All-encompassing darkness. It swallowed everything, reducing Dimitry’s surroundings to an abyss devoid of all. There was no sound, no tactile sensation, no smells. Just a vague notion of self-consciousness and existence.

Dimitry’s eyes didn’t blink. He couldn’t close them even if he wanted to. They gazed unflinchingly into an emptiness that expanded in every direction as if without limit. It wasn’t just his eyes. His entire body stopped responding to his commands and instead lay still, paralyzed, leaving him trapped with his thoughts.

He had burnt through over a dozen pellets to turn the bridge invisible, and that was the fourth time he used invisall that day. The feedback worsened with every subsequent use. Did Dimitry overload on vol?

If so, it made sense for him to end up in this state. Although what it entailed was uncertain. Dimitry existed in some form, but if he couldn’t move, what was the point? Could it be a transitional state between life and death?

His personal purgatory.

How fitting for a sinner like Dimitry. His actions led to Delphine and Gerbald’s deaths. He was a murderer.

But he wasn’t upset. Unlike Samuel and Arnest, neither Gerbald nor Delphine committed crimes for survival. They did it to line their pockets. To amass fortunes and erect a gilded stronghold of slaves while irreverent to the sufferings of others.

Dimitry’s only regret was leaving without healing anyone. A surgeon’s job wasn’t complete until they stabilized and rehabilitated the patient, yet he discharged neither Milli, Idalia, nor Rowan.

Screw revolutionizing medicine. At this point, all Dimitry wanted was to be a simple physician—laboring for paychecks without the constant threat of persecution. Nothing more, nothing less. But it was too late. He squandered this chance at life, too.

Out from the dark abyss, a distant ceiling drifted closer. Four white walls approached to support it and a plain floor rose from below. They combined to form a white room. Tables, stands, and medical equipment appeared one by one to populate it.

Dimitry blinked. A heart that pumped blood, nostrils that brushed against cold air, a back chilled by a cool, tiled floor. Sensation surged into his body all at once. Among them, pain.

He lifted his hand only to see bulging purple vessels running from his right arm, through his chest, and into his left arm. The intricate ones protruding from his palms were the most painful. They throbbed and surged discomfort with every spasm.

“Knight,” said a rich voice.

Dimitry’s heart skipped a beat. His head twitched to find the foot of a portable vital signs monitor. Was he back in the hospital? He tried to push off the ground but winced. The inflamed purple vessels on his palms convulsed at the faintest touch. After several embarrassing attempts, Dimitry stood up.

Beside him, a man lay on an operating table illuminated solely by surgery lights. He wore a teal patient gown, had an intravenous line inserted into his lower arm, and a deep gap just below his throat held open by two self-retaining retractors. They pushed aside layers of skin, fat, and other tissue to reveal a sliced tracheal tube. Blood poured from the incision between the second and third tracheal rings.

The man underwent a tracheostomy. A common surgery. However, there were no surgeons, nurses, or anesthesiologists around. Instead, the man lay in a desolate operating room accompanied only by a confused Dimitry. Were it up to him, he’d create a Bjork flap next. But that wasn’t what concerned him at the moment.

“Where are we?” Dimitry asked. “And why are you in the middle of an operation? Where is your tracheostomy tube?”

“So that’s how I appear to you.”

Dimitry ventured forward and examined the man’s face, distinguishable under the glow of surgery lights. Plain brown eyes, fleshy nose, and short black hair. So familiar, but who was it? His existence was enigmatic like the man from the dark hall, but the environment differed. As did this man’s voice. How were the two related?

The man grinned. “A knight shows courage.”

Dimitry stepped back. The eerie sight of a person with a sliced trachea talking caught him off-guard. An impossibility. With exhaled air escaping through the slit rather than past the vocal cords, how did he manage speech?

“You can’t hear them, but they’re cheering for you.”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Cheering? Who would cheer for Dimitry? Everyone in Ravenfall seemed to hate his guts. “Are you talking about Precious and Saphiria?”

“Sure.” The man gave a hearty laugh. “Either way, you’ve won your patron support. They’ve prepared some gifts for you.”

His hand reached for a stainless steel medical tray beside the operating table and fished for something. He pushed aside forceps, scalpels, and other instruments until it grabbed hold of a book. The man threw it onto his abdomen and repeated the process with another until two lay on his gown.

“The rules state you can only pick one of the two. Choose wisely.”

“Rules for what? And who are my patrons?”

The man stayed silent.

Dimitry clenched his teeth. Whether it was from frustration or anger was uncertain. The man claimed him to be a ‘knight’ yet treated him no differently from a ‘pawn’.

After a deep breath, Dimitry turned his gaze towards the two books laying on the man’s stomach. Centuries of neglect wore their edges and corners. Like invisall’s tome, gold embroidery covered both. Alien characters bestowed both books with titles: ‘Accelall’ and ‘decelall’.

“What do they do?”

“One accelerates, the other decelerates.”

“That’s not a very helpful response. Anything more specific?”

“Choose.”

Dimitry gave up on coaxing information from the man. His glance shifted to the books. Assuming that both contained new spells, they would work like invisall. That meant they required vol to operate. Not only that, but every use would cause feedback and overload Dimitry’s body further. Given the state of his inflamed arms, the right one more so, abusing magic further would only set him back. It was useless to him. Assuming his ‘patron’ intended to send Dimitry back to Remora, even money was preferable.

“Isn’t there anything else you can offer me?”

“Survive long enough, and maybe you’ll have the chance to ask your patron directly. For now, choose.”

Dimitry frowned. Both options offered limited uses. However, since either spell likely required direct contact with the target to cast, one was superior to the other. Accelerating himself and his allies was safer than decelerating the enemy during an escape. The choice was obvious. He lifted the accelall tome from the man’s stomach.

“Are you sure?”

“If you’re not going to offer me anything better, then it’ll have to do.”

Dimitry pulled up the leather-bound cover to reveal a sheet of parchment. As soon as he attempted to read it, the characters on its surface glowed blue, turned clockwise, and sunk into its surface leaving behind only an empty yellow page.

