The start of the day…

Puddles on the road gleamed, reflecting not only the clear blue sky but also the first spears of sunlight slanting toward the earth.
A sharp, damp scent from the melting snow hung in the air, a reminder that nature would soon wake.

Moisture wrapped the forest like a light mist, seeping into every crack in the bark.
Small creatures crept out from the depths of the thicket, scouring the ground for food.

Hooves tapped on the cobbles: a large black carriage, drawn by two white stallions, rolled along, escorted by a small detachment of mounted knights.

The scenery made it plain—they had left the northern territories behind.

Inside, piled with cushions, wearing a blue hooded coat and tucked beneath a fluffy white throw, a boy with ash-gray hair slept deeply. Nero?

Opposite him sat a bald man, reading a newspaper.
A few minutes earlier, a post-eagle had brought the latest edition, and a proper gentleman like Frank could not pass it by. With an easy motion he had plucked the rolled newspaper from the pouch on the giant eagle’s breast and begun to read.

The bold headline cried:
“Terrible Tragedy in the North! What Are the Consequences?!”

Page after page turned beneath Frank’s fingers—until he noticed that Nero was stirring awake.

“G… good morning, Uncle Frankie… Are we… Where am I?” asked a very-much-alive Nero, rubbing his eyes.

“We’re almost home. My… well, our home now,” said Frankie kindly, looking up from the paper.

“Aren’t they going to rebuild our manor?” Nero asked—and met his uncle’s strange look.

“You nearly died and spent several days unconscious, and already so many questions… Let’s go in order.” Frank paused, then looked at Nero gravely.

Nero held his tongue.

“Three days ago, you died. For this world as well as… all the Von Lavrelio.”

“…But I’m alive.”

“For the Empire — you are not,” Frankie said, and tossed the newspaper to Nero.

The boy caught it and read the line on the second page:
“Complete Extermination of the Von Lavrelio. Is the Stella’s Seat Vacant?”
Below the headline ran a list of the dead. Nero’s stomach lurched when, besides the familiar names including his family 

he saw his own: “Nero Von Lavrelio — DECEASED.”

“W-what?… That’s nonsense, I’m right here—whole and… mostly whole,” Nero said, shocked, as his body throbbed in pain.

“In short, it’s for your own safety,” Frankie answered curtly.

“The rest later. Benjamin will stop by, and then we’ll talk. For now—before we arrive—I want to show you a little trick,” he finished.

“A trick…? Magic? Really? Will you teach me too? Please, Uncle…” Nero said, suddenly wide awake.
He’d had an unhealthy love for magic and spells since childhood—though in light of recent events, it was easy to forget.

Precisely for that reason, Frankie tried to lift his spirits at least a little. “Yes, that’s right… Watch closely, then you’ll try.” He took out a folded sheet of paper and handed it over.

Nero was about to ask what it was when Frankie tapped two fingers to the boy’s forehead and triggered a spell.
Nero’s hair stirred and sparked blue; his eyes shimmered with every color of the rainbow before settling into yellow. In an instant his hair turned black, and Frankie, licking his palm, slicked Nero’s hair back.

“W-what…?” After a bit of awkward muttering, Nero turned to the window.

Outside was dim compared to the carriage’s interior, and Nero saw his reflection in the glass.
His left hand went to his face. Feeling his features and hair, he struggled to believe what was happening. Then—genuinely intrigued now—he looked at the sheet Frankie had given him a moment earlier…

“Yes, it’s a disguise spell, and unfortunately you’ll have to use it for some time… But don’t worry, I...” Frankie began, trying to explain gently without frightening the already bewildered boy, but something went off script.

“Incredible…” Nero wasn’t listening; he was devouring the instructions. Frankie even thought his nephew had grasped it fully and was about to repeat the complex spell at once.

To his surprise, Nero decided to try. For that, he needed a wand.
He reached for his belt, patted his pocket—and panic flashed across his face at the thought that he’d lost his mother’s wand, the one he’d fought so hard to keep only for Frankie to hand it back to him.

Not that he cared about anything else now. He drew the white-and-emerald wand from its case, tossed the case aside, turned the wand in his palm, and pointed it at himself.

