The Laziest God Mortal Reincarnation

(Penelope Declare’s POV)

The Vortex estate had always felt too large to me.

Not intimidating, exactly.

I had visited often enough over the years that its marble halls, towering windows, and blue-and-silver banners were no longer unfamiliar.

I knew which corridors led toward the gardens, which staircases the servants preferred, and which drawing rooms the Duchess usually reserved for guests.

Yet there was something about the estate that made silence feel larger than it should.

Perhaps it was the height of the ceilings.

Perhaps it was the way footsteps lingered against polished stone long after someone had passed.

Or perhaps today I was simply paying too much attention to everything.

I stood beside one of the tall windows in the eastern sitting room, watching carriages move along the road beyond the front courtyard.

Most belonged to guests arriving early for tomorrow’s Awakening ceremony.

My fingers rested lightly against the curtain.

Every few moments, I found myself studying the road again.

Not waiting.

At least, that was what I had been telling myself since breakfast.

Behind me, Meline carefully arranged several ribbons across the dressing table.

"You know," she said, "watching the gate won’t make him arrive faster."

My fingers stopped against the curtain.

I turned.

"I wasn’t watching the gate."

Meline looked toward the window.

Then back at me.

She had served me since I was six years old.

That unfortunate amount of familiarity had apparently given her the confidence to say nothing and still make me feel accused.

"I was looking outside," I added.

"Of course, my lady."

There was something deeply irritating about how respectfully she said that.

I stepped away from the window.

"You’re becoming troublesome."

"I learned from you."

That made me pause.

Meline lowered her eyes immediately, but I caught the faint smile before she hid it.

I should have reprimanded her.

Instead, I almost smiled too.

I sat beside the small tea table and reached for my cup.

The tea had already cooled.

I had forgotten about it again.

That made the third cup today.

I placed it back down without drinking.

Alash was returning.

After nearly five years.

Even thinking the words felt strange.

I still possessed memories of him clearly enough that sometimes the distance between then and now seemed impossible.

A ten-year-old boy asleep at a garden table.

Silver hair spread untidily across his arms.

A maid standing beside him looking as though she might faint from embarrassment.

And me, standing several steps away, rehearsing every greeting my mother had forced me to memorize.

I had been terrified of doing something wrong.

Curtsy properly.

Speak clearly.

Don’t stare.

Don’t speak too loudly.

Don’t speak too quietly.

Don’t interrupt.

Don’t embarrass Father.

Most importantly, don’t embarrass myself in front of the heir of House Vortex.

Then Alash had opened his eyes.

He had looked at me for several seconds.

And simply waved.

"Hello."

I still remembered how confused I had been.

All those lessons.

All that preparation.

And he had greeted me as though we were two children meeting beside a pond instead of the heirs of noble families entering an arranged engagement.

At the time, I hadn’t known whether to be offended or relieved.

Looking back...

Probably relieved.

A small smile touched my lips.

Our engagement had frightened me far more than Alash ever had.

I hadn’t understood marriage.

Not really.

Father had explained alliances.

Mother had explained duties.

My sisters had provided considerably less useful explanations involving dresses, banquets, children, and whether my future husband would be handsome.

Alash had somehow made everything simpler.

"Friends first."

I remembered those words clearly.

"Then whatever our parents want later."

He had sounded completely serious.

I hadn’t realized until much later how absurd the conversation had been.

Two ten-year-olds calmly negotiating the emotional terms of a political engagement they barely understood.

Still...

It had worked.

He became my friend.

My first real friend outside my family.

And now he was returning.

Four years older.

I looked toward the window again.

Four years could change someone.

I knew that better than most.

The girl who had first visited this estate would never have sat alone in a noble drawing room while servants moved around her without feeling awkward.

She would not have attended royal banquets.

She would not have spoken comfortably with marquesses, ambassadors, or the wives of Dukes.

She certainly would not have learned how to smile politely while someone insulted her without technically saying anything insulting.

That skill had taken time.

A great deal of time.

Noble society rarely attacked openly.

It preferred softer weapons.

A compliment placed slightly wrong.

A question carrying another meaning underneath.

A sympathetic smile.

I had become rather good at recognizing them.

Perhaps I had needed to.

My eyes lowered toward my hands.

Three years ago, I had awakened.

For months before the ceremony, everyone had spoken as though the result were already decided.

My father possessed A potential.

Mother possessed A potential.

My elder sisters had both awakened A.

Naturally, everyone expected the youngest daughter of House Declare to follow.

Some even whispered that perhaps I might reach S.

I hadn’t believed that.

But I had hoped for A.

Instead...

The Orb had revealed B.

I could still remember the moment clearly.

Not because anyone had reacted badly.

That would have been easier.

The hall had simply become quieter.

Only for a second.

Then everyone smiled.

Mother embraced me.

Father told me he was proud.

My sisters insisted potential wasn’t everything.

Our guests offered encouragement.

B potential was respectable.

Perfectly respectable.

Above what most people possessed.

There was nothing shameful about it.

I knew all of that.

And yet every gentle voice had carried the same message beneath the words.

’It’s unfortunate.’

That was what hurt.

Not the B.

The pity.

I had gone to my room that evening and cried until my eyes hurt.

Not because I believed myself worthless.

I had never believed that.

My father had made certain all his daughters received a proper education.

I understood finance better than many noble sons twice my age.

I knew court etiquette.

Household management.

Diplomatic customs.

Trade agreements.

History.

Languages.

My tutors had always praised my memory and judgment.

Potential determined magical growth.

It did not determine whether someone possessed a useful mind.

I knew that too.

Knowing something and feeling it were not always the same.

Especially after people began mentioning Alash.

SSS potential.

A unique title.

The heir of House Vortex.

One of the most gifted awakeners in the kingdom’s history.

And his future wife...

B potential.

That comparison followed me everywhere.

Sometimes spoken.

Sometimes not.

It was present in every surprised expression when someone learned our engagement remained unchanged.

It was present whenever a noble mother looked at her talented daughter and then toward me.

It was present in the questions people pretended were harmless.

"Has House Vortex discussed the engagement recently?"

"Will Lord Alash attend the Academy?"

"Surely he’ll become very popular there."

That last one had been especially common.

I understood what they meant.

Alash would enter the Academy surrounded by the most talented young nobles and commoners in the kingdom.

S potentials.

SS potentials.

Perhaps even the other SSS awakeners of his generation.

Girls who could fight beside him.

Grow beside him.

Stand beside him in ways people believed I could not.

It bothered me more than I liked admitting.

But Alash had never once mentioned my awakening.

Not once.

At first, I thought it was deliberate.

House Vortex would have received the result.

There was no reason he wouldn’t know.

So when his first letter arrived afterward, I had spent several minutes simply staring at the seal.

I had been frightened to open it.

I expected sympathy.

He had never treated me cruelly, so I knew it would be kind sympathy.

Perhaps that frightened me more.

Instead, the letter began with three paragraphs about Master Valerian.

Apparently Master Valerian had invented a new physical training routine.

Alash believed this violated several natural laws.

After that came a complaint about the quality of the border’s pillows.

Then another about soup.

He asked me whether sleeping immediately after eating actually caused bad dreams because Izabella had claimed it did, and he suspected she had invented the rule simply to stop him from lying down after meals.

There was nothing about my potential.

Nothing.

I read the letter twice.

Then once more.

And for the first time since my Awakening, I felt normal.

Not brave.

Not reassured.

Normal.

Alash hadn’t changed.

So I decided not to mention it either.

Weeks became months.

Months became years.

Our letters continued.

Sometimes regularly.

Sometimes very much not.

Alash’s definition of correspondence was inconsistent.

One letter might arrive three days after mine.

Another might take two weeks.

Once, twenty-three days passed.

I remembered that one very well.

His eventual reply began:

Apparently, Izabella believes ignoring letters is rude.

I had laughed until Mother came to check on me.

The strange thing was...

I had never been angry for long.

Annoyed, certainly.

But Alash wrote exactly as he spoke.

He never filled pages with unnecessary courtesy.

He complained.

He asked strange questions.

He told me about herbs he had discovered.

He occasionally described healing techniques and then stopped halfway because he realized the explanation required too much technical detail.

Sometimes he forgot to ask how I was until the final line.

Once he added:

I forgot to ask earlier. Are you doing well? If not, tell me who caused it.

I had stared at that sentence for a long time.

I still had the letter.

I had all of them.

Meline knew.

Unfortunately.

She also knew precisely where I kept them.

Even more unfortunately.