The Weight of Legacy

An old habit was rearing its ugly head, an echo from her past life that Malwine wanted to insist she had managed to fight off before now—it had taken her quite the long while to get around to it, but she was finally back to procrastinating her decisions!

There wasn’t much to think about—though she’d have killed even for something as simple as an hourglass, she wasn’t sure how long her trial’s run for Kristian had taken. Her only track of time so far had been her own brand of guesstimation.

It’s honestly confusing, Malwine mused. These people clearly know what days are, for one. But why don’t they track it proper? So far, Malwine had encountered the topic only in passing, and it had caught her eye to notice her age always changed on the first of the month. She’d tried asking Bernadette as well, only for her guardian to have the audacity to say 'ladies don’t answer questions like that'.

This is how you get researchers centuries down the line to be angry at not being able to use your age to calculate any of your parents' details, you fool…!

That was the start of another past emotion rearing its ugly head—frustrations that transcended life and death alike. [Cool Head on Your Shoulders] barely took the edge off it—after all, Skills probably weren’t meant to outright suppress anything that ran that deep through someone’s personhood.

Not that Bernadette’s refusal stopped Malwine from figuring out the answer when the opportunity arose. Thekla and Anselm had visited again, though Malwine got the impression they’d been meaning to speak with Bernadette about something they didn’t want the children to overhear, given their attempt at a rapid retreat.

Still, she managed to catch her limping uncle—Malwine had yet to figure out a polite way to ask for details, even if a toddler could probably get away with a blunt question—and got to showcase just how little confidentiality she thought should be afforded to vital dates among family.

“Which month were you born in?” Malwine blinked at her uncle—she hoped the expression was as cute as it should be, coming from an inquisitive three-year-old.

Anselm blanked at her for a moment, as if taken off-guard by the question, but he nodded to himself and answered. “The Fog.”

“The last month?”

“Of the year, yes.”

“Of which year?”

At that, her uncle’s eyebrows went up, if briefly. He wasn’t as stoic as Bernadette, but from what little Malwine had seen of him, he was awfully quick to return to that ineffectual mask—trying to keep a neutral expression hardly mattered when you reacted anyway, no matter how briefly.

“I was born during The Fog of 5769,” he smiled at her. “I might be somewhat older than you.”

He’s… 26?, she had to focus on not returning the gesture as she calculated—somehow, she’d expected him to be older. 31 in this world, I guess. But still—I wasn’t expecting him to be that young. He looks tired.

“When was Bernie born? She is mean and does not tell me.”

Anselm laughed. “Why do you ask, dear?”

“Hm,” Malwine tapped her chin innocently. “I like knowing.”

“Of everyone’s birthmonths?”

“Yes!” she smiled, for once not intending to deceive. She liked knowing, sure, but this was a matter of preservation as well as curiosity. Any detail could be important down the line—anything no one bothered to record about a person’s life could and absolutely would slip through the annals of history.

The time of one’s birth wasn’t anywhere near as relevant as some assumed—especially for older generations—but Malwine had a prime opportunity here, to start recording everything as soon as she could. Grim thought, but you never know for how long people will be around.

Faint memories, images of neglected archives and needless secrecy, started to pour into her mind, blurring further as soon as they appeared. A sense of bone-deep frustration accompanied them—not quite anger, closer to belligerent helplessness.

Malwine had to take a step back before an internal monologue—no, rant—took shape. She wanted to complain, perhaps on account of said leftover frustrations from her past life, but she didn’t actually have a target for that anger in this new world.

The sort of people she’d once despised might not even be a thing here, after all.

It was a very strange feeling.

What was she going to do, fight random archivists here? I mean, I can literally read their books from afar now, even if they do get testy.

She let out a humph. Every single one of her Skills likely had at least a hint of such a root—they were somehow based on her past life, after all, even if the meaning of that wasn’t always immediately obvious to Malwine.

It had taken her uncle a moment to reply—maybe he’d debated whether answering would be rude—but Malwine broke herself out of her mental spiral in time to hear his response. “She is three months my senior, but I implore you to not tell her I let you know that.”

Malwine made a shush noise, her index finger over her twisting lips.

Again, her uncle laughed. He hadn’t stayed much longer after that.

At least she’d finally gotten some fresh material to update her tree with—this work was awfully slow when you had neither archives nor databases to turn to.