The world around Leonardo begins to distort, as if he's being hurled at immense speed toward an alternate location.
"No—wait," he whispered.
The pressure in his chest tightened. He tried to move, to scream, to call out for Ronald—but his voice folded in on itself, like a memory collapsing. His legs kicked against something that wasn't there.
"I didn't agree to this!" he shouted, though it sounded like a thought trapped underwater.
Whatever this was, it didn't care what he wanted. And that terrified him more than the mines ever had.
The surroundings halted then drifted away, leaving him stationary. Planets and stars of impossible size passed by, their shadows swallowing him whole, as if the universe itself had forsaken him.
In this place beyond time, Leonardo was alone.
A white crystalline structure manifested, its edges sharp and gleaming.
"Is this what they call heaven?" Leonardo wondered aloud.
"Will I meet Mom?" The thought hit him like lightning in water. He tried to open his amber eyes, which shone like stars in the dark.
He landed body-first on the surface. "No! Get me out of here! I don't want to meet her!" he screamed, mind fuzzy, head aching, the cold crystal stinging beneath him.
He remembered.
"Stop making me cry! You're hurting me, 'Nard!" his mother had screamed, her voice cracking with tears.
"You're the best thing that ever happened to me... don't disappoint me now..." she'd said. "I know you don't want to, so... that's why I think—no. You'd like to go to the cave, wouldn't you? With Mama?"
The illusion of perfection shattered—an immaculate construct breaking into fragments, dissolving into the void. In its place rose the mine.
A sprawling labyrinth of madness—interwoven catacombs carved by desperation and decay.
The radiant light of the Museum dimmed, overtaken by the oppressive gloom of that cavernous underworld. You entered whole... and left hollow.
"I know the cave system like the back of my hand," he muttered, breath fogging as tears welled up.
"What are you doing 'Nard!" his father, Rald, shouted from somewhere.
"Where's Ronald, boy?" his father screamed again. Leonardo pointed toward the light of the moon.
"You—!" his father's frustration boiled over as he stormed back inside the inn.
This wasn't a dream—it was a nightmare. His nightmare.
It was the mine again. Of course it was. It always came back to this.
He lay still, fingers buried in cold, gray sand. The scent of dirt and fog mixed with distant cries—familiar and haunting. The screams of his parents hit like bricks.
Finally, he opened his eyes. The world was gone, replaced by an empty white hall stretching forever. Paintings covered every visible wall.
Struggling to his feet, he stumbled forward. His footsteps echoed through the void. Each step left behind a patch of mud, a trail of agony.
"Why is the world so unfair?" he whispered. "Can't I just have a hot meal waiting when I come back from the mines? Can't I just have..." He coughed. "Power."
Step. Step. A clattering sound—many feet approaching.
"Those aren't—" He vomited behind a podium, barely catching himself. "Ronald..."
That was to be expected. He had just traveled at unimaginable speeds to an unknown place. The footsteps grew louder. Voices followed.
"Leonardo was a charismatic man, for he experienced what the people went through," Milah explained to a group of tourists.
Leonardo froze, sweat trickling down his face. "Was that me?" he whispered, fear and confusion intertwining.
The hall had podiums at regular intervals, each with its own story. He ducked behind one carved with a dragon mid-charge, wings lowered.
The closest thing to a dragon, he thought, would be the Donrolf.
He remembered the battle, the blue-haired man who helped him destroy it. That memory made him feel proud.
"I hate reading books, but I wouldn't have known to target the Donrolf's eyes if I hadn't," he muttered, snapping back to the present.
He didn't know why he was hiding. But it felt like the right move.
He slipped off his shoes, which were oddly fused to his trousers, and took a breath. Milah's voice drew closer.
"Leonardo, the hero in a world of a thousand heroes—and the chains of his death."
"Well, that's it, visitors. I hope you spent what little time you had in this mundane place with utter bliss."
A translucent tourist whispered, "His story is sad."
Milah's gloves hit the podium. "Sad? He called himself inevitable. Said he carved his crown from the bones of kings." The words echoed like a pickaxe striking stone.
Behind the dragon statue, Leonardo's breath hitched—that quote was his, plucked from a dream he'd never spoken aloud.
"Narcissism," a tourist scoffed.
Milah's laugh rasped like a whetstone. "You'd mock him too—until you'd starved enough to lick marrow from those bones." He leaned in, the crowd flickering like candleflame.
"He also had a specific quote: 'I live not for myself but for all the citizens of my empire. I fight so they laugh. I debate so they eat. And I would surely die if it's to see them live without yonder. Though it is a selfish thing—my life for many.'"
Leonardo's knees buckled. That wasn't his but what his mother had said something similar. I live not for myself but for you.
No one spoke.
"I would've loved to narrate more Eras for you," Milah said, a softness breaking through.
He pointed to the dragon podium. "We could've talked about the crimson dragon, the Duke of Fire—Seraphim. A six-winged beast from Ignatus Plaeguis."
