It wasn't darkness, not truly. Darkness is a thing, a presence defined by the lack of light. This was… nothing. A void so absolute it swallowed sound, sight, and sensation. I tried to move my hand, to feel for the familiar weight of my duvet, the cool cotton of my pillowcase. There was no hand. There was no body to command. I was a mote of consciousness adrift in an endless, silent sea.
Panic, cold and sharp, tried to lance through me, but it had no heart to quicken, no lungs to constrict. It was just a frantic, silent scream in the prison of my mind.
Is this death?
The question echoed, unanswered. My last memory surfaced, a jagged shard of reality in this formless existence. The sharp, chemical taste of coffee, bitter and black. The relentless hum of the server farm in my lab, a sound so constant it had become the soundtrack of my life. The glow of three separate holoscreens, projected equations and energy yield graphs swimming before my burning eyes. I had been so close. The final calibration of the Arcadia Reactor, a project that had consumed a decade of my life. Clean, limitless energy. The end of fossil fuels, of energy wars, of atmospheric decay. A gift to the world. A future for… Emma.
Then, a different kind of sharpness. Not the bite of caffeine, but a hot, piercing pain in my neck. A sensation like a bee sting, amplified a thousand times. I'd reached up, my fingers brushing against something small and metallic embedded just below my jaw. My vision had blurred, the holographic graphs melting into meaningless light. The hum of the servers faded into a high-pitched whine, and then… nothing. This nothing.
Assassinated. The word landed with a cold, heavy finality. They'd finally done it. The fossil fuel conglomerates, the geopolitical rivals—it didn't matter who. They'd seen the future I was building, and they'd decided it was a future without me in it.
And Emma. Oh, God. Emma.
A grief more profound than any physical pain tore through the essence of what I was. It was a black hole, collapsing my consciousness in on itself. I had promised her. After the Arcadia project was public, after the accolades and the inevitable political firestorm had died down, I'd promised her a life. A small house by the sea. Mornings without alarms, evenings without holoscreens. I'd promised to be present, not just a ghost who shared her apartment. I'd carved our initials into the casing of the reactor's core, a secret testament to the real reason I was breaking my back to save the world. It was for our world. For the children we might have had.
And now? Now I was here, in this void. She was there, in a world that had just gained a brighter future but had lost the man who loved her. She would hear the news. They'd tell her I was found dead in the lab. "Overwork," they'd probably say. A convenient, believable lie. She'd mourn, and eventually, life would force her to move on. The thought was an agony worse than the assassination itself.
I let the memory of her fill the void. Her laugh, a sound like wind chimes on a summer breeze. The way her nose crinkled when she was concentrating on a painting. The scent of turpentine and linseed oil that always clung to her, the perfume of creation. I had been building a future of cold, hard science, and she had been my warm, living anchor to the beauty of the present. Now, I was unmoored. Adrift.
What was the point of it all? The sleepless nights, the breakthroughs, the sacrifices. I had advanced human civilization by centuries, but to what end? To end up here, alone? The achievement felt like ash in my mouth. A gilded cage I had built for myself, and they had simply thrown away the key.
I don't know how long I lingered in that state—a timeless, directionless purgatory of regret. It could have been seconds. It could have been millennia.
Then, something changed.
It wasn't a light, nor a sound. It was a… pressure. A presence asserting itself against the absolute nullity of the void. I couldn't see it, but I could feel it, the way one feels the sun on their skin with their eyes closed. It was vast, ancient, and immeasurably powerful.
"You are not what I expected, Leo Adams."
The voice was not a sound that traveled through air, for there was no air. It was a concept that formed directly within my consciousness, resonating with the clarity of a struck bell. It was neither male nor female, young nor old. It simply was.
I had no voice to respond with, but thought seemed to be enough. Who are you? What is this place?
"A waystation. A liminal space between what was and what could be. As for what I am… the names your species has for my kind are numerous. Guide, Psychopomp, Deity, System. Choose the one that comforts you. It is of little consequence."
The presence shifted, and I had the unnerving sensation of being studied from every possible angle at once. "Your passage here was marked by a significant anomaly. Your Karma."
Karma? The concept felt almost quaint, a relic of superstition I had long discarded.
