The nausea hadn't stopped.
Nalla lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling where water stains formed maps of countries that didn't exist. His stomach still churned. The visions still flickered at the edges. Allen at twenty, Allen at thirty, Allen with blood on his hands.
Another fucking chain. This body, this room, this family. All chains wrapped in different names.
When does this stop? When do I get to feel normal again?
Probably never.
The door pushed open.
Nalla didn't move. Same hesitant shuffle, same apologetic existence taking up space it didn't want.
"Big brother." Allen's voice came soft, worried. "I noticed the window is still open. The rain is getting worse. You'll catch a cold."
Nalla turned his head slowly. Allen stood in the doorway, thin frame backlit by dim hallway light. Shoulders curved inward. Head lowered. Every line screaming I'm sorry for existing.
His little brother. Fifteen years old, fragile as wet paper.
In Nalla's memories, the ones that stretched forward through decades, Allen changed after the Awakening Ceremony. That's when he grew sharp, learned to hide his teeth. Stopped being the victim and started being something else.
But before that? Just a scared kid.
"The window." Nalla's voice came out flat. He pushed himself up to sitting. "You came back just for that?"
Allen's hands twisted together. "I couldn't sleep." He took a small step inside, then stopped like he'd hit an invisible wall. "Tomorrow is the Awakening Ceremony. Everything changes tomorrow."
Everything changes tomorrow.
Nalla studied his brother's face. Same features. Sharp cheekbones, dark eyes, straight nose. But where Nalla's had been carved by lifetimes into something that knew how to hurt, Allen's still held softness. Still held that perpetual fear.
"Come here." Nalla kept his voice gentle. Manufactured warmth bleeding through calculated cold. "Sit with me."
Allen hesitated, then shuffled forward. The bed creaked as he sat, keeping a careful distance. The kind of distance he always kept from everyone.
"Tomorrow everything changes," Nalla repeated, letting the words settle. He shifted closer. "For both of us."
Allen nodded, gaze fixed on his own hands.
"I've been thinking about that." Nalla manufactured a crack in his voice. Small. Barely there. "About us."
Allen's breathing hitched.
"I haven't been fair to you." The words came easier than they should have. Lies wrapped in truth, truth wrapped in lies. He reached for Allen's shoulder.
Allen flinched.
Nalla's hand settled on thin bone beneath cheap fabric. The boy trembled, his whole body vibrating like a plucked string.
"I'm sorry." Nalla squeezed gently. "I thought if I kept distance, if I stayed cold, it would protect us both. From them."
"Them?" Allen's voice came small, uncertain. His head lifted slightly, dark eyes meeting Nalla's for a brief moment.
"Uncle. Aunt." Nalla's jaw tightened. Real anger bleeding through performance. "They've been using us. Using you especially. They feed you scraps and you thank them for it."
Allen's hands stilled in his lap. A stillness underneath the fear.
"I know you've noticed." Nalla lowered his voice. Intimate now. Conspiratorial. "Tomorrow you'll awaken, probably an A grade, maybe higher. You have talent, little brother. Real talent."
Allen's shoulders straightened slightly. Just a fraction. Pride warring with habitual submission.
Natural enough.
"And when you do," Nalla continued, "they'll pretend they always believed in you. Always supported you. They'll claim credit for every success while conveniently forgetting every beating, every locked cellar, every meal withheld for 'discipline.'"
Allen's breath caught. His hands clenched into fists.
"I remember." Nalla's voice dropped lower. He released Allen's shoulder to roll up his own sleeve. The scars stood out. Raised lines, old wounds that had never quite healed right. "Every time they took their frustrations out on us. Every time they used the cane, the belt, or their fists. I remember all of it."
Allen stared at the scars. His throat worked. Tears welled in his eyes.
"You were so small." Nalla traced one of the longer scars with his finger. Performance. But the scars were real, and that made the lie taste like truth. "I tried to take the worst of it. That's why I became cold. Had to make them fear me more than they hated us."
"Big brother..." Allen's voice cracked.
Nalla pulled his brother into an embrace. Allen's body went rigid, then collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Thin shoulders shook with sobs. Hot breath came in gasps.
"I should have said this years ago." Nalla manufactured another crack in his voice. "Should have been better."
