A bitter chuckle escaped him, a sound tinged with irony.
In his past life, he had been nothing more than a ghost,just another face in the crowd, another na on a ticard.
He had worked himself to death,literally,for a job that would have replaced him before his chair grew cold.
And now? Now he was Arthur Osborn, heir to a powerful family. The contrast was almost laughable.
He paused beside a marble bench, running his fingers along its smooth surface.
The coldness of the stone grounded him, pulling him back from the tide of mories threatening to drag him under.
"Mom. Dad. Don’t worry; I’m doing quite well in this new world,better than I ever did on Earth!"
Their faces flashed in his mind,smiling, vibrant, aliveand then they were gone. Just like that.
He clenched his jaw, forcing those images away as if they were shadows creeping too close for comfort.
The wind picked up, carrying with it the faintest hint of salt from the distant sea.
Arthur tilted his head back and stared at the constellations above,foreign and unfamiliar shapes twinkling against the night sky.
No Big Dipper here.
No Orion. Just strange patterns that felt utterly aningless.
I died.
The realization still sent a jolt through him every ti he thought about it.
When he first transmigrated, it felt surreal,a blur of monts flashing by like scenes from an old movie reel.
One mont, he’d been slumped over his desk,the glow of his computer screen being the last thing he’d ever seen,and in the next... this: A new body, a new na, and an entirely new world.
And then there was family,a concept he thought he could never embrace again.
That was perhaps the strangest part about being an Osborn; they weren’t just powerful,they were present and united!
Dinner hadn’t been a silent affair filled with awkward glances; it had been loud and chaotic and bursting with life!
Liz’s laughter echoed around him like music; Julian’s dry remarks brought smiles even when least expected; Ashley’s sharp wit kept everyone on their toes.
They were real.
And sohow... he was one of them.
Arthur closed his eyes and let the cool night air wash over him like a soothing balm. Is this my second chance?
The thought sent an unexpected warmth flooding through his chest,a flicker of hope igniting within him.
[Ding...]
The system’s voice echoed in his mind, crisp and chanical:
[Host’s emotional stability has increased. Compatibility with current world: 90%.]
Arthur couldn’t help but smirk at that little update.
"Even the system’s keeping tabs on now," he mused aloud.
Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, he pondered what lay ahead. Maybe... just maybe... this was where he was truly ant to be after all.
----------
The garden was a realm of silver and shadow, where the moon hung like a polished coin in the sky, its light cascading through the leaves of ancient oaks, painting the gravel path with fractured patterns.
Arthur strolled slowly, hands tucked deep in his pockets, feeling the cool night air brush against his skin.
The sweet, thick scent of night-blooming jasmine mingled with the salt-kissed breeze wafting from the distant sea, creating an intoxicating atmosphere.
The gravel path crunched softly underfoot as Arthur wandered deeper into the moonlit garden.
Sowhere in the hedgerows, a nightingale sang its lancholic tune, the sound echoing through the labyrinth of rose arbors and marble fountains.
Arthur paused beneath an ancient willow, its trailing branches creating a shimring curtain of silver in the moonlight.
He reached out, letting the leaves brush against his fingertips, marveling at how real everything felt.
The texture of the bark, the coolness of the night air, the way his breath fogged slightly before him all impossibly vivid compared to the hazy mories of his past life.
The crunch of approaching footsteps made him tense.
"Couldn’t sleep either?"
The voice - rich, cultured, and unmistakable sent a jolt through him.
Arthur turned to see Julian erging from the shadows, his tailored suit jacket slung over one shoulder, the moonlight catching the silver streaks at his temples.
A cigarillo dangled from his fingers, its ember glowing like a tiny beacon in the dark.
"You’re stalking now?" Arthur quipped, forcing his shoulders to relax.
Julian exhaled a slow stream of smoke that curled into the night air. "If I wanted to stalk you, you’d never know I was there."
The corner of his mouth twitched. "I’d be significantly more subtle than traipsing through the gardens at midnight."
Arthur snorted. "Right. Because you’re the picture of subtlety. I seem to recall a certain incident involving a hostile takeover and a literal marching band."
"That was strategic intimidation," Julian said, coming to stand beside him under the willow. "There’s a difference."
He offered the cigarillo. "Want a drag?"
Arthur hesitated before accepting. The spicy-sweet tobacco burned pleasantly on his tongue, a far cry from the cheap cigarettes he’d occasionally bumd in his past life. "Since when do you share?"
