A Background Character’s Path to Power

"We're heading out." Zephyr's voice was low, cutting through the muted thrum of the castle. Aeron, already halfway down the corridor, nodded in agreement.

"Take care," I said, a subtle nod in their direction.

My gaze followed them for a moment, watching their figures disappear around a bend before I retracted my attention and made my way to my own destination.

The vastness of the keep stretched out before me, a labyrinth of shadow and stone. Here, amidst the quietude, the rhythmic howl of the Ashenfang Whitefall had become the constant backdrop to our lives within the keep.

And five days had passed since the blizzard clamped down, and with each dawn, life inside the obsidian walls settled deeper into a mundane, almost repetitive rhythm.

My father...

I caught myself, exhaling slowly through my nose.

No.

Not father. Not here, not now.

Not until the right time comes.

It's better to address them as Baron Nusayel and Lady Luthaire. Though the words tasted bitter on my tongue, the necessity of it was clear.

I was Lumin now - a wandering healer, a half-elf with light blue eyes and a monocle. This identity was more than a mere disguise; it was the new me, and I had to accept it quickly, make it my own.

Besides, getting used to addressing them formally - even in my thoughts - would help solidify this. It would also keep my tongue and my mind working in concert, turning this role into a deep-seated habit, given the constant risk of discovery.

After all, there had been too many close calls these past days, moments where the familiar words, "Father" and "Mother," had almost escaped my lips. Only the chaotic illusion incident had excused my lapse then. Now, precision was paramount.

Keep the mask steady, I constantly reminded myself. One misstep could ruin everything.

Anyway, Baron Nusayel spent most of his time tending to Lady Luthaire, his grief a heavy shroud that even his strong will couldn't entirely dispel. Occasionally, he'd seek us out, checking on our well-being with a forced composure that spoke volumes of his inner turmoil.

He was a good host, despite everything.

As for us, the days blurred similarly. Aeron and Zephyr had claimed one of the underground training rooms the baron provided. The dull thud of sparring, the sharp hiss of a blade, or the grunt of exertion would often echo up the stone corridors. They pushed themselves, honing their skills, a restless energy permeating their shared space.

My own routine was a blend of quiet study in the castle's modest library and tending to the afflicted.

I spent hours poring over the library's collection of books and documents. Much to my non-existent surprise, there were no dusty, secret tomes or ancient, forgotten scripts hidden away.

Guess I wasn't that kind of main character who would stumble upon such convenient plot devices or cheats.

Instead, the shelves were filled predominantly with storybooks and autobiography-like accounts of famous and legendary Resonators and heroes.

It seemed the Baron hadn't lied about my past self's habits - I must have genuinely enjoyed reading these.

However, I hadn't had the luxury of indulging in them before. My priority had been to find anything useful about our current predicament: the blizzard, the Hollowlands, the keep's defenses, and the history of the Luthaire family and their territory.

I'd read through various historical accounts and documents, even finding records of past Ashenfang Whitefalls, though it didn't offer insights beyond what we already knew.

Yet, this didn't mean my efforts were fruitless.

Far from it.

My diligent searching had yielded a trove of insights. I learned a significant amount about the current crisis plaguing the region, piecing together how the Hollowlands had expanded and infected the land.

More surprisingly, I learned about my family, the Luthaires, and how they came to be known as a "Shield Family"—their long, arduous history of protecting these lands. A lot of what I uncovered surprised me, adding new layers of understanding to the very foundations of this keep and its legacy.

And now, with the pressing matters of the keep temporarily stabilized, I finally had the time to do what I truly wanted. My gaze swept over the shelves again, focusing on the storybooks and heroics. It was time to focus on myself, or more precisely, my past self. I needed to know.

Who knew if I could discover something useful about the past or get a clue about my missing memories?

After all, there were clichés like that in many stories - characters would get déjà vus or unexpected memory fragments, glimpses into their past or future, at a time like this.

Well then, I chuckled inwardly, standing in front of the shelves. Shall we find out?

I began by pulling the first autobiography from what I knew had been Amaniel's personal section. I flipped through the pages, my Observant Eye active, scanning every line, every margin for a hidden detail or a telling annotation from my past self.

But I found nothing.

Only the crisp, unblemished pages and the occasional, neat note written in the margins by him – simple observations on the content, devoid of any personal info about my own lost history.

Undeterred, I replaced the book and moved to the next, repeating the meticulous process. Then the next, and the next. An hour must have passed, the stack of examined books growing steadily beside me, yet no sudden flashes of memory, no faint déjà vu, no cryptic clues materialized.

I had anticipated this, of course. True insights rarely came so easily, especially when you sought them.

Finally, I leaned back, stretching my stiff neck. The low light of the enchanted lanterns cast long shadows across the towering bookshelves.

As I reached to slide the last book back into its slot, something tiny, almost imperceptible, caught my eye. A sliver of off-white peeking out from behind one of the larger tomes on the opposite side of the shelf, tucked away.

Has my luck finally come?

I wondered, a faint flicker of excitement flickering in my chest. Carefully, I returned the book to its place, then quickly moved around the towering shelf. My fingers closed around the hidden book, pulling it free. It was thicker than it looked, and as I opened it, inside was a slightly worn-out notebook.

Found it.