The Weight of Legacy

With her newfound—if bizarre—youth, Malwine had come quite close to forgetting one her least favorite parts of life.

Deadlines.

She’d yet to process, yet alone recover from, the multiple realizations she’d come to about her existence, and here she was, all but watching time go by as The Harvest grew closer and closer.

And then it was here.

She still didn’t have a clue as to how she was going to get herself some harvestables.

Should I sneak out?

Malwine’s brain caught up to her, and she winced. Well, could I sneak out?

She had opportunities aplenty to be outside, but not anywhere near where the flowers were, and all she had to go off on was the vague explanation for the seasons. Harvestables came from the flowers that bloomed outside the wards, but she didn’t know how grabbing them even worked.

Not to mention, the distance between even the furthest gazebo she’d been to, and the outskirts of what Malwine believed to be the protected area, was frankly a bit much. With her current size, she wasn’t sure if she could make it that far, at least not as quickly as she’d need to. She’d have guessed it’d take her anything between ten and fifteen minutes, as a minimum. Whenever they went outside, Bernie was constantly around, so she was never alone for long enough to pull something like that off.

If only Adelheid deigned to show up.

Her little half-aunt did no such thing.

Sighing, Malwine straightened, letting her elbow rest upon the table, and her chin upon her hand. Bernie had brought her here early, and no one had shown up for what she dubbed probably-dinner yet. She’d been getting more interesting soups lately, but she had to concede, that random book had been right. Grēdôcavan cuisine was terribly lacking in flavor—and frankly, she might not even have noticed it so starkly before reading that.

She brought up a panel, absentmindedly rechecking her latest list, as if any of the items would have ticked themselves off the list while she hadn’t been looking.

NEED HARVESTABLES FOR:

— Astral projection Skill or equivalent bullshit

— A Trait to make sense of the timeline (probably for a Soul Skill)

MAIN THINGS TO FIGURE OUT:

— Why was Beryl cursed?

— How can I make Elflorescence regret existing and/or possibly handle the aforementioned existing?

— How did I become me if Beryl’s kid was supposed to be dead?

— When was I born and how did stasis affect the timeline for me?

— I should get everyone’s birthdates while I’m at it, it’s essential information.

— Who does {Ore} come from?

— What’s up with Katrina’s parentage?

— Was OBeryl in a cult?

That last one was a joke. Mostly.

Malwine wasn’t even going to pretend those were all her problems at this point—but life, Skills, and family research sounded like they’d cover all important topics. Probably.

In the long term, the curse she inherited from Beryl had to be dealt with, even if she had it somewhat managed for the time being. Malwine tried to avoid thinking of that too frequently, but it inevitably remained in the back of her mind.

As for how she came into being, in this life? Malwine had a suspicion—the system. Duh.

But aside from that painfully obvious statement, she did have an idea. The first thing the system had done was ask her things, and Malwine had assumed it was some sort of setup process. But it had been clear, before she was even in this life—this body?—that she would be becoming Beryl Rīsanin’s child.

Frankly, she suspected she wasn’t quite supposed to wake up as an 18-month-old. The more she tried to recall the details, the more certain she grew that the setup process had treated it as though she would be around immediately. There were undoubtedly a bunch of details she was missing, but her theory so far amounted to ‘the system put me here and Beryl is the one screwing with my timeline via stasis or something’.

Stressed as she had been these days, she didn’t have the energy to phrase that in a more eloquent way, no.

The one thing that didn’t fit was why? Was something acting through the system, and that something brought her into this life? Or was it just the system, in general? So far, she knew people in this world were resurrectable, but that was it. As far as Malwine could tell, the dead stayed dead unless they were resurrected during that system-provided window.

Granted, Malwine’s sources so far were her interpretation of Katrina’s obit and liberal amounts of conjecture, but it all seemed consistent. Even summoned heroes seemed to show up as their original selves—she’d yet to really encounter an explanation for outright reincarnation, or even examples.

I know everyone wants to be special, but probably not like this.

That left her with just one more issue pertinent enough to not have slipped her mind with the passage of time—what was up with Katrina’s father, whoever he was?

Malwine called up [Imitation Beyond Filiality] in his direction again—it was easier to just see the error message anew than to try to remember it, especially now that she had [Mental Defense]. That Skill had come with the somewhat unexpected perk of making error message less annoying to get.

(❗) Error: Target outside scope—

(❗) Error: Target living (verification needed?)—

(❗) Error: Target disallowed by—

(❗) Error: Target ineligible.

The matter seemed intent on ‘resolving’ itself in the same matter it did when she’d tried to fire off [Once and Forever] towards Katrina’s absent parent, settling for ineligible as a reason for the ability’s failure. As if that explained anything.

Malwine much preferred this broken error instead—at least, she could do some vague theorizing with this one. The one thing she was sure of was that the problem had to be the man himself—something was up. Wow, Malwine. Genius conclusion right there.

