It is said that long before the first empires were born, before time itself learned to march forward, there were those who could remember what had not yet happened. They were neither prophets nor seers. They are the Mynescribes, who belong to the House of Mnemosyne, one of the six Radiance Houses.
Their gift is recollection.
To them, the future was a fading memory already slipping through their fingers even as it came true. They would wake from sleep in tears, having written entire chronicles of events that had never yet occurred.
The Mynescribes speak of time as a circle that has already been drawn. They remember the parts of the circle no longer visible to others. Each of them is born with what they call a Mnemon Vein, a fragment of memory embedded in their soul. Through it, they recall lives that have not been lived, wars that have not yet been fought, and words that have not yet been spoken.
When a Mynescribe writes or draws, the quill moves before the thought forms. It's as though their hands act on borrowed remembrance, the body replaying a forgotten act. Most do not understand what they write until it comes to pass. Some say that the Mynescribes are not writing future events but restoring lost ones, that each reality that collapses in one is remembered by them in another. What they recall are echoes, and their existence ensures that no future truly dies, even if it is never lived.
Each Mynescribe keeps a Chronetome, which is a living codex. No two Chronetomes are alike. When the scribe dreams, the book opens on its own and ink flows as though alive, inscribing words, symbols, drawings and languages that sometimes defy understanding. The writings often vanish when the event they describe has already occurred, leaving behind an empty page.
There are times, however, when the future changes.
It is when someone alters the course of fate and the Chronetome violently rejects the correction. The ink runs backward and the words burn through the page. There have been Mynescribes who died of cardiac failure as their Chronetomes bled black. It is believed that when a Chronetome begins to write on its own without the owner's influence, the scribe must not read it. To do so would mean remembering too soon, and no mind can bear the full weight of knowing the unmade.
The Mymnos Order itself is ancient, older than any recorded calendar. They are blessed by the Goddess of Knowledge, who they revere as the silent force of all continuity. The Mymnos Order is divided not by hierarchy but by function, though some titles carry reverence beyond their weight.
The First Mynescribe is the eldest of their kind, keeper of the Original Memory. It is said the First Mynescribe remembers the very first timeline, before time branched and fates diverged. Their existence is rumored to be constant. Each time one dies, the next inherits the exact same memory, continuing a single consciousness passed through bodies.
Mirroire Mynescribes are those who record futures that contradict the present. When one possibility collapses, it is the Mirror who writes its remains. They are often melancholic beings, plagued by déjà vu and voices that do not belong to the now. Their duty is to preserve every paradox and to write of both life and death, victory and ruin, as though both have already happened.
Silente Mynescribes are the dreamers. They never speak for their voices are believed to echo through the future. Their words could alter memory itself. They only communicate through what they write while asleep. When a Silent Mynescribe dreams, all others are forbidden to interrupt.
Blessei Mynescribes, once known as the Veil Mynescribes, these are those specifically chosen by the Goddess of Knowledge. They record what is hidden by gods. The Blessed are the only ones permitted to chronicle divine interference.
The Mynescribes believe that memory itself is holy, and thus every act of remembrance is worship.
Despite their sanctity, Mynescribes are not envied but pitied. To recall futures that others have not yet lived is to watch destiny fail again and again. They grieve for disasters before they occur and mourn for the dead long before the killing starts. Their laughter often sounds hollow, for every joy they experience comes shadowed by the knowledge of its end.
It is whispered that the First Mynescribe — whoever they are now — has tried to end their own life many times, only to awaken again in a different age, in a different body, continuing the same burden. They remember every death they have ever had and every life they have ever lived. To them, the world is not moving forward, only circling endlessly around what has already been. And yet, the Mynescribes endure not because they hope to change the future, but because they believe memory is salvation. As long as something is remembered, it is never truly gone.
A Prayer of the Mynescribes to the Goddess of Knowledge is as follows:
"Remember for us, O keepers of forgotten suns.
Record our lives that we may live beyond them.
May your quills not falter when the stars begin to fade,
And may your hearts not break for the futures that never came."
This prayer is often carved into the walls of the Hall of Records, a massive underground sanctuary beneath the Mnemosyne Estate. It is said that within those halls, a thousand candles burn forever. Pages whisper when one walks by, as though the books themselves remember the steps of those who came before. Some say that when a new Mynescribe is born, the candles flicker once, acknowledging another memory about to begin its endless loop.
In the end, the Mynescribes are neither gods nor saints. They write, not because they wish to know, but because they cannot forget. And perhaps, that is the most sacred suffering of all.