At the mention of the dragon, Leonardo's muscles tensed. He remembered why he was hiding.
These weren't ordinary people.
His amber eyes dulled. Breathing became hard.
"Why can't you narrate one more Era?" asked a tourist with large, curly brown hair. "I wanted to hear about Charles and the Seven God Swords."
"Because you're already leaving," Milah said gently.
"But we don't want to," someone whispered, their hair already fading.
"I don't want you to either," Milah replied, tears slipping from his weathered face. "I'll see you soon. You might not be together, but I'll meet you all individually."
As the tourists vanished completely, Milah began to walk away.
Leonardo finally caught a breath.
"I'm... a story?" he murmured, blood thickening.
He walked forward, absorbing the hall's majesty.
"I wonder who did all this." Everything was crafted—from the soaring columns to the precise podiums. Even the air felt designed.
He continues walking, feeling multiple podiums as he walks. Amazing stories either told or yet to be noticeable names were:
[The Emperor of High View Mountain]
[The Slave of the World's View]
And one that caught his eye:
[Leonardo the Chains of Moerlan]
The image showed him smiling proudly, chains sprouting from every limb. A life-sized sculpture stood beside it.
"This isn't me. It can't be."
He looked nothing like the figure. He was a shriveled rat from the mines, his outfit stained. But the sculpture showed the man he wished to become.
"I don't have the right to say this is me."
"Hello there," a voice echoed, calm but firm.
Leonardo froze, hand still on the statue. His heart raced.
Should I run? Try to stun him? He took a cautious step back.
"It seems we have an [Uninvited Guest]," the voice said.
A label appeared above him: [Identification: Uninvited Guest]
"Oh, I didn't mean that," said the man—Milah, the tour guide—approaching.
"Where are you from, young man?" Milah asked. "Few enter this realm without purpose. What do you seek? Power?" He smirked.
"Yes, all you can give me," Leonardo replied instantly.
Milah laughed it off. "I'm joking. You want a free Era expedition because you just died, do you?"
He stepped closer, eyes level.
"You don't seem strong. You've only got a stage 2 Story Skill."
Leonardo squinted at the words but didn't say another word.
Leonardo Salvius Nox
Age: 16
Story Skill: [Agnite Miner]
Title: [Uninvited Guest]
[Uninvited Guest]: Bestows attributes of suspicion and defiance toward authority.
Leonardo stared. "Story what—?"
"Your Story Skill is your being, Leonardo. An [Agnite Miner] digs. Suffers. Dies.
and Attachments skills, tools to make that suffering efficient."
The label floated in front of him. Uninvited Guest. It tugged at something deep inside.
"You don't even have an Attachment Skill. I mean, you do, but what's 'Positive Thinking' going to do?" Milah sneered. He grabbed Leonardo by the neck.
Leonardo froze. Not this again. This man might be worse than the stranger.
"Leonardo," Milah said, "a tale of tragedy, anguish, and despair."
Leonardo couldn't speak.
Why do they know everything about me, and I don't?
His mother's voice whispered in his mind.
"Think I don't know how they hurt you? How you cry in your sleep? You have to prove them wrong, or you'll live a miserable life."
Then a quieter voice followed.
"Or I'll live this pathetic day over and over again."
"Yes, Mom," he muttered. "I'll prove them wrong."
Her voice clung to him—sweet and suffocating. She'd handed him a rusted pickaxe at six, breath thick with gin. "Dig, 'Nard. Dig or we die."
"Wait, there might be use for you," Milah said suddenly, locking eyes with Leonardo.
"Death," Milah murmured.
He's going to kill me? Just send me home.
Milah stepped closer. Leonardo's breath caught. He reached for the small knife on his ankle.
I don't want to die now.
His eyes narrowed. Target his eyes. Then his chest as he falls...
"I'm so—sorry. I'll leave," Leonardo feigns, trying to regain his breath through minor gasps.
"Leave where? I mean, I can't kill you even if I wanted to."
"What...?"
"I don't kill. You die. Then come to me," Milah said. In that instant, he grew impossibly tall. Leonardo was nothing—a speck of dust. Then the hallucination snapped.
"You're going to enter the Deplorable Era. Quite a hassle to manage, honestly. I wonder who the main cast is... You'll figure it out."
He pointed to Leonardo, then muttered something, pressing a gloved finger to his temple.
Milah gestured for him to follow. They walked a short distance until a hallway turned sharply.
Leonardo froze.
It's like the world shifted instantly and unapologetically.
It was an office.
[Head, Tour Guide Milah]
Bookshelves, a desk, a couch, a lamp. All ordinary. All overwhelming.
Milah gestured to a seat. Leonardo hesitated, then sat.
If he truly doesn't kill... I can rest.
The scent of old books and wood filled the air.
"You're from the New Kingdom Era, [Uninvited Guest]. What are you doing here, Leonardo?" Milah asked, voice sharp.
"I was just discussing you. This can't be coincidence."
"Mil—" Leonardo stammered.
