I looked him in the eyes, searching for any sign of deception, but his eyes were null. Like a man who sees everything and nothing.
"An author..?"
I asked him, unsure of the weight behind the word. What does it entailed? What good does it bring me?
"In our time, history is a simple thing, easily manipulated by the victor. We can change what must have been, and bury what should."
He turns back and approaches me until he is in front of me.
"I'm proposing a mutual benefit. You help me, and I'll help you."
He kneels down on one leg, extending his arm to me. I know the ball is in my court,but it can be easily stolen on a whim.
"Why should I accept your help? You're a stranger to me, stranger to my memory, you have no right to speak of—"
He put a finger on his lips, signalling for silence.
"We must leave here, they're here."
My eyes narrowed in confusion, I don't sense anyone else in this room besides the both of us.
"You're bluffing. How could there be anyone else here?"
He sighed and stood up, his expression serious as his gaze fixed on me.
"I wish I was bluffing. But we are running out of time, if they find us here, all my effort will—"
His words were cut short as a dagger flew through the room, embodying itself inside the concrete wall. Upon impact, the dagger cracked the fabric of memory itself within the space.
Reynald barely manages to dodge the knife. He quickly pulls me up on my feet, beneath the serious expression, a glimpse of panic roses.
"We need to go now!"
His voice was urgent, I wanted to ask him more questions, but before I could, he took my hand — intertwining our fingers as he led me out of the room into the dimensions between time and memory. He ran fast, I could barely keep up with him.
"Listen, I know I'm not the most trustworthy, but you need to trust me — now. Ahead of us is the Vortex of Time, it will take us to a random timeline, when I said jump, do not hesitate."
He continues to lead me through the dimension, as we get near the vortex, the ground shakes violently, and suddenly...
Thunk!
A sword flies from the sky onto the ground, piercing it with a steady shove, standing upright like a maker of resolve. Reynald halted a meter away from the sword.
"Shit.."
Reynald curses under his breath, where did the sword come from? And why is he panicking?
Just then, a white-robed figure emerged from the sky, landing swiftly on the ground. They approached the sword, pulling it out of the ground without any effort.
"Blasphemers, your journey ends here."
The figure pointed the edge of the sword at us, who is this person? What was their motive? Their face is covered by a mask, while a faint sound of breathing comes out of it. The mask seems somewhat familiar, like a bygone dream.
Reynald let go of my hand, drawing his own sword. It seems that a battle is inevitable. He took a defensive stance, signaling me to stand back.
"Well well, look what the wind brought, the lamb of the shepherd."
Even as he said that, his voice lacks confidence, as if consumed by paranoia. The masked figure was not provoked by the slightest. They remain standing — like a statue of the dead.
"By the 42nd commandment of Mnemosyne, you are hereby decreed to be executed without a trial."
Reynald's eyes narrowed as he tried to regain his composure. It seems that the words cutted deep into his gut, the man of trickery, what is your next card?
—Penning a new chapter...