Chapter 190: The Nameless Reflection (Bonus 4)
I stared at the last, empty page, the ghostly lines of script still burned into my mind’s eye. Every word, every desperate plea and grim prophecy, replayed itself, knitting together a horrifying tapestry of the past.
Hey, System, I muttered in my mind, the question a silent accusation. It was you who did it, right? The one who talked to my past self, the one who took away my memories.
Silence was my only answer, as expected. But I chuckled, a low, humorless sound.
You don’t have to answer. I glanced at the inert notebook again. It’s way too obvious now anyway.
There was truly nothing more here.
I closed the notebook, then closed the larger book around it, containing the secret once more. I picked up my cooled tea, taking another sip. The pieces of the puzzle, fragmented for so long, were finally clicking into place, aligning into a chilling, cohesive picture.
So, my past self had seen the future, or perhaps the past, a terrifying vision where everyone he loved, everyone in Eclipse Keep, died.
Then, the System had appeared, offering him a chance to save himself. But he had refused, opting instead for the survival of others, of his family, of the Keep.
The nightmares he was plagued with must be related to that horrifying vision too.
And the cost?
My memories. My self.
But it couldn’t be that simple.
I pondered again, a flicker of understanding crossing my eyes.
So that’s how it is, I chuckled as ideas flowed into my mind.
The System probably took away my original memories to replace them with the memories of the stories - the clichés, the cringes, the comedy, the fantasy - I remembered waking up with.
It was a bizarre, yet highly plausible, possibility.
Perhaps my unawakened self couldn’t contain so much raw memory, or there was some arcane reason for the substitution.
But then, a new set of questions bubbled to the surface.
How exactly did my past self write this notebook? And why in such a way?
Was he truly unawakened then, just as I was now? Or did he use some kind of relic, a hidden treasure, or a specific ability to foresee and record such impossible truths?
And why exactly those memories? Couldn’t it have given me all the possible visions? Or was it related to the system? And the way it operated?
The possibilities were many, each one spinning off into further unknowns.
Yet, amidst all these unfolding revelations and new mysteries, the most important question still remained: Why exactly that Academy?
Why go there, of all places?
Was there something important there? A relic, a secret, a person - that held the key to averting the doom my past self had seen?
Or was it somehow related to those scenarios I encountered?
Was it because Zephyr or Aeron, or the other important ’characters’ were there?
Frustration coiled in my chest. Every theory made sense, yet there was no way to confirm if any of them were true.
And the mysteries only branched further.
Why did I "wake up" on that specific day?
Why fill my head with stories and clichés instead of my own history? Was it the System’s doing, or some failsafe my past self had engineered?
I set the cup down, the sound unnaturally loud in the silent library.
My thoughts spiraled back to The First Thread I’d witnessed. In the vision, I was clearly older, around twenty, and pretty powerful too, judging by the way I fought.
But despite all that, I still died.
Yet, here I was—alive.
This fact alone spiraled into profound implications.
Did I possess the ability to time travel, or perhaps to glimpse and even live through possible timelines?
Was I a regressor, flung back to prevent a catastrophe?
Or was my still-unknown [???] Resonance ability intricately related to some form of temporal manipulation?
And then the most perplexing thought of all surfaced.
Was I truly a "background character"?
If the "memories" the System gave me served right, only main characters or super important, destined individuals ever had this kind of elaborate setup, these kinds of abilities.
Speaking of which, the System itself constantly used terms like "stories," "characters," and "narratives."
And it had explicitly called me a background character.
So was this it?
Was I really trapped in a world of merged storylines?
A background character who was fated to die as shown in The First Thread, but who was now somehow, inexplicably, alive and here?
"Haaah."
I let out a long, shuddering exhale.
My mind was a chaotic mess, a whirlwind of new information and unanswerable questions. It felt like every answer I gained simply birthed a dozen more uncertainties.
I stood, taking the book and notebook with me, and walked to the nearest shelf, sliding them back into their concealed spot. Though I’d ended up with more questions than I began with, I had at least received some of the answers I craved. Besides, in a twisted way, my past self had succeeded in his purpose.
I ’ died’ . So did he.
The others, our family, the Keep, were safe.
(For now. And only if we ignore the Lament Shroud.)
And I...
I was free now.
Or at least, I desperately wanted to believe it.
And, hadn’t I already decided on my path, on my future, on what I am gonna do?
Then, there was no point in overthinking it anymore. I just needed to keep going, seeking improvement and doing what worked.
"Let’s continue, then," I murmured, reaching for another book.
Just as my fingers made contact with the spine of the new book, and my gaze flickered to its cover, my hands suddenly froze. A chilling sensation, cold and sharp, began to crawl up from the very core of my soul, spreading through my limbs.
I’d almost asked every question, pondered every possibility, but in my frantic chase for answers, I’d forgotten the most crucial, the most fundamental, and perhaps, the most terrifying one.
Am I...
Am I even Amaniel?