Chapter 7 — No, no, no. You're fucking with me. Anyone but him. Anyone!
The void shifted when the plague doctor's words fell. Not visibly, not in any way that Jin could point at, but he felt it — as though something vast and endless had turned its head to listen.
"You will awaken in silk," the masked figure said, voice low and steady. "But it will feel like chains."
Jin barked a short, sharp laugh, ugly in the silence. "Poetry now? Spare me. Silk, chains—what the hell does that even mean? You running a riddle contest out here in purgatory?"
The plague doctor didn't move. His cloak was still, his mask blank, but the space around him darkened faintly, like shadows lengthening without a source.
"You will eat from golden plates," the doctor continued, "but each bite will taste of ash. You will drink wine richer than blood, but every swallow will burn like fire."
"Oh, wonderful," Jin snapped, pacing in a sharp circle. His boots scraped on nothing, soundless, yet the void thrummed faintly with each step. "A diet plan straight from hell. Am I supposed to be scared? Impressed? You know what ash tastes like? I've coughed it up while dragging my squad's corpses out of a collapsed trench. I've swallowed fire every night since. That's not new. That's just Tuesday."
The shadows pulsed faintly, but the doctor never shifted. "Your name will be one of power," he said. "But it will not protect you. Power invites the blade."
"Yeah? Tell me something I don't know," Jin sneered, leaning forward. His grin was sharp, his eyes bloodshot. "Every rank I climbed in the army just made me more of a target. Power's a joke. You paint a bullseye on your own chest and call it an honor badge. Nothing new there either, bird mask."
The mask gleamed faintly, catching no light. "You will be surrounded by wealth. But every coin will carry the weight of your death."
The void shuddered. A ripple spread across the nothingness like a stone tossed into a black lake, though there was no water, no surface. Jin stumbled, caught himself, and snarled.
"Enough with the fortune cookie bullshit!" he shouted, voice breaking against the infinite silence. "You talk like you've been sniffing your own riddles for centuries. Speak plainly. What's this new life supposed to be? Another joke? Another battlefield? Another fucking girlfriend ready to stab me in the back?"
The doctor's mask tilted slightly, though his tone remained the same—flat, calm, detached. "You will walk in halls gilded by your forefathers. But the stones beneath will hunger for your blood."
Jin laughed again, but it was hollow, ragged. He dragged a hand through his hair, tugging at it until his scalp burned. "God, you're insufferable. Do you know that? You sound like every priest, every commander, every politician that ever talked down to me. Words, words, words, but no substance. All riddles. All smoke."
He leaned close, glaring into the black eyeholes of the mask. "Tell me the catch. Tell me what you're not saying."
For the first time, the void itself seemed to stir. Whispers slithered just at the edge of hearing, too faint to form words. Jin froze, every hair on his arms standing.
"You are written to die," the doctor said simply. The void trembled like a drum. "But whether you do is your decision."
The words landed heavier than any riddle. Jin's mouth went dry. His sneer faltered for a beat.
"…Written to die?" he muttered, voice hoarse. "What the fuck does that mean? Written by who?"
The mask gave no answer.
Jin's laugh was shaky this time, jagged around the edges. "So, what, I'm a story character now? A puppet in someone else's script? Figures. Even in death I'm just another joke for the gods to pass around."
He spat into the void again, though it vanished before it fell. His voice rose, furious. "If I'm written to die, why bother giving me this choice? Why waste your time dangling chains in front of me?!"
The cloak stirred faintly. "Because chains can be broken. But only by those who see them."
The void rippled. A low, almost inaudible hum filled the nothingness, like a chorus of distant voices holding their breath.
Jin pressed his palms against his face, dragging them down hard until his skin burned. "You're driving me insane, you know that? I asked you for details, and all you're giving me is bad poetry. Halls, silk, chains, death. Useless."
He snapped his gaze up again, baring his teeth. "Enough. I've had it with your cryptic crap. Tell me. Who the hell am I supposed to be in this world? What name, what body, what death sentence are you throwing me into?"
The whispers surged, louder now, like the void itself was leaning closer. Shadows writhed at the edge of Jin's vision, stretching like claws, curling back when he turned. The plague doctor stood perfectly still, untouched, unmoving.
"You will awaken," he said, voice measured and final, "as Sylan Kyle Von Noctis."
The name struck like a hammer.
The void shuddered. The whispers fell silent.
Jin's breath caught in his throat. His stomach turned cold, ice spreading into his chest. He knew that name. He hated that name. The minor antagonist. The stepping stone. The one destined to be crushed for the heroine's glory.
"No," he whispered, shaking his head. His hands curled into fists. "No, no, no. You're fucking with me. Anyone but him. Anyone!"
The plague doctor's mask didn't move. His voice was calm as ever.
"It is already written."
And the void went still.