White.
Everything was white.
Not the white of fresh snow or clean sheets. This was something else entirely. Pure white that stretched forever in every direction. No walls, no ceiling, no floor - just endless nothing that somehow felt like everything.
Asher floated in the void, weightless and confused.
*Am I dead?*
The question echoed in his mind, but no answer came. Just silence and that endless, perfect white.
Then, without warning, something shifted in the emptiness.
A presence.
Not a person, not a shape, not anything he could see or touch. But Asher knew - absolutely knew - that he was no longer alone. Something vast and ancient had joined him in this place between places.
"Hello, Asher Kane."
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. It didn't speak in words, but somehow he understood perfectly. It was like the voice bypassed his ears entirely and spoke directly to his soul.
"Who are you?" Asher tried to speak, but realized he had no mouth, no body, nothing. Yet somehow his question reached the presence.
Amusement rippled through the white space like invisible laughter.
"I am what mortals might call a Watcher. I observe. I record. I occasionally... interfere." The presence seemed to consider its words carefully. "You have provided me with considerable entertainment, Asher Kane."
"Entertainment?"
"Indeed. Six lifetimes of watching you scheme, plot, and con your way through existence. Each life more creative than the last." The voice warmed with something like fondness. "Your first life as a pickpocket in ancient Rome. Your second as a traveling merchant who sold fake relics to pilgrims. Your third as a court magician who convinced kings you could turn lead to gold."
Fragments of memories flickered in Asher's mind - images that felt familiar yet distant. A dusty Roman street. Medieval castles. Faces he'd once known.
"Your fourth life as a con artist in the Wild West was particularly amusing. That business with the fake silver mine?" The Watcher chuckled, a sound like wind through distant stars. "Brilliant work."
"I don't remember any of this."
"Of course not. Memories are wiped clean with each death. It's the natural order." The presence paused. "Usually."
The word hung in the white space like a promise.
"Your fifth life as a gentleman thief in Victorian London showed real artistry. But this latest incarnation... ah, this was your masterpiece. Playing both the FBI and the mafia against each other? Using your own brother as motivation? The sheer audacity of it all!"
Asher felt a chill that had nothing to do with temperature. "You've been watching me my whole life?"
"Your whole lives, plural. All six of them." The Watcher's amusement grew stronger. "Do you know what the rules are, Asher Kane?"
"Rules?"
"Every soul gets seven chances. Seven lives to learn, grow, achieve whatever cosmic purpose drives them." The voice grew more serious. "Most souls use their lives to become better people. They learn compassion, find love, serve others."
"And me?"
"You, my dear con artist, have spent six lifetimes becoming the perfect liar."
The truth hit Asher like a physical blow. Six lives. Six chances to be good, to be noble, to be something better. And he'd wasted them all on schemes and cons and tricks.
"This was my sixth life?"
"Indeed. Which means you have one left." The Watcher paused, and Asher could feel something building in the white space - anticipation, maybe, or mischief. "But here's where things get interesting."
"How so?"
"The entertainment you've provided me has been... unprecedented. Never in all my eons of watching have I seen someone turn deception into such an art form." The voice grew warmer, almost fond. "So I'm going to break the rules."
Asher's non-existent heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean?"
"I'm giving you a gift. Your memories from this sixth life - you get to keep them. All of them. Your skills, your knowledge, your experience as the great Mr. Magic."
The implications hit Asher like lightning. "You mean I'll remember how to con people? How to read marks? How to—"
"Everything," the Watcher confirmed. "But there's a price."
Of course there was. There was always a price.
"I'm taking your early years. The pain, the trauma, the events that shaped you into what you became." The voice grew gentle, almost caring. "Your parents' death when you were eight. The years in foster care. The abuse, the hunger, the desperation that drove you to your first theft."
Asher felt those memories starting to fade even as the Watcher spoke. The funeral where he'd stood alone at eight years old. The foster homes where kindness was rare and cruelty common. The first time he'd stolen bread just to eat.
But strangely, he didn't feel loss. He felt... lighter.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because those memories made you desperate. Desperate people make mistakes." The Watcher's presence seemed to smile. "I want to see what the perfect con artist can do without desperation driving him. I want to see what Asher Kane becomes when he has nothing to prove and everything to gain."