She sighed, only having herself to blame for her current tiredness as she had spent a lot of time playing around with her core, and re-centered her thoughts. Outside of the scope of something, possibly alive, or disallowed.

The first and third options seemed like the most promising as far as getting to the bottom of it went, but… how, exactly? He could be outside the scope of the country, the world, the system—or just of her Skill’s. Disallowed left her ideas in a similar state. What would disallow him as a target? The system? Even those more detailed errors told her little.

Malwine rubbed her temples pointlessly, which she distantly noticed probably looked odd given her current age. What would a kid have to be worried about?

As much as she wanted to waste even more time thinking about those matters, the truth of it was that she could only do so much in the present moment. She’d put her thoughts on the harvestables first on the panel, and her mind had still wandered.

But while Malwine knew why she wanted harvestables, she’d come no closer to figuring out how to get them. Not for the first time, she debated whether the risk of just making Skills from scratch was worth it. It had worked out before. Then she’d gotten those Forged Skills and they just… felt right. Less chaotic. Like they weren’t a misstep away from somehow messing her build up, if she could describe it in such a way. They were structured, static, in a way not even her system-granted bonus Skills had been.

Perhaps that isn’t a solely good thing. It didn’t help that [Unpacifiable] didn’t appear to have any problem with the idea of her making Skills up as she had before. Malwine had nothing to stop her beyond the fact that she liked the certainty harvestables might be able to provide, but she also had no reason to use a harvestable beyond that. A tiny voice in the back of her head kept reminding her that, in the end, she didn’t need to go about it this way.

Well, I do need one for the Trait.

By the time she heard footsteps approaching, Malwine had shelved about three different ideas on how to harass people at the table for harvestables. None of them seemed viable. Besides, if people were likelier to assume she was just a dumb kid no matter how much she spoke, weren’t the odds of success low? They wouldn’t just hand them to her, even if she could somehow come up with an excuse.

What’s the harm in trying?

Even as she settled for that approach, Malwine found she was still unsure as to what to say, or to who. ‘Family’ meals were rare, but ever since the unseen Benedikt had been born, it seemed Bernie had gotten it into her head that everyone should spend at least some time together.

Minus the baby, of course. For whichever reason.

The first to arrive after Malwine herself had been dumped here was Kristian, and he had immediately pulled a small booklet from thin air—probably from his inventory—which he was now reviewing with a scowl on his face.

Malwine reached out with [Remote Reading] and found herself struggling to stifle a laugh.

Lady Holda fon Samdazin’s Guide to Understanding if Your Children Hate You

Perhaps they were more self-conscious than Malwine had given them credit for.

Alaric sat to Kristian’s left, looking positively disheveled as he tried to keep Paul from running off to play with his dolls. The lone chair on the off side of the table was presumably saved for Bernie, as when Thekla and Abelard showed up, they took the empty chairs next to Malwine’s own raised seating space.

Kristian looked up from his book, and Malwine suddenly understood what stories meant when they said someone’s gaze was full of violence—if she were Abelard, she would not have sat down for dinner after that.

Not that Thekla’s glare back was that much better, really. She might have been the scariest of Malwine’s aunts and uncles, even without Affinities or visible power. If she got this intense over a guy she’d been chasing for only a few months, Malwine wasn’t sure if she wanted to know what getting into an argument with this woman looked like.

That aside, a part of Malwine hoped they’d have a kid or get married. Anything she could add to her woefully barebones family tree panel. Literally anything.

The silent standoff didn’t last long, because Kristoffer tripped on something on his way past the door’s threshold, and a vase was sent to meet its maker somewhere past where Malwine could see. At least he hadn’t injured himself as far as she could tell. That would have been awkward, given her current mood and plans.

Bernie finally arrived a few minutes later, Matilda in tow. A gaggle of staffers without identifying uniforms followed them, pouring past the table area and past the door Malwine figured led to the kitchens. Her guardian fiddled with a napkin she had tucked into the neck of her dress, and Malwine couldn’t help but wonder whether she needed to adjust her expectations of formality in this world.

Because Bernie was a lady, right? Malwine examined the table, but additional napkins were nowhere to be found, aside from the accessories Bernie and Matilda were currently rocking. How did I end up here?

Malwine blinked, staring off in no particular direction. She’d had her doubts about the mere idea of seeing this family share a meal, and seeing the ‘event’ start was surreal.

How does everyone know when to be here, actually? Malwine rested her head upon the table, glad to see nobody seemed to care. Are there clocks and I just haven’t seen them?

Yet another mystery for her future self to unravel.

The kitchen door opened slightly, and Malwine heard a few yelps before it was slammed shut again. She was not going to inquire as to what was going on…

“Bernie,” Malwine turned to her right, her tone sweet. “Where’s the food, Bernie?”

“Our diligent staff will have it ready soon, Malwine,” Bernie said evenly, not batting an eye as more shouts managed to be heard all the way from the kitchen.

Shouldn’t they have prepared it in advance? Malwine blinked. Holy fuck, did you not tell them in advance?

