Year 989 of the Holy Era.

The continent of Euphelia. The kingdom of Beltrum and its capital, Beltrant, were located in the Strahl region, towards the west side of this land.

It was here in these lands that a mother and child lived modestly — but happily — in a small house. The mother was a lovely and attractive woman, and her son was comparably cute in an androgynous way.

On one fine summer day...

“Hey, mom. Why do we have black hair? No one around us has black hair.”

The little boy peered up at his mother with caramel-colored eyes. Indeed, there were no other black-haired people in the capital they lived in. Because of that, the two of them were treated as oddities in their neighborhood.

His mother looked troubled by his question.

“You’re right, Rio,” she said, taking a moment to answer him. “Perhaps it’s because we came from somewhere far away.”

“Do all of the people who live far away have black hair?”

“Yes, that’s right. It’s not just you and me. Your father’s hair was black, too... and so was your grandmother’s and grandfather’s hair.”

Her son, whose name was Rio, had asked so curiously — his mother couldn’t help but smile as a result as she answered him. Seeing her smile made the boy so happy, making him beam right back at her. To the young boy who had just turned five, his mother was his everything.

“Huh! I’d like to meet grandma and grandpa someday.”

“...Yes, that’d be nice,” the mother replied. “I’ll take you to see them when you get bigger. They’re in a place called the Yagumo region.” Her smile had become troubled again as she spoke.

“Really? You promise?”

“Mmhm. I promise.”

◇◇◇

Two years later, in the year 991 of the Holy Era. Early spring.

In the slums of Beltrant, the capital of the Beltrum kingdom, there lived a small orphan boy. He was curled in the corner of a dark and shabby wooden shack, the air dry and chilly.

“Hah... hah...”

The boy panted for breath, his cheeks bright red. He groaned openly, tormented by his nightmares. The dirty rags he wore on his body were soaked through with sweat; at just a glance, it was clear that he had a fever. There were traces of multiple people living in the run-down shack, but none of them were present to nurse the sick boy. Who knew how long the boy had been alone like this? He was alone, left lying on the cold floor in a single layer of clothing. It wouldn’t have been surprising if he’d died like this. And yet—

At one point, a warm, gentle light began to shine and embrace the boy’s body. It was a different kind of heat from the fever that had been tormenting the boy... This heat was warm and comfortable enough to entrust oneself to. Color rapidly returned to the boy’s face, and his breathing evened out. For some reason, the fever that ailed the boy’s body was gone, and the light that covered his body disappeared with a subtle flash.

“Mmh...”

The boy blearily opened his eyes sometime later. Lying on his back, he blinked until his vision cleared and a dimly-lit wooden ceiling came into focus. His mind was still hazy, as though there was a fog preventing him from thinking clearly. The fever was gone, but not without consequence. He was still weak, and had yet to recover his strength and stamina. Overwhelmed with fatigue, the boy stared blankly at the ceiling. His mind managed to recover to a point where he could process his thoughts again; pushing his weary body up into a sitting position, he started to wonder about his situation.

“Ugh...”

A dull pain ached in his muscles, making the boy wince. It might have been a result of the cold he caught, or perhaps from sleeping on the hard floor. A glance around at his surroundings revealed a dismal room with some shabby furniture placed in the middle.

This is...

A room he was very familiar with, the boy thought... And yet, something inexplicably felt out of place. He knew he’d lived in this room for a while, now... but he was also seeing it for the first time. It shouldn’t have been possible, but it was almost as though there were two people’s consciousnesses within him...

Something just didn’t feel right... rather, something was muddled with his memories. As he looked around the room in a daze, a sour smell suddenly pierced his senses. The boy noticed the rags he was wearing were soaked with sweat. He furrowed his brow, mind now awakened. With a deep breath, he collapsed back on the floor; he felt like lying down for a little longer. He lifted a hand to place against his forehead — but in the next moment, he gasped loudly and stared intently at his hand.

It was definitely his hand... the small hand of a seven-year-old boy. But it was... weird. There was something strange about it...

Ignoring the headache pounding in his head, the boy kicked his hazy brain back into gear.

A child’s hand...? I... Wait, I?...

Rio — that was the boy’s name. He was an orphan living in the slums of Beltrum’s capital, sworn to take revenge on a certain man. That was why he had grasped at straws to survive up until this point. That should have been the entirety of Rio’s existence...

So why did he have another person’s worth of memories? The memories of a person living in another world, in an unfamiliar civilization, with technology that he didn’t recognize...

Broken images of various scenes flashed through his mind... They seemed all-too realistic to be written off as just the imagination of a seven-year-old boy. They showed the life of a completely different person. Someone named Amakawa Haruto. According to his memories, he was a twenty-year-old university student. No — even now, Rio was living that life, as if those memories had happened to him just moments ago. A strange unsettled feeling fell over Rio, causing him to shake his head violently.

What am I thinking? Amakawa Haruto...?

The set of dual memories left Rio feeling confused. He looked down at his hands, as if he were trying to escape reality. But it wasn’t the unblemished skin of a Japanese child who grew up well provided for in the age of plenty. These were the hands of someone that was underweight from malnutrition; the skin was dry and rough and covered in a thin layer of grime.

Of course... According to his memories as an orphan, he hadn’t had a bath in ages.

Seriously...?