He sighed. He had been doing it a lot recently.

The quill in his hands stuttered across the table as he massaged his forehead in frustration. He had better methods for headaches, but he had grown into it over the years.

The urge to cast his magic was only made even more sore by the current nature of The Canvas. Chaos was ever present and it does not like structure. Or the structured use of Canvas.

He thought someone like him would be above this, but to his dismay he found himself at the centre of it. Every once in a while when he checked the Canvas, it’d agonise him even more.

The only consolation he felt was that his peers wouldn’t be any better than him.

The current Canvas, a record, as well as a white sheet for life and nature to leave their mark on; a metaphysical entity which has existed since time unknown and recorded billions of life, was currently coloured in blue all over. It was an icy blue, the one which chills you just from the sight. But it was not just a single hue, no. Slight variations spread across the dots.

It was uncomfortable, having your colours changed so forcefully. But even with his might, he was only so strong against the being which strengthens him.

He had expected it. The signs were all there. It was finally his turn to prove himself, and his loyalty, but even he didn’t expect this chaos to disturb his peace so much.

He loved his peace, although his victims might argue, but he truly felt like peace was a good thing.

And betting on that peace, peace in future, he had maintained his Reader for so long.

An author can reach as far as his readers go, and he had developed it well over the years.

Spreading his senses across the Canvas was gruelling. It exerted much more pressure, an irritation cursing your mind as all you can do it grit your teeth and hope for things to work. All for an unseen future.

“Let’s hope those old ones don’t find it before us.”

He sighed as he picked up his quill and began to note his Reader while analyzing the noise to a minimum. It was tough work, but nothing he hadn’t faced.

A few hours slipped by, stuck in the small wooden room with nothing but rows and rows of books lining his walls. It was lightless but his books would never shy away from him.

It was then that he noticed. A slight ripple in the Canvas as the colors of blue shifted almost imperceptibly, and solidified into the same hue before gaining their uniqueness.

The Canvas was finally silent.

But the Canvas had slightly changed, and no one can pinpoint how.

Aymeric couldn’t either. But he had an idea. It was subtle and it only lasted for about a few milliseconds at best, but he had noticed a certain convergence. Certain blues had converged towards Suriasna, and it made him grimace.

It was too far from his base, but he’d make do with the cards played to him.

Lifting his quill, he sent a message to the 11 and started making other preparations. It was time to make a move and he wasn’t gonna preach for peace in this circumstance.

Manipulating a few instances, hindering a few individuals, especially the wanderer; he made a few quick calculations in his head and wrote once again.

Having rearranged his quantum state, he once again opened his eyes, this time standing in a vast desert. The dunes hit his almost innocent face and he covered himself up with a scarf he had written in prior about.

Once again employing his Reader, he sighed as he noticed the new presence of a few annoyances. He knew it wouldn’t be easy to deceive them, but he had hoped for less.

He didn’t wish for violence, it was just weird how violence always found him.He’ll still do what he’s here for.

- - - - * - - - -

I gasped, panicking, being suddenly out of breath and falling downwards when I just went to sleep was new for me. I opened my eyes through the pressure and it instantly stung, something rushing into them, and so I tried to shout, but choked as a rush of water flowed in.

Out of breath and utterly panicked at this point, I flailed my arms, trying to find something to hold onto. And I did. My mind finally caught up to the situation.

This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

I found the edges of a smooth curved surface and quickly held it, trying to pull myself up. I felt weak, starving almost, as I almost failed to pull myself out. I felt my muscles spasm as I pulled myself out of what I assumed was a bathtub and lay, stomach facing the floor.

For a few minutes I just laid there, trying not to think, not even looking around, but just trying to get as much water out as I can in fits of cough.

I tried to get on my knees, give me a better angle to cough but I just for the love of fucking god couldn’t get up. Which compounded perfectly well with the splitting headache I was experiencing.

After what felt like an eternity of awkward coughing, I managed to calm my breath. I felt sickeningly cold, like frost pricking my skin. Fragile. But I was finally a little calm.

‘Fuck-fucking hell with calm! What happ-pp-ppened? Ah fuck’ I thought, my lips flapping out of the cold. Mustering every milliliter of willpower within me, I finally managed to turn around and face the ceiling.