Malwine’s internal image of Bernie as a skilled household administrator was cracking before her eyes. Maybe she’s just had a bad day, she tried to tell herself as she heard the door shift again.

A woman held the kitchen door open while another exited, carrying a large plate on each hand. One appeared to hold green aspic that wouldn’t have looked out of place in her Earth’s version of the 1960s, while the other had both a bowl of something creamy with leaves sticking out of it and a ring of small pieces of bread that surrounded it.

It was around this time that Malwine came to the realization that she probably couldn’t eat any of this—good as far as avoiding the gelatin horror went, but that dip looked interesting!

The woman—Waiter? Do you call staff ‘waiters’ when they’re in your own house?—settled the plates with a considerable amount of space between them while Malwine was engaging in internal combat with the Grēdôcavan language, leaving the center of the table empty.

Two others followed, each carrying smaller plates—among them, Malwine thought she could identify some dark beans, even more green things, and a bowl of proper soup. Guess that’s going to be my dinner…

I wish I had proper teeth, Malwine wished before immediately backtracking. Teething pain was something she refused to address, and if it worsened, she might lose it.

She kept her eyes on the soup as more of the small plates populated the table, suddenly aware this was probably going to be a great buffet experience for everyone other than herself.

Had this not been a public setting, she might have wept, especially as she watched Kristian decimate the bread like an all-consuming void. She could have gone the rest of her childhood without witnessing that.

As the latest set of staffers headed back to the kitchen, Anselm all but slid into the room, quietly settling on a chair to Malwine’s left, leaving one empty between them. He stared at the empty plate in front of him as if it were some alien thing, but said nothing.

A sigh caught Malwine’s attention and, for a moment, Bernie reminded her of the highborn lady archetype, throwing her head back before glaring at Anselm. “Late, are we? I had begun to question whether you would come at all.”

Malwine resisted the urge to glare at her guardian. Bernie, you were literally the last to arrive before him.

Then again, this was a family dinner. Even with the nicest of people, Malwine couldn’t imagine those could ever truly be drama-free. The potential for chaos probably went up the more adult children you dragged into a meal, or so her distant experience with the topic went.

“I am not feeling well,” Anselm said curtly. He grabbed the nearest tongs and served himself a pair of green sticks Malwine could only guess were vegetables. She wondered whether even he knew, for that matter, given how he kept staring at them instead of eating.

“I know many doctors, my friend,” Bernie replied. “I said so then, and will again—let me get someone here. Whatever ails you can surely be fixed, and it is not as though we would lack the funding to pay any specialist, if needed.”

Malwine was busy with a more important matter—she had just found a gap in her understanding of Grēdôcavan! Namely, she didn’t know the word for tongs… or for most of the implements that had been spread around the table, really.

“It will pass,” her eldest uncle countered, unconvincingly.

Someone snorted—either Kristian or Kristoffer. As Malwine’s attention returned to reality, it struck her that the two looked more alike than any other members of the family, sharing the shades of their skin and hair. They were also the only ones with noticeable facial hair, though Kristoffer’s stubble was limited to the shape of a mustache.

“That was what you said before, and it has been two years, you fool,” Bernie’s features cracked slightly. “Do you not care that you worry us?”

Though guardianship of her had passed between the two, this was the first time Malwine had noticed there seemed to be a relation there, beyond Bernie having married Kristian. Were they friends?

Malwine tipped her head. Perhaps making a habit of observing her family more wouldn’t be a bad idea.

“I do not mean to worry you, but oftentimes, I find I have to worry about myself, first,” Anselm did not look up from his strange vegetables. “It will pass, nevertheless. Everyone has times in which they feel under the weather, and I have simply been unlucky.”

Another ‘waiter’—as Malwine had decided to stop overthinking what to call them—had a plate far larger than the rest all but hovering above the table, as if unsure on where to place it. Slowly, he placed it between the first two plates, dead-center on the table. Pieces of roasted meat rested upon it, topped by what looked like—but hopefully wasn’t—something’s heart.

It clattered awkwardly, too close to the other plates to truly fit. Another two waiters joined in, trying to rearrange the plates so what was presumably the main course could be properly placed on the table.

What a disaster, Malwine sighed as to avoid laughing, not at all bothered.

A jar of gravy from the furthest end of the table from where Malwine was teetered, and her eyes widened. It found its new home on Alaric’s lap, and the teenager yelped, pushing his chair—and a waiter—back.

Kristian finally dismissed his book, burning gaze landing directly on the last waiter, who was still pushing plates around.

This had the potential to escalate quickly.

“Bernieeee,” Malwine put on her best puppy-eye act and pointed at the tongs. “What are these called?”

Bernie didn’t miss a beat, naming them in Grēdôcavan.

“And these?”

Malwine pointed at every implement she could think of, even those she thought she already knew the words for.

I’m great at diffusing conflict, Malwine nodded along. It had been a necessity. After all, if her relatives spent the meal complaining, how was she supposed to make them give her harvestables?