I tried to recall, but memories of Lon before I inhabited this body were like a fog that refused to be disturbed. All I knew was that he was the younger brother who kept this house running, faithfully maintaining the fragile order of our little world. But what did he do in his spare time? Did he have anyone to talk to besides us? I hardly ever chatted with him myself, and Paris seemed more like a guest in his own home these days.
Back then, I thought Adonis and Ashsa were Lon's friends—at least before they became Alteker and still came home often. Now, though, this house felt like an empty stage, footsteps echoing only once in a while.
"By the way, yesterday I couldn't get into the house when you were out," I said, trying to steer my thoughts elsewhere as the washing machine fell silent, as if it, too, was holding its breath.
Lon pressed a button on the panel, then moved the clothes into the dryer. "I was out getting groceries for dinner," he replied casually, as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world. "Don't we all have our own keys?"
I hesitated, unsure how to respond. From the start, I'd never actually received a key—or maybe I'd forgotten, or maybe there never was one. I tried to hide the confusion on my face, but it was probably pointless.
"There should be a spare key somewhere. I'll give it to you later," he said, and the machine started up again, filling the room with a monotonous hum that was both soothing and suffocating.
I studied Lon—his oversized shirt, patterned with drifting clouds, billowed softly as he moved, hands busy pulling clothes from the dryer. For a moment, a question flickered at the edge of my thoughts—was he… alone in all this?
Alone.
The word spun in my head, cold and sharp, digging right down to the bone. It felt familiar, like my own shadow always trailing behind me, like the coral lamps in the western sector that lit up empty streets—no one standing beneath them, no one looking up.
Maybe Lon really was lonely. Like someone sitting alone in a park I'd never seen, in a world that felt foreign. Yet she kept dancing with joy, sometimes singing, sometimes just sitting, always with a smile that never seemed to fade—even though I knew, behind it all, there was a solitude no one could chase away.
She was always busy, working on something as if the tasks would never end. Sometimes her eyes would fix on a that faint line, as if there was a secret only her understood. Sometimes she'd touch it, fingers moving slowly, almost hesitantly. There were moments when her face flashed with panic, as if she were walking a tightrope over a chasm, and then, suddenly, relief would flicker across her features—gone in an instant, like morning dew.
Was Lon like that when we, his siblings, weren't paying attention? Like… that person? Who was I even comparing Lon to? I didn't know—the memory just surfaced, absurd and uninvited, slicing through my thoughts without warning.
"Hey, this is kind of random, but… isn't there anything you want to do besides housework all the time?" I asked, my voice barely louder than the machine's hum.
"Of course there is. Sometimes I sing in the shower, sometimes I make potions, sometimes I go out… when I do go out. Oh, you should check out my potion recipe collection—might come in handy if you ever really want to sell potions," Lon replied, his eyes lighting up, as if a world of color had suddenly opened before him.
No one ever said I wanted to sell potions.
"That's not what I mean. I'm talking about something memorable—something you truly want, not just the daily grind. Imagine it: a whole day off, just for fun."
"A day off…" Lon echoed, as if the word itself was some foreign spell he'd never heard before. He lowered his gaze, staring at the washing machine's control panel, searching for answers among buttons that never failed to obey. For him, a day off probably sounded like a curse—a day with no chores to anchor him.
"Think about it, Lon. We're all busy with our own lives now. There's barely any housework left, especially with all these machines. You don't have to carry it all on your shoulders. One day off won't make the house fall apart, right?" I coaxed, adding a gentle smile to soften my words.
A few seconds passed, silence filling the room, the steady whir of the washer our only backdrop. Then, slowly, Lon spoke.
"Festival," he said quietly, as if making a wish to a falling star.
"I want to go to the Dasmer Festival," he continued, his voice trembling just a little, like the first note of a song kept secret for years.
From the hazy corners of memory, I remembered the Dasmer Festival was the Wetlands' anniversary celebration—the city's grandest party, a sea of lights and music flooding the central square. If I wasn't mistaken, it was only five days away. From what little memory lingered in this body, the last time we attended Dasmer Festival was about four years ago.
Our chosen spot was an old, weathered structure in the middle of the Wetlands—unassuming, yet offering the most breathtaking view. The fireworks would ignite beyond the dome, colors tearing through the shell, their fragments spiraling into the city and dissolving into a shower of stars, as though the universe had decided to paint the night for us. That was always the festival's crowning glory.
"Oh, absolutely! I'll take you there. We'll all go—Adonis and Ashsa too. We'll celebrate together, Lon," I said, my excitement practically sparking in the air.
"But aren't they working?" Lon asked, his voice wavering, half doubtful, half hopeful, like a child afraid to wish too hard.
"They should get time off for the festival," I replied, grinning so wide I nearly forgot about the dwindling pile of laundry in front of me.
"I'll be able to see the stage," Lon murmured, still staring at the control panel.
"Of course you will—no one's stopping you."
"Can I go to the food stalls?"
"Of course. I'll be right there with you, helping you spend all of Paris's hard-earned money," I joked, barely holding back a laugh.
"So I can buy potion ingredients too?"
"Anything you want, as long as Paris's wallet is still breathing."
"And then we'll all sit there together. I always see that place when I come back from outside—they never tore it down. It's still standing. We'll sit there, just like we used to," Lon said, his faint smile hitting me right in the heart, bittersweet and warm all at once.
"Yeah… of course, we'll sit there," I replied at last, my voice nearly drowned out by the noisy hope crowding my chest. The words slipped out softly, like a promise whispered to myself.
I could hear the washing machine fall silent—as if the world itself was taking a long breath, holding time still for a moment. Lon's whole demeanor brightened, cheerful as a child who'd just unearthed treasure beneath a mound of suds.
He gathered up the clothes from the machine with a rhythm only he could hear; every step, every handful of fabric, as if he was dancing to some invisible symphony spinning in his head. I couldn't help but smile, picturing my little brother finally getting the holiday he'd always wanted.
Suddenly, my thoughts jumped to another topic—potion ingredients. Curiosity prickled at me, impossible to ignore.
"You said you know where to find ingredients for my potions, right?"
"Of course I do," Lon replied instantly, his eyes lighting up like a kid who'd just found hidden treasure. "I never lie when it comes to potions. But, well… the place is a little… um."
"A little what?" I pressed, suspicious.
"Mythical Spinal Fluid, you know? It's the liquid that runs along the spine of living creatures," he explained, his tone suddenly serious.
"Please tell me this doesn't involve, you know, ending something's life" I said, forcing a nervous grin.
Lon chuckled, shaking his head. "No, of course not. We're not about to do anything crazy like that. Technically."
Technically? The word slipped out so quietly, yet it was enough to send a chill crawling up my spine. Something about this felt off.
"We're not going to kill them… if they're already dead," Lon said breezily.
"What?" I stared at him, waiting for an explanation, but Lon just flashed a cryptic smile.
"We're going to the Wetlands Cemetery," he whispered, as if inviting me to a midnight party.