waiting for Maya to tether you," he replies. His eyes flicker towards an approaching white-clad figure. "At least, that's what she said. Did I get the gist of it?"

Maya nods.

Gilbert releases a long sigh. "Constantine, don't ever do something so reckless again, please?" He knocks on the side of my head. I rub the spot ruefully, glaring at him. "This isn't like you. I was worried sick when you collapsed and starting mumbling incoherently—we all were."

"I never knew that a shift in abilities also meant a personality change," I offer with a faint, strained smile. "To think that I'm the one heedlessly charging into situations such as these."

"The Champion speaks truth," interrupts another voice. Gilbert and I look up to see Maya, hands on her hips, disapproval directed towards me. "I lost you inside there. How did you managed to come back?"

"My guide found me," I answer, climbing onto my feet. She may be the one who's able to link us all together, but that doesn't mean that I'm going to allow her to tower over me.

I suddenly think about her predecessor—Kendra. My eldest aunt. Long dead, I presume. She was the one who gathered the men, as well as Luise. She was the one who had assembled the team to hunt Diomedes down. She was the main leader responsible for Diomedes's first death.

Now she's gone, replaced by a witch from Marshem. But Maya wasn't the person to gather the main players—Gilbert and I practically trained together ever since we were enlisted as squires. Still, if the events of the past are a reflection of what is to come, I wonder if there's any meaning to Pst. Zorah choosing a Pagan as a Champion—or if it's a coincidence, after all.

Pietists. Necromancers. Curses. Prophecies. It's almost too much for my mind to bear. Especially considering everything that just happened.

On the bright side, I won't have to specially corner Maya to obtain information about the past via her 'past life', Kendra. I can readily access that information myself now.

"Shall we proceed to the next cavern?" Alvina pipes up, looking forcefully cheery.

Gilbert rises to his feet, folding his arms uneasily. "I'm not sure if I'd like to, honestly," he confesses, "after seeing what happened to Constantine."

"It'll be all right," I tell him. "It's actually like diving into the mind-world—you have to know how to anchor yourself. In my case, because neither Maya nor I know the true proceedings, I...got caught up in Lord Hubert's memories." I shoot a side-glance at the witch. "Or it could be a mistranslation on both of our parts."

Maya puffs her cheeks up in annoyance. "Not my fault!" she exclaims. "I just learn this language last year!"

I raise my brows, slightly impressed. I've grown up being educated to speak several foreign languages, including Beliran and Thiruthian. And I suspect that my command of those languages are just as strong as Maya's of Perinian. But the difference is that I've been tutored in those languages since I was young—while Maya has probably only had the chance to do so by regularly interacting with native speakers of Perinian.

Also, at the sight of the witch's face heating up, I'm reminded of just how young she is, really. "I know it's not your fault. But well, let's just say that it'd be easier for the both of us if language weren't a barrier."

"So, to the next cavern?" Alvina raises the question once more, stepping in to elevate the tension between me and Maya. She turns towards Gilbert. "Falkner?"

He bobs his head, determined. "I'll do it."

"Excellent. I believe that we shouldn't dilly-dally—time is of the utmost importance."

She sweeps around, heading out without checking to see if we were following. Gilbert, Maya and I look at each other, then back at Alvina, before obliging her and walking after her shadow.

I know not only I have noticed it—Alvina may be keeping her tone light-hearted, but there's an undeniable heaviness in the last few words.

******

A/N: Aaaand it's tata to Hubert's memories for now. But at least Constantine has something to work on. But what on earth happened to Alvina to incur her sudden shift in mood? Just a few chapters ago she was that one happy-go-lucky, if not slightly psycho relative who genuinely cares for her niece. And now she's one crazy party-pooper in the midst of good news.

Also, sorry for not updating regularly guys. I thought I should just be honest with you here: I've begun working on the other story, the cyberpunk-fantasy based on Japanese folklore, featuring a female samurai. It's been calling me for the past few weeks, and I haven't been working on Legacy all that much.

What I want to know is this: if I continue updating 'Legacy' till the first arc is wrapped up, then start posting the cyberpunk-fantasy, will you Champions be okay with that? I know it's selfish of me, and that all of you eagerly want to see how this book ends. That's why I still want to ask your opinions. Please do share your thoughts freely!