"You're from outside the Museum," Milah continued. "You haven't died. Which means you being here is... impossible, even if you did."
Milah watches Leonardo. "In short, you are an anomaly, and anomalies don't sit right with me."
Leonardo didn't speak.
Anomaly. The word clung to him like mine dust—choking, inescapable.
They all decided what he was before he could decide for himself.
His jaw tightened. Anger began to burn beneath the fear.
If they already knew who he was—could he ever be more?
How could this man say it so easily, like labeling an object on a shelf? First the Overseer, now this? People always seemed to know what to make of him before he could figure it out himself.
Was that what he was? A glitch in his own story?
He clenched his jaw. Anger stirred beneath the fear. If they already decided what he was… did he even get a chance to decide who he wanted to be?
"You are a madman," Milah decided, nodding to himself. "So to keep you busy until I figure out how to send you back, I'll send you to The Deplorable Era."
Leonardo didn't speak but his expression made Milah sigh.
Milah leaned back, fingers steepled.
"A time of unavoidable conflict. The stories there are hardly stories—plotless, chaotic, eerie. Apocalyptic. It's a hassle to manage, so I want you to go there and… fix things. The main cast, specifically."
Leonardo's eyes widened.
No, no, no! Just send me back home now!
"What? Sir—"
"Tour guide."
"Okay—Tour Guide, sir, this is all a misunderstanding! I really don't know how I ended up here. Some guy gave me a stone—it looked normal, I swear! Then I left. It was insane." Leonardo stumbled through the memory, fragments missing.
"What did he even say?"
Then it hit him—he'd forgotten the details. The man, the moment, the words… all gone.
"Oh, he did this, then," Milah muttered, resting his head on his palms.
"Who did?" Leonardo snapped, heat creeping into his voice.
"Your biggest fan, I suppose. He was talking about it." Milah's tone was detached, but something in it felt familiar.
"He'll get killed next time," he added.
The words echoed through the room. Leonardo sank back into his chair, hollowed out.
Silence.
Then the room shook.
The walls vibrated with an unseen force. Lights flickered. Leonardo gripped the armrests.
Milah snapped his fingers.
The office walls cracked like glass. Darkness seeped through the fractures. Leonardo fell—not downward, but sideways—until his knees splashed into mud. A dead tree loomed ahead.
Two chairs. An umbrella. Shadows cast in the grim light.
Leonardo landed body-first—again—his mind ringing.
Just like when I first got here.
"Let's make it official then," Milah said, calm as ever.
"What official?"
"Your stay."
A sheet of paper formed midair and floated into Milah's gloved hand. He signed it with a flourish, then handed it to Leonardo.
"Sign it."
Leonardo took it with trembling hands. Most of the text was blurred, except:
"On this day and hour of the Pristine Museum time, Leonardo is officially a Tour Guide Practical Officer. In response to that, an attachment skill will be randomly given to fit the new role. Owner of the Realm: ——— (blurred)."
He swallowed. The pressure in his chest surged.
"No more improvements?" Leonardo asked. "What does that mean?"
"You can't gain new skills without my approval. Don't want you causing a ruckus."
"Why should I even sign?" he shot back, scanning more of the document. "Death isn't allowed by compensation? Compensation hidden? You're asking me to sign and not even telling me everything!"
Milah mockingly laughs at Leonardo's supposed 'tantrum.' "You're not allowed to know anything or you die!" Milah declares.
Leonardo listens. I'm not allowed?
"This is a private document," Milah continued. "You'll either vanish and meet others, or just die."
I don't want to die, Leonardo thought, hands shaking.
"You don't want to die," Milah echoed, watching him.
Leonardo's heart pounded. He signed.
The ink glowed, then settled into the page.
"Well then," Milah said, businesslike. "Let's change that outfit. Clothes? Weapons? Maybe a bath?"
Leonardo blinked. "What?"
Milah sighed. "Are you naturally slow?"
Suddenly, Leonardo's outfit shifted. The coarse miner's clothes vanished. In their place—
A streamlined version of a Head Overseer's uniform. A crisp white shirt under a snug red vest. Tailored black pants. No coat. Sophisticated, but not too formal.
For a moment, the world stills. Leonardo's fingers brush the red vest, its fabric smooth and alien against his calloused hands. His gaze drifts scabbard. He inhales, the scent of aged mud and dried leave sharpening his frayed senses.
_No mine grit. No blood._ Just stillness. His shoulders sag, if only for a breath.
"A sword?" he asked, reaching for the scabbard. "I've always wanted to hold a sword, I've been practicing—"
It was empty.
"It's empty—?"
"I can only give you one thing. The cloth seemed most useful. Until it isn't."
"Until it isn't?" Leonardo echoed, unsettled.
"You weren't supposed to be here."
That's not an answer.
[Recalculating...]
The word flickered in the air. Leonardo's nails dug into his palms.
Hurry up, he thought. The walls trembled. I don't have eternity!
Minutes dragged. Then:
'Surprisingly.'
The word dripped with disdain.