"You are surprised? You, who gifted your world with the key to its own salvation? The energy source you pioneered will prevent wars, lift nations from poverty, heal a wounded planet for generations to come. The positive Karma generated by such a selfless act is… substantial. A tidal wave of cosmic fortune."
Selfless? The word rang hollow. Had it been selfless? Perhaps in the beginning. But in the end, it was for Emma. Always for Emma. My ambition was just the engine; she was the destination.
I didn't do it for Karma, I thought, the bitterness leaking through. I did it for her. And now she's gone. So you can take your Karma and… do whatever it is you do with it. It means nothing to me now.
The Being seemed to consider this. There was a pulse of what might have been amusement, or perhaps pity. "Most souls cling to the chance for more life with desperate fervor. You are an outlier. Your Karma grants you a boon that billions would slaughter for. You may choose your next existence. Any world, any reality, fictional or historical. You may be born a prince, a prodigy, a hero of legend. The choice is yours."
The offer hung in the void, immense and terrifying in its scope. Any world. I could go to the worlds of the stories Emma and I had loved. I could live an epic. But without her, every story would be a tragedy. Every victory, empty.
No, I thought, the resolve hardening within me. It was the first clear decision I'd made since waking here. I don't want it. Wipe my memory. Recycle my soul into fertilizer for all I care. If I can't be with her, then I don't want to be at all.
The silence that followed was different from the void's emptiness. It was a silence of profound surprise. The pressure of the Being's attention intensified, becoming almost physical.
"Why?" The single concept carried the weight of genuine, ancient curiosity. "To refuse such a gift… it is unprecedented."
Why? My thought was a torrent of grief and love. Because my world wasn't the one I left behind. It was her. Her smile was my sun. Her voice was my music. Every discovery I made, I made to impress her. Every late night, I endured so I could come home to her. I built a better world as a gift for us. Without her, there is no point. There is no 'me'. There is just an echo. So, no. I decline.
I expected dismissal. Annihilation. Instead, the Being did something wholly unexpected. It… softened. The immense pressure receded, replaced by something akin to understanding.
"Ah," the concept formed, simple and profound. "A love that defines existence. A rare and powerful thing. It explains the purity of your Karma. Your motivation was not for glory or power, but for a singular, cherished other."
There was another pause, longer this time, as if the Being was consulting some unknowable ledger.
"Leo Adams," it finally spoke, and this time, there was a new quality to its 'voice'—a hint of momentous revelation. "Your perception is flawed. You operate on incomplete data."
What do you mean?
"You believe you journey here alone. You do not."
The void seemed to hold its breath. I felt my non-existent heart lurch.
"Emma Reyes did not remain in the world you left behind."
The words shattered me. She… she died of grief? The thought was a new, horrific agony.
"No," the Being corrected swiftly. "Her passage was not born of sorrow, but of violence. She was deemed a loose end. A witness who knew too much of your work, your fears. She was eliminated one hour after your own death. The same method. A silent, untraceable poison."
Rage. A pure, incandescent rage such as I had never known exploded within me. It was a supernova in the void, a feeling so violent it momentarily gave me back the ghost of a form, clenching fists I did not have, screaming with a mouth that did not exist. They had killed me. That, I could almost understand. But Emma? An artist. A soul who brought only beauty into the world. They had extinguished her light simply for having loved me.
The rage was followed by a despair so absolute it threatened to extinguish my consciousness entirely. We were both gone. Our future, our love, everything—erased.
"However," the Being's voice cut through the despair, a blade of impossible hope. "This changes the calculus of your boon. The Karma is yours, but the choice of reincarnation can be a shared one."
Shared? I clung to the word like a drowning man to a raft.
"The bond between you is strong, a thread of fate that even death has not fully severed. If you wish it, you may journey together. Your souls can be reborn into the same world, at the same time. You will find each other again. Of this, I am certain."
The offer was no longer a burden; it was a lifeline. A second chance. Not just for life, but for our life. Together.
Yes! The thought was a shout, a prayer, a vow. Yes, a thousand times, yes! We'll go together.
"Then it shall be so," the Being intoned. "But know this: the world will be random. To choose a specific reality would require a concentration of Karma even your significant store does not possess. You must trust fate."
I don't care, I thought, elation beginning to burn away the grief. Any world, as long as we are in it together.
"Then let the wheel turn."
