A man stirred awake as morning light poured through the wide windows. The air was perfumed faintly with incense and the fading sweetness of lust.
He blinked a few times, feeling the weight of bodies tangled around him. Four women lay sprawled across the silken sheets, lost to deep, dreamless sleep. Their breathing was uneven and exhausted. He sat up, dragging a hand down his face. The faintest smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"I really overdid it this time. They'll be fine... eventually."
A quiet voice replied from the far side of the room.
"Master, you're awake."
He almost jumped. "Geez, don't do that."
The maid stood by the door. Her posture was perfect. Her eyes were placid and unreadable. Her uniform was neat but there was something about her gaze that felt heavier than usual, like she had been standing there for a while.
"Forgive me."
"You really shouldn't sneak up on a man after a night like that. I might actually think I'm being haunted by my own decisions."
His words carried humor but there was truth in them. His head still buzzed faintly from the night's exertion, not from physical exhaustion of course, but the strain of using his Psyche Flux so deeply. He looked down at the women again.
"The Mnemosyne Bloodline really is too much sometimes. One misstep and their minds start melting from the overstimulation."
"Then perhaps you should rest, Master. You've already overextended yourself."
He groaned, stretching lazily as he rose from the bed, the sheets falling around his waist.
"Rest, she says. As if that's allowed. You do remember what today is?"
"Yes. You are scheduled to begin transcription duties. The Order is expecting the Blessei Mynescribe to report the shifts in Flux activity by midday."
"Right. Because the world can't possibly go on without me scribbling reality into its ledger."
"You are one of the rarest, Master."
He shot her a sidelong glance. "Flattery won't get you out of arranging the archives later."
Her lips twitched. "I... wasn't attempting to."
He paused, studying her for a moment.
"You've never asked before. Do you want to know what it feels like?"
She hesitated. "To…"
"To see what they see. To feel what I do when I reach into a mind and rearrange its colors."
Her fingers twitched against her apron, but she didn't step back.
"If it would please you, Master, I would like to experience it."
"Come here then."
She approached. When she stopped before him, he raised a hand and placed his fingertips against her temples. Her breath hitched. A faint tremor passed through her. Her pupils dilated, her balance faltered, and for a heartbeat, she forgot what her name even was.
Then it was gone.
She stood there, trembling. Her breathing steadied after a moment, and she looked at him as though seeing him for the first time.
"Thank you, Master."
He brushed his thumb along her jawline absently.
"Don't mention it. Just… don't make a habit of asking. My patience has limits."
She bowed, still visibly affected, before retreating to the side.
He walked toward the adjoining chamber where his private bath waited. Steam rolled out as he opened the door. The mirror caught his reflection. It was the half-shadowed face of a man who looked too calm for someone who had once died on another world.
Water cascaded over him, and his thoughts wandered. Transmigrated, they called it. He had woken up on Altera Earth two years ago, inside a body bearing the Mnemosyne Bloodline, the name of a Blessei Mynescribe etched into its soul. He knew the game. He knew the world. He knew how things were supposed to go.
But lately… nothing matched the script.
The heroine never appeared where she should have. The villainess's choices diverged completely. The side routes that should have closed were all branching open like cracks in glass. And there were others like him. who didn't belong here, changing everything without even realizing it. He leaned his head back against the marble and exhaled through a small, humorless smile.
"So the story's gone rogue, huh?"
If that was the case, he would have to find the source and soon. The balance between fiction and memory was thinning. He shut off the water and stepped out, steam rolling off his skin as he reached for the towel.
"August first, I should go to the Flavian Amphitheatre. If anything's left of the original script, I'll find it there."
He paused for a moment, looking out the window. He saw the sprawling skyline of the Mnemosyne Estate beneath the morning mist.
"Or maybe, it will find me."