The white space began to shift around them, swirling like cosmic winds.
"Where are you sending me?"
"A world called Valdris. Magic is real there. Politics are deadly. And you, my dear con artist, are about to become Professor Asher Kane of the Royal Academy of Mystic Arts."
"A professor? Of magic?"
"The irony is delicious, isn't it?" The Watcher's laughter echoed through the changing void. "The man who spent six lifetimes faking supernatural abilities is about to inherit a body that can actually perform them."
"But I don't know anything about real magic!"
"Then you'd better learn quickly. Because Professor Thorne has enemies. Powerful enemies who would love to see him dead."
The white space was dissolving now, replaced by swirling colors and distant sounds. Asher felt himself being pulled away from the Watcher's presence.
"Wait!" he called out. "Why are you doing this? Really?"
The Watcher's voice followed him as he fell through the cosmic winds. "Because, Asher Kane, I am very curious to see what happens when the greatest liar in seven lifetimes gets one final chance to tell the truth."
"What if I fail? What if I waste this life too?"
"Then you'll face judgment like every other soul." The voice was fading now, growing distant. "But somehow, I don't think you'll waste it. This is your seventh life, Asher Kane. Your last chance. Make it count."
The colors swirled faster, brighter, until they became a blinding tunnel of light. Asher felt himself accelerating, falling, diving toward something that felt solid and real and...
*PAIN!*
---
Asher's eyes snapped open and immediately squeezed shut again. His head felt like someone had driven a railroad spike through his skull. Every nerve in his body screamed in agony.
He was lying on something soft. A bed, maybe? The air smelled different - cleaner somehow, with hints of herbs and old books.
Slowly, carefully, he opened his eyes again.
Stone ceiling. Wooden beams. Definitely not a Chicago penthouse.
He tried to sit up and immediately regretted it as his head exploded with fresh pain. But through the agony, memories began flooding back. Not his memories - someone else's.
*Professor Asher Kane. Age twenty-one. Expert in theoretical magic and ancient runes. Born to minor nobility in the kingdom of Valdris. Graduated top of his class from the Royal Academy. Appointed to the faculty five years ago.*
The memories felt foreign yet familiar, like wearing someone else's clothes that somehow fit perfectly. He could see faces he'd never met but somehow knew. Students who respected him. Colleagues who envied him. And enemies who wanted him dead.
But underneath these new memories, his own remained crystal clear. Chicago. Don Marcetti. Agent Chen. Danny rotting in a prison cell. The wire taped to his chest. The chrome gun pressed against his head.
And before that... other memories now. Fragments of previous lives the Watcher had mentioned. A Roman street where he'd taught children to pick pockets. A medieval castle where he'd convinced a king that painted glass was magical crystal. A Wild West saloon where he'd sold shares in a nonexistent mine.
Six lifetimes of cons. Six lifetimes of lies. And now, impossibly, a seventh chance.
*The perfect con artist without desperation.*
Asher sat up slowly, fighting through the pain. This body was different from his last one. Taller, leaner, with callused hands that spoke of spell-casting rather than card tricks. But the mind was the same. The skills were the same.
And the opportunities...
He looked around the room. Books filled every surface. Scrolls covered in mystical symbols. Bottles filled with glowing liquids. This wasn't just a bedroom - it was a wizard's workshop.
*Real magic,* he thought with wonder. *After six lifetimes of faking it, I finally have access to the real thing.*
But first, he had to figure out this world. Professor Thorne's memories showed him enough to know that Valdris was a kingdom of political intrigue and magical power. The Academy where he taught was connected to the royal court. There were nobles to impress, rivals to outmaneuver, and apparently enemies who wanted him dead.
It was perfect.
*This is my seventh life,* Asher reminded himself. *My last chance. The Watcher wants to see what I can do without desperation driving me.*
He stood up, steadier now, and walked to the window. Outside, he could see a sprawling city of stone towers and magical lights. Flying carpets drifted between the buildings like cars on aerial highways. In the distance, a massive castle rose against the sky.
This was it. His final performance. His greatest con.
But this time, maybe - just maybe - he wouldn't be conning anyone at all.
*Live this life to the fullest,* he decided. Make this seventh chance count.*
Asher Kane, the greatest con artist in seven lifetimes, smiled.
He had work to do.