"Since one of my nephews ca back from Varenya looking like he’d aged ten years." Julian’s sharp gaze studied Arthur’s face. "You’ve been quiet since you returned."
Arthur passed the cigarillo back. "Just tired."
"Try again."
The directness made Arthur blink. Julian had always been perceptive, but this was sothing else an almost uncomfortable level of attention.
"You know," Arthur said, deflecting, "most people would take the hint and drop it."
Julian’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. "Good thing I’m not most people."
He leaned against the willow’s trunk, the moonlight casting his sharp features into stark relief. "You’ve been different since you ca back. More distant. Like you’re here but not quite present."
Arthur’s fingers twitched at his sides. The accuracy of the observation was unsettling. "Maybe I’m just getting better at tuning out Liz’s nonsense."
"Nice try." Julian took another drag before continuing. "When I was twenty-three, I spent six months undercover in the Kessari Syndicate."
The non sequitur made Arthur frown. "I’m aware. It’s family legend at this point."
"Do you know why I did it?"
Arthur shrugged. "To prove you could?"
Julian shook his head. "Because I thought I had to do everything alone. That asking for help was weakness."
He ground out the cigarillo against the tree bark. "Nearly got myself killed three tis before I realized how stupid that was."
The confession hung between them, raw and unexpected. Arthur had never heard Julian speak like this no boardroom polish, no calculated charm. Just truth.
"I’m not trying to be a martyr," Arthur said finally.
"Aren’t you?" Julian turned to face him fully. "You took on Valmira alone. You’ve been carrying whatever this is alone."
He gestured at Arthur’s tense posture. "Tell I’m wrong."
Arthur opened his mouth, then closed it. The denial died on his lips.
Because Julian wasn’t wrong. In both lives, he’d always shouldered burdens alone first from necessity, then from habit.
The wind picked up, sending the willow branches swaying around them like a living curtain.
Sowhere in the distance, a fountain trickled softly.
"You’re not him, you know," Julian said quietly.
Arthur’s breath caught. "Who?"
"The man who left for Valmira." Julian’s gaze was piercing. "Whatever happened there changed you. And not just in the ways war changes people."
For one heart-stopping mont, Arthur wondered if Julian knew. If sohow, impossibly, he’d guessed the truth.
Then Julian continued: "But here’s what you keep forgetting you don’t have to be that man anymore. Not here. Not with us."
Arthur looked away, his throat tight. The words resonated too deeply, cutting through defenses he hadn’t even realized he’d built.
"You Osborns," he said hoarsely, "you don’t make it easy to brood in peace, do you?"
Julian chuckled. "We’re a ddleso lot. Cos with the family crest."
He reached into his pocket and produced a silver flask, offering it to Arthur. "Drink?"
Arthur accepted, the whiskey burning a welco path down his throat. "Since when do you carry contraband?"
"Since always." Julian smirked. "Though if you tell Alfred, I’ll deny it and have you scrubbing the stables for a month."
They passed the flask back and forth in comfortable silence, the alcohol warming Arthur from the inside out.
The night seed to hold its breath around them, the garden transford into so enchanted realm where ti moved differently.
After a while, Julian spoke again, his voice softer now. "You know, when your father died..."
Arthur stilled. They never talked about this.
"...I made the sa mistake," Julian continued. "Tried to carry everything myself. Nearly ran the company into the ground before Margaret slapped so sense into ."
He took the flask back, his fingers brushing Arthur’s. "My point is we’re your family, Arthur. For better or worse. Let us be that."
The words settled over Arthur like a mantle, heavy but comforting.
He thought of Lillian’s relentless loyalty, Ashley’s sharp-edged care, even Alfred’s quiet steadfastness.
Maybe... maybe he didn’t have to do this alone anymore.
"Careful," Arthur said, forcing a lighter tone. "Keep talking like that and people might think you have a heart under all those tailored suits."
Julian’s answering smile was surprisingly genuine. "God forbid. I have a reputation to maintain."
He pushed off from the tree. "Co on. It’s late, and unlike so people, I have an 8 AM board eting."
Arthur fell into step beside him as they made their way back toward the manor. The moon hung lower now, its silver light gilding the path before them.
For the first ti since waking up in this world, Arthur felt sothing unclench in his chest.
The mories of his past life didn’t disappear they would always be part of him but they no longer felt like shackles.
He was Arthur Osborn.
And he was exactly where he belonged.
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