Reading the scroll over and over, Nero snagged on one step.
As far as Frankie remembered, Nero never had trouble learning magic. Theo boasted at every chance about how Nero had shocked his tutor yet again…

But mastering such a complex spell at once was beyond the boy just now.

Still, Nero tried: he aimed the wand at himself, closed his eyes, and focused for a long time.

At one point the wand’s tip flashed blue and immediately went dark. Nero went to cancel the spell, but...

Instead, without realizing it, he changed the color of his hair and eyes to a deep orange.

He tried to check himself in the reflection.
But by then the sun had climbed higher and was shining straight into his face. Shielding his eyes with a hand, he gave up and slid away from the window.

Frankie was amused and, before restoring Nero’s appearance, handed him a mirror to show the boy what he had turned himself into.

Taking the large, gleaming, rectangular mirror in both hands, Nero delighted in the change—tilting his head this way and that, running his fingers through his hair…

Then Frankie returned everything to the way it had been, and Nero once more sat with black hair and yellow eyes.

In brighter spirits now, the boy asked, “Uncle Frankie—why did we stop?” He nodded toward the window: the carriage had halted a few hundred meters short of the manor.

Frankie frowned.
“Nero, my boy… You see, Benjamin and I have arranged something. For your safety, we want you to pretend to be my son.”

“What! What’s the point? I understand the appearance and… But the Empire? They still haven’t found them?!” For some reason Frankie wasn’t sure why—his words hit the boy hard.

“Listen — it’s necessary! And it’s temporary. For your own good, don’t fight it.”

“T-temporary?” Nero asked.

“Yes. We want you to pretend to be my son until we find those bastards. You’re an important witness, Nero, and we won’t put you in danger again…”

Nero lowered his head and simply listened. There was nothing else to do. If Uncle Frankie said it had to be this way—then so be it.

“O-okay… Only… could we change this swampy yellow eye color to something else, please… or at least a different shade?” Nero disliked the idea of changing his appearance at all. But he could stomach the black hair for a time.

With a few seconds of wandwork, Frankie showed the boy his reflection again. “Better?”

“Y-yeah, much better…” In the glass, Nero examined his vivid golden eyes.

"He always did like vivid hues." Frankie smiled.

“I’m glad… Don’t be upset. Everything my brother wanted to give you, I’ll give you twice as much! No, three times as much!” Frank said.

“Hehe… Uncle, can I have ice cream… chocolate…” Nero ventured, cheered.

“And one more thing… Temporarily, you’ll have to change your name, so—” Frankie began, but Nero cut him off with a single word.

“Alright…” The boy stared at the floor, turning the white wand in his hands.

“That’s it?!” flashed through Frankie’s mind. He was plainly puzzled; he’d expected more than just “alright.” Of course, it was even better if Nero agreed without a fuss…

Even so, Frankie regarded his nephew with deep concern.

“I understand why you’re saying this… and as much as I’d like to… I-I can’t say no. Right?” Nero finished, half-nervous.

“Don’t worry… It’s temporary. Tell you what—I’ll bring you ice cream when we arrive, like you wanted—chocolate…” Frankie paused, then added two more words: “Alright, Loki.”

All he heard in reply was a muted “Mm-hmm…” and a long breath.

Frankie knew there was no other way. They had no choice—and that thought was his only comfort.

Outside, morning was still young, and the boy, truth be told, was already hungry. The carriage rolled on toward the manor at an unhurried pace…

Hooves rang on the stony road, lit on all sides by great lamps—some hanging from massive boughs, others mounted on stout stone posts along the verge.

The dawn gave way to a clear sun sailing amid a scatter of great winter clouds.

By the Von Dorr estate, unlike the North Nero was used to, it was far warmer.
And so, a little before noon, the carriage stopped at the gate, and out stepped a black-haired boy with bright golden eyes, in a blue, tightly buttoned coat.

Circling around him, Frank took his hand and led him inside.

Two maids whispered by a window, peeking carefully through the curtain at the street. At that distance—and with the sunlight flashing on the glass—they couldn’t make out the boy as he passed.