And for the umpteenth time, I was stupefied today as I lay there facing this…. this...

‘Nah man, please no. I can’t handle so much bullshit at once. Where the fuck am I now!?’

Facing me now was the image of the merger of two worlds. One cold as frost and blue, while the other red and blazing as fire. And at the junction was a symbol I couldn’t understand.

It was difficult to look at and so I turned away.

My mind was in turmoil yet strangely lethargic and hurting in a splitting headache. All I wanted was to fall asleep right now, but uncomfortable thoughts swirled in my head, whipping me awake. I felt just so frustrated.

A draft of wind brought a chilling freeze with it and I huddled within myself instinctively.

Knees huddled together with head and hands tucked between them, I scrounged for warmth. My wet clothes bought me none. In fact, the cotton of my shirt and the frills made…. it worse.....

‘Wait, hold on! Just what in the fuck? Why am I even wearing a shirt!? Don’t tell me my kidnapper is a pervert too!? Oh my god!!’

I wanted to cry, my chest felt heavy; a warm sensation of frustration, anger, helplessness, and despair bubbling within.

I wanted to go back home, I missed my wife. My newborn daughter needed me. I felt lonely. So so utterly lonely in this strange place.

And so I wept, silently huddled on the floor, in between fits of freezing winds, I wept.

‘Wait, why am I crying? I’m just in my bathroom aren’t I?’ I wondered, suddenly surprised at my reaction.

And then I felt something wrong. Which bathroom? I have never seen a design like this in my life. These archaic stone walls, these regal paintings, this bronze bathtub. I’ve only heard about them, or seen them online, yet never was able to afford them.

But then why do I feel so at home all of a sudden when I look at them? Whose memories do these walls hold?

And then I saw the mirage of a boy who spent more time here, crying or hiding for a moment of peace, one who had to grow up so fast.

I looked at him, intently, the coldness and my worries felt so silly right now. His face, an innocent white tinged with reddening on his cheeks. With emerald eyes and brown-long hair, the boy was adoring and maybe 3-4 years of age.

I wondered who he was. But then my mind retorted, telling me he was me. How could I not remember the young me? And for a second I believed it, but then a larger part of my mind countered.

I had never set foot in this place. I had black eyes and black hair, then how could he be me?

Torn between the opposite points, I doubted what to believe. But the mirage continued.

The boy grew up. And the clothes changed. The once red-purple gown with a black belt around his waist and a tiara on his forehead changed; to a classic white shirt, tight black pants with no belt, a cape around his shoulders of red-purple and a similar tiara still adorning his face.

He looked 8-10 years of age.

The mirage shifted once again, the boy now stood in front of the mirror with a woman in his arms, undressing each other as he kissed her passionately. He was much older now, a teenager growing up beautifully.

Looking at the woman I felt a stir within me. It barely registered but I thought back to the day we broke up. It was certainly my fault, now that I thought about it.

‘Wait, but I never met her-‘

My thoughts were interrupted as the scene changed again. The boy was an adult now. Looking handsome, yet beautiful with his white skin and long hair. He had an easy long white shirt with frills in the middle and easy black pants. A sight of him like this would make anyone feel a sense of serenity and peace overgrown.

And yet he wore a domineering overcoat with bold colors of red-purple and black. A bracelet around his wrist and the same tiara still around his forehead.

Looking at him I felt a little proud. The inner-outer self of clothing was a fashion statement of the empire and he always adored it.

The now adult boy, though looking handsome felt much more depressed than ever. Taking off his overcoat he threw it across the bathroom. With slow and scared steps, he gained his way towards the bathtub.

And with none words said, he stepped in as he always had. Just this time he didn’t plan on coming out.

“And yet here I stand, heh….” I chuckled as an understanding of my situation formed within me.

It was so unbelievable. But I followed my conjecture. Looking through my memories I searched for proof, and there it was.

The life of Carl Stefan, an ordinary artist; overlapping the pitiful life of the son of a viscount; the son of Viscount Arnaud Servouz of the Suriasna Empire; the life of Conor Servouz.

The homely feelings this bathroom gave me, the same overcoat lying in the distance, and the circumstances I found myself in, all led credit to my claim.

I was born anew, and in a completely different world!!