Allen sobbed harder. His hands clutched at Nalla's shirt.
But underneath the sobs, underneath the desperate clutching and the tears soaking Nalla's shoulder, the breathing was wrong. Not panic-wrong. Not grief-wrong. Too controlled. Too measured despite the visible distress. Like someone who'd practiced crying, who knew exactly how long each gasp should last.
Nalla's mind sharpened.
"Tomorrow," he murmured, voice steady while something dark crystallized inside him, "everything changes. You'll awaken to your talent. The clan will see your worth. Uncle and Aunt will fall over themselves claiming credit." He pulled back slightly, meeting Allen's eyes. Tear-streaked face. Red-rimmed eyes. All real. All genuine. "But I need you to remember something."
Allen nodded, breath hitching with perfect timing.
"We're all we have." Nalla held his brother's gaze, searching. "Just us. When they start offering you resources, training, opportunities, and they will, I need you to remember who actually protected you. Who actually cared."
"I won't forget, big brother." Allen's voice came without hesitation. Clear despite the tears. Certain despite the supposed emotional breakdown. "I promise. I'll never forget."
The words landed too smoothly. No stammering. No seeking reassurance. No questioning why, after fifteen years of cold distance, big brother suddenly cared.
Just immediate, total acceptance.
Nalla's hand stilled in Allen's hair.
Where was the confusion? The suspicion? The natural wariness of someone who'd learned that kindness from family usually came with hidden costs?
Five centuries of watching people lie. And he'd missed this one completely.
"You should sleep." Nalla kept his voice gentle, concerned. "Tomorrow is important."
"Yes, big brother." Allen stood, movements economical despite the supposed breakdown moments earlier. He closed the window properly. The rain's hammer faded. "I'll make sure you're ready in the morning."
He shuffled to the door. Paused with his hand on the frame. Turned back with tear-streaked face and trembling lips.
"Thank you." The words came soft, vulnerable. "For finally seeing me."
The door closed.
Nalla sat on the bed, staring at where his brother had stood.
Five centuries. Five centuries of accumulated wisdom, of watching people lie and scheme and perform. And he'd been played by a teenager with no resources and fewer options.
The manipulation had worked. He'd seen it work in Allen's tears, in his desperate clutching, in his promises and gratitude. Everything real, everything genuine, everything perfectly timed.
The fear had been authentic. The trembling hadn't been faked. But everything else? Every response, every reaction, every emotional beat landing exactly where it should?
What if the ceremony hadn't changed Allen at all?
What if it just gave him the power to stop hiding what he'd always been?
Nalla lay back down. The ceiling stains still formed maps of nonexistent countries.
Pre-ceremony Allen: clumsy with emotion, messy with tears, transparent with fear.
Except what if that had been the performance? What if messy and clumsy and transparent was exactly what a smart kid would show to convince everyone he was harmless?
The thought made his stomach clench.
Had to admire the craftsmanship, really.
Too much laughter brings too much crying, as his mother used to say. A warning about getting too comfortable. She'd have loved this moment. Her genius son returned from the future with centuries of experience, only to get played by his baby brother.
The irony was exquisite.
Nalla laughed. Quiet. Bitter. Almost genuine.
And underneath the laughter, underneath the uncertainty and the growing suspicion that he'd been blind for fifteen years, something else stirred.
Curiosity.
Life keeps offering, and I keep taking. Even when what it offers is proof I'm an idiot.
Because here was something new. Something unexpected. Something five centuries hadn't shown him. Something that caught him off-guard despite everything he'd seen, everyone he'd outlived.
The world still had secrets. Still had surprises.
Worth living for, that.
Tomorrow would bring the Awakening Ceremony.
Tomorrow would reveal whose performance had been better.
Or, and this was the truly delightful possibility, tomorrow would reveal they were both performing for an audience of two, neither willing to break character first, both pretending the other didn't know.
His little brother had just taught him something new about deception. The boy was either a natural talent or had been trained by someone who understood manipulation the way Nalla understood survival. As the only language worth speaking.
Either option meant tomorrow wouldn't be boring.
Nalla closed his eyes. Rain drummed against the closed window.
Well. At least he'd taught the boy something useful. How to lie to the people who thought they were too smart to be lied to.
Tomorrow would be fucking fascinating.