Suddenly, the cook who had just come in barked at the young ladies. “No slacking! Back to work!” he bellowed from behind them. Startled, they scurried off—skimming past him and slipping through the door beyond.

A stern, gray-haired chef in a tall hat, its tip lolling to one side, stepped to the window where the maids had been.
A brass nameplate on his chest read “Head Chef.”

A letter brought by an eagle had tasked him with devising a new dessert menu.
When the chef spotted the boy walking hand-in-hand with the master, he unexpectedly jotted a couple of notes.

“Right. …More ice cream—the kids love it…” He tucked the notebook back into his apron pocket, whistled a jaunty tune, and went about his business.

Meanwhile…
Someone was already waiting behind the open door for Nero—Aunt Viola seized the boy with both hands and lifted a very surprised Nero over her head.

She was Frankie’s height, with dark hair, pale green—almost yellow eyes, and a short cut down to her neck. Unlike Frankie, she had a strong, athletic figure.

“And who is this adorable, Ah… Is this Ne... I mean Loki, yes?” Viola chirped, shaking him just a little.

Then she hugged him tight.

Shedding his outer coat, Frank deftly pried “Loki” from Viola’s grasp and set him on his feet.

“Go on—go on for now. ‘Mom’ and I need a word. I’ll come to you in a bit, alright?”
With a gentle nudge between the shoulder blades—and a small key pressed into his palm—Frankie sent “Loki” up the stairs to the second floor.

He wandered through the mansion’s spacious corridors, where luxurious red carpets with gold trimming stretched on and on…

At last he reached the final door on the right, at the very end of the hall. He turned the key and stepped inside.

A broad room opened before him, a bed straight across from the entry. Plenty of space; empty bookcases for now, a desk, drawers, side tables…

Nero immediately remembered his room in the burned manor at the edge of the North.
“They’ve recreated my room exactly… apart from the color,” he murmured, and began to inspect every corner.

It seemed impossible they could have recreated it so completely in such a short time. How?

Except for the color.

The colors and tones of his old room had been blue-violet. Now he sat in a yellow armchair, with everything around him bright and sunlit.

He swept aside a semi-transparent golden curtain and looked out the window…

The view from his room was excellent over the nearby grounds. He figured the balcony would give an even better vantage, but even here he could make out woods, clearings, and a river below in the distance, rushing toward a waterfall.

With a running jump he flopped onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling.
“Yes… …This too.” Nero was pleasantly surprised: above the bed, the ceiling had been painted with gleaming patterns of stars and comets.

On the right, several colored bands flowed from top to bottom, imitating the northern lights; the hues blended toward the center and melted away before reaching it.

“Loki” stretched a hand up toward the ceiling.

A knock at the door.
“Knock, knock… Loki, have you had a look around your room yet?” Aunt Viola’s knuckle tapped the wood as she called.

“Uh-huh. I’m stunned! How did you manage to recreate it so precisely… It’s incredible,” Nero said, leaping from the bed.

“Hah, I’m glad you like it… Honestly? No idea.” She turned and peeked into the corridor, then added in a whisper, “Frankie did it all—ask him, Nero.”

“Alright,” the boy replied.

“Oh almost forgot. Hungry? They’re setting the table downstairs… and there’s a new sweets menu…” Aunt Viola tried to cheer him. He didn’t seem impressed—so she added, “And of course, ice cream.”

Seconds later, Nero stood beside her, pleading that they go down or else he would go alone.

“Oh my, do you want ice cream that much?” Viola laughed softly, covering her mouth with her hand.

“No time to explain, the ice cre..,I mean, the food won’t eat itself. Let’s go!” Nero stepped out and headed downstairs.

“Funny you’ve got a sweet tooth. Noel can’t stand it… Well, never mind.” Watching him go, Aunt Viola exhaled with relief and eased shut the creaking door to “Loki’s” room.

In the dim morning light, on the edge of a table in a handsome golden frame,
a photograph showed a small black-haired boy with dull yellow eyes sitting on the shoulders of his father—who, back then, still had hair and laughed easily.

If Nero arrived and transformed only now… when did they have time to take this picture?