Suddenly, the void was no longer empty. A colossal, shimmering circle of light materialized before me. It was a wheel, vast beyond comprehension, and its segments were not colors, but realities. I saw galaxies swirling, empires rising and falling, dragons soaring through alien skies, and starships piercing the nebular clouds. I saw worlds I recognized from myth and legend, from the pages of novels and the frames of films. The Wheel of Possibility spun, a dizzying kaleidoscope of every story ever told or dreamed.
It began to rotate, slowly at first, then faster and faster, until it was a blur of potential lives. I held my breath, my consciousness focused on the spinning light. It began to slow, the images resolving once more. It drifted past a world of bending elements, past a galaxy far, far away, past a land of ice and fire… and then, it stopped.
The segment that settled before me was dark, intricate, and unsettlingly familiar. I saw a misty, Victorian-era cityscape shrouded in perpetual gloom. I saw cryptic symbols etched in steam and shadow: an all-seeing eye, a twisted cross, a helm of spirals. I saw men and women in formal attire, their eyes holding ancient secrets, their bodies hosting unimaginable powers. I saw madness and divinity walking hand-in-hand.
A cold dread, entirely separate from my earlier despair, washed over me.
No. Not there. Anywhere but there.
The title of a book Emma had adored, a series she had begged me to read, echoed in my mind. Lord of the Mysteries.
"The World of LotM," the Being confirmed, its tone unreadable. "A reality of pathways, sequences, and eldritch truths. A world balanced on a razor's edge, perpetually on the verge of being unmade."
You can't be serious! I protested, terror gripping me. We'll die! The moment we arrive, something will notice us! We have knowledge of the plot, the pathways, the dangers! That world… it's a deathtrap! The Outer Gods, the Amon family, the constant threat of losing control and turning into a monster! We have no protection!
"You are correct. Your meta-knowledge is both a weapon and a beacon," the Being agreed. "Therefore, a final boon. A shield. For ten years, you and Emma will be veiled. The prying eyes of all beings—from the lowliest Beyonder to the most ancient of Outer Deities—will glance over you. You will be beneath their notice. You will have a decade to find your footing, to grow stronger, without the omnipresent fear of being manipulated or consumed."
Ten years. It was both an eternity and the blink of an eye in a world where plots spanned centuries. But it was a chance. A fighting chance.
"Furthermore," the Being continued, "you will be granted a unique anchor. A symbolism to stabilize your soul in a universe governed by such rules."
A sensation bloomed within me, a searing heat that had no location. It was not painful, but intensely present. In my mind's eye, a symbol began to form. It was complex, organic, and unsettling. It resembled a spiral, but one grown like a vine, twisting in on itself in non-Euclidean ways, adorned with thorns that looked like eyes and petals that resembled grasping hands. It was beautiful and horrifying in equal measure, a pattern that felt both alive and ancient. It pulsed with a deep, violet-tinged light, settling into the core of my being.
"This symbolism is unique to you, as the Mother Goddess of Depravity's is to her. It will not grant you power, not directly. It is a signature, a… cosmic placeholder. It will begin to truly integrate with your being, to shape you, only when you reach a level of power where such things matter—at Sequence 4, when you begin to shed your humanity. Until then, it is your shield's core."
The symbol faded from my immediate perception, but I could still feel its latent presence, a tattoo on my soul.
"Now, the mechanics of your rebirth. You may be born anew, as an infant, with all the vulnerability and time that entails. Or, I can craft a replica of your current body, aged to approximately eighteen years old, and place your soul within it. You will arrive as an adult, a blank slate in that world, but with your memories and mind intact."
The choice was easy. Starting as a baby, even with Emma out there somewhere, was too great a risk. We needed to find each other as soon as possible.
A replica. Please. I need to be able to look for her.
"A wise choice. Now, for the nature of your power in this new world. To survive there, you must walk a Pathway of the devine. You will begin not at Sequence 9, but at Sequence 6. A significant advantage. Choose."
A constellation of options unfolded before me. I saw the twenty-two Pathways in all their terrifying glory. The Fool, weaving fate and deceit. The Hanged Man, embracing sacrifice and rebirth. The Sun, embodying light and order. The Tyrant, commanding the seas and storms. Each one a road to power, and each one a road to madness.
My mind raced, sifting through the information Emma had excitedly shared. I needed something that would help me survive, help me find her, help me protect us both. I rejected the ones that seemed too blatant, too flashy. The Fool was too central to the plot, a magnet for trouble. The Sun was too rigid. The Tyrant too chaotic.
Then, I remembered one. The Hanged Man pathway. But that wasn't quite right. There was another, related to it, a branch. The Pathway of the Tyrant led to the Heavens, but another dealt with balance, with chains and restriction. The Hangman Pathway.
The name resonated with me. At Sequence six rose bishop. A strategist. Not just brute force, but a command over the darker, more restrictive aspects of power. It felt… appropriate. A pathway that understood being caged, and how to turn those cages into weapons. It was a path of strength and control, without the world-ending grandeur of some others. It felt manageable. survivable though it held significant danger due to having a evil and crazy god in control it had the least risk in proportion to power i could gain.
I choose the Hangman Pathway, I declared. I will begin as a Sequence 6: Rose Bishop.
The Being gave a pulse of assent. "A path of binding and fury. A solid choice. Your body will be attuned to its powers upon arrival. You will have to learn their use, their limits, and their price."
"Now, I will speak with Emma. She is in a similar space, awaiting guidance. I will explain the situation, the world, and the Pathways. She will make her own choice. Do not fear; I will ensure she understands the necessity of the ten-year veil and the promise of your reunion."
A wave of relief so powerful it was almost debilitating washed over me. She was okay. She was being given the same choice. We were going to be together.
"The threads of fate are strong between you," the Being said, its presence beginning to recede, as if preparing to depart. "I foresee that within three years of your arrival, you will find her. And you will know her, Leo Adams. The instant your eyes meet, across a crowded street or a misty harbor, you will know your Emma. Nothing in any universe can conceal the truth of that bond."
Three years. I could endure three years of anything, knowing that was the prize.
"Prepare yourself. Your new life begins now. Remember: ten years of grace. Use them wisely. Seek strength. Understand the rules. And trust that fate will guide you to her."
The void began to brighten, the absolute blackness softening to a deep grey. I felt a pulling sensation, a gentle but irresistible tide drawing me away.
Thank you, I thought, pouring all my gratitude, my hope, my love into the final message.
There was no verbal response. Just a final, warm pulse of acknowledgment from the immense Presence. And then, I was falling. Falling into light, into sound, into the terrifying, wonderful promise of a new world.
The last thing I was aware of was the faint, comforting pulse of the unique symbolism within me, and the iron-clad certainty in my heart.
I'm coming, Emma. Wait for me.
---
[Third Person POV]
In another part of the liminal void, a consciousness stirred, cradled in gentle light. Emma Reyes felt no fear, only a profound and aching sadness. Her last memory was of tears, of a phone call delivering the unbearable news about Leo, and then the sharp, sudden pain in her neck as she stood in her studio, a brush loaded with cobalt blue falling from her lifeless fingers.
The Presence manifested before her, its energy calibrated to soothe rather than overwhelm.
"Emma Reyes," it communicated, its 'voice' a soft melody in her mind. "Your journey has been unjustly cut short. But a choice lies before you, a chance born from the love you shared and the Karma it generated."
It showed her Leo. It showed her his grief, his refusal, and his joyous acceptance when he learned she was with him. It showed her the spinning wheel, and the dark, fascinating, terrifying world it had chosen.
The name Lord of the Mysteries sent a thrill of recognition through her. It was her favorite story, a world she had often gotten lost in. Now, it was to be her reality.
The Being explained the Pathways, laying out the tapestry of mystical possibilities. Unlike Leo, who had chosen for survival, Emma's artist's soul was drawn to the beauty and mystery. She lingered over the Visionary Pathway, the power to imagine things into being. She considered the Mystery Pryer, seeking truth in the unknown. But one in particular called to her, a path that resonated with her own nature, with the way she saw the world not as it was, but as it could be.
She made her choice, the demoness pathway held the best chance of survival.
The Being accepted it. "It is done. You will be reborn in a replica of your body. You will have ten years of safety. And you will be found. He is waiting for you."
A smile, the first in what felt like an eternity, touched Emma's essence. Leo was out there. He had chosen a world from her stories. He was waiting.
She felt herself begin to fall, a cascade of light and potential. She wasn't afraid. She was an artist, and a new, impossible canvas was waiting. And somewhere on it, her muse, her love, was already beginning to sketch their future.
[END OF CHAPTER]