That dream again.
No, not a dream.
I was back in the burning forest.
Flames crawled through the bark like glowing veins, pulsing with an unnatural rhythm. Trees shrieked as they split apart - gnarled and screaming, vomiting black smoke into a sky that wasn't real. The moon above flickered like a dying bulb, convulsing with static. The air stank of oil, ash, and blood that was far too red to be human.
Unnatural howls echoed between the trunks - some animal, some mechanical, some utterly… wrong. Not meant to be heard by a human mind. They bled together like language stretched backwards.
I stumbled forward, gasping for breath, fire licking at my boots. Sweat dripped down my brow in rivulets that felt cold, despite the heat. A man was ahead of me, walking deeper into the chaos. Trench coat. Black. Bloodstained. Same as always. Same as every time before.
I guess it was more appropriate to call them nightmares.
I tried to shout - but nothing came out. Just a rasp.
So I ran.
Branches grabbed at my coat. Shapes moved in the smoke around me, whispering things with no mouths. A voice coiled around my ears - not above or behind, but beside me, as if it lived just outside the world's edge. I shoved through it, ducking under a burning branch. My chest ached. My vision stung. But I chased him, as if possessed.
They're coming.
His voice again, just ahead. He always said the same thing. Always running away.
And I was always just a step too late.
I saw his silhouette pause near a shattered altar - bones scattered like ash around it, cracked stone bleeding red light through its carvings. The trees above groaned like rusted machines, stretching their branches like twisted arms. He turned slightly, just enough for me to catch a glimpse of those eyes - deep, endless, brown-black. Tired. Angry. Determined. Familiar.
I lunged, teeth gritted.
We both crashed to the ground.
My hand gripped cold metal. A pistol. I didn't know where it came from. I pressed it to his temple, panting, rain that didn't exist sliding down the sides of my face.
This time, I could see his face fully - and I couldn't help but smile in victory.
"Say it again," I growled. "Say it this time. Just who are you?"
His expression shifted. His eyes brimmed with sorrow.
And then… he smiled.
His face flickered - shadow, flame, glitching static - then, just as he opened his mouth-
…a dirty, terrified old man stared back at me. Covered in rags. Smelling like sewage and something I didn't want to name. His eyes were wide with animal fear.
I blinked.
No forest. No altar. No fire.
Just a muddy back alley behind the drainage tunnels of the Outer Rim, stinking of rust, piss, and rotting food.
The pistol in my hand? Gone.
I was pointing two fingers at the man's head - trembling. So hard I barely noticed until now. Like I was in freefall and hadn't hit ground yet.
The man shrank against the wall, his back scraping brick. "Please - please I don't want any trouble-!"
I stood there. Cold. Soaking in sweat. My mouth opened. Closed. I had no words.
This wasn't just embarrassing. It was terrifying.
And somehow, hilarious.
I wiped the panic off my face and let the deadpan settle back in.
I reached into my coat and pulled out a silver coin, placing it into the man's trembling hand.
"Wrong guy. My bad."
He clutched it like I'd handed him salvation.
I turned and walked away, boots squelching through the mud.
---
By the time I got home, I still hadn't stopped shaking.
I shut the door, bolted it, collapsed into my old wooden chair. Rain tapped the windows now - real rain. Not fire. Not divine memory. Just water.
I stared at my hand. Still trembling. A single bead of sweat dropped onto the desk, smearing the ink of a half-written report.
"What the hell is wrong with me…"
It wasn't the first time I'd hallucinated.
Wouldn't be the last.
But that? That had felt real. Too real. Like I'd cracked the seal on something I wasn't supposed to remember.
Was that a memory?A warning?Or both?
I sighed and leaned back, eyes tracing the fractured lines in the ceiling.
I was just about sick of today. Sick of all of it.
I cupped my face in my hands and resisted the urge to scream.
"Am I seriously just some PTSD-riddled freak from a world no one remembers?"
Four years in this world, and I still woke up thinking about Earth. Trench warfare. Collapsing nations. Rain that stank like gunpowder. And a man who looked too much like me, watching the world end again and again.
And again.
BANG. BANG.
A fist slammed against my front door.
"Sir Damian, a letter from Lord Arthur. He sent me to make sure you actually read it this time."
I groaned. Loud enough for him to hear.
"God, what does he want now…"
Pulling myself up from the desk, I scanned the room for my coat and cap. Found both. I threw on the flat cap, half-covering my face, and opened the door.
Sabian.
Perfect black-and-white uniform. Impossibly clean gloves. Grey hair trimmed to military perfection. His expression carried the smugness of someone who thought my existence was an oversight of divine law.
"You're lucky he still bothers with you," Sabian said, holding out the envelope.
I looked down.
White parchment. Bright red wax seal in the shape of a wolf, surrounded by nine knives.
Arthur's personal crest.
"So dramatic," I muttered.
I took the letter. Paper like this could feed a family for a week.
Sabian sneered.
"Try reading it this time. And remember your place. You're not nobility. You're a tool the Lord Regent keeps sharp. Nothing more."
He turned and left, flanked by two silent guards in storm-gray uniforms.
"Love you too," I muttered, shutting the door.
Back in the chair. Letter in hand.
"This world's values are weird. Where I come from, blood-sealed magic would've made national news. Here? It's stationery."
I pressed my thumb into the seal. It dissolved into smoke, smelling faintly of roses. Inside: a single blank page.
I smirked.
"Of course it is."
I grabbed a letter opener - not to open it, but to prick my finger. A single droplet of blood hit the page and spidered across it like crimson lightning.
Slowly, the whole page turned red.
"Revelare."
Words poured into my skull - not read, not seen, but injected. A meeting location. Names. Times. Orders. Reminders. Details I'd probably forget.
I let the paper crumble to ash and leaned back, stretching with a groan.
"He doesn't take no for an answer, huh?"
My eyes drifted to the corner of the room. Faint steam rose from the radiator pipes. Outside, cathedral bells rang six times. I could even hear some birds chirping, which brang some valuable peace of mind.
"So it begins..."
Even after four years, this world still felt like a stage play I wasn't cast in - ritual magic, noble names longer than lifespans, Inquisitors with halos and bloodstains.
And me?
A ghost in borrowed skin, chasing shadows no one else could see.
But hey.
At least I wasn't boring.