How to Make a Sinner Sleep

116 | destiny; ten years gifted

Wisteria had begrudgingly allowed the three remaining, Arlo, Niklas, and Holly to roam under supervision after Niklas screamed his lungs out and irritated every dragon in the vicinity.

Looking at the charming, relaxed face that had been yelling for hours straight, Wisteria felt a murderous urge.

Sorrowfully, he resisted it.

Arlo awkwardly followed as they ducked under draped vines, intertwined with the slender trunks of towering trees, their plumage serene greens and blues.

"You've grown so big, Arlo!" exclaimed Holly, jumping up and down with happiness. "I'm so glad you're alive! I'd wondered, you know? You just up and left!"

Niklas shook his head in mock disappointment. "Abandoning us immediately... how cruel of you, kid."

Arlo scowled, blowing air into his cheeks. "I'm not a kid."

"You're still young, no matter how tall you've grown."

It was shocking; the once-malnourished child had shot up to new feats, a few centimeters taller than Niklas. This was a testament to his lifestyle in the palace. Arlo had not been mistreated.

Niklas wanted to yell some more and pull out his hair. The Crown Prince's attitude was both unpredictable and irritable. He simply couldn't make sense of it, not now, and not back then.

The trees bristled and Holly had fallen silent, stopping a few steps ahead of them. Her excitement settled.

"Niklas," Holly began uncertainly, pressing her lips together. "Can you tell me why you had to disguise yourself?"

He stopped in his step, gaze darting to Wisteria who watched with cool disinterest.

Then, he put on an exaggerated expression. "It's a tragic story. The poor pitiful me had my Blessing spirited away, stolen by time and fate. However, with the talents of a stage performer, I skillfully fooled everybody into believing—"

Holly swatted his arms, shaking her head. "No need for theatrics, Niklas. You don't have to tell me."

Niklas looked at her, his blue skin pulling into a curved smile.

When he opened his eyes in the past, all he recalled was the wrenching misery of waking. Niklas had been terribly overconfident in his ability to remain sane and the woes of living.

The Blessed were superior in physical prowess—it had been startling to realize how weak his body felt after feeling powerful for years, without trying. He never realized how difficult it was to work from nothing to become strong.

He spoke so confidently, but back then, when he opened his eyes to the life he knew but was not the same, he'd given up. Alone in a room with weak limbs and waning lungs, without his allies or support, he would have in the future.

Once, it'd been so easy to make his father proud and be levels above all others.

It was hard to explain it to somebody until they rose to their peak of ability and woke up the next day with nothing.

In the Academy, he was the weakest, without the natural talents the Blessed had.

The disparity between his previous life had been so startling, that Niklas had gloomily chosen to yield to his weakness. He sighed, scratching the back of his neck.

Had he struggled more, like Arlo did, perhaps he would've reached a sufficient level of strength. Perhaps he wouldn't be exhausted after running around for hours, with a miserable athletic ability.

He'd overestimated himself; underestimated the changes that turning back time would've brought. It was a pathetic blunder in his life that even the shameless man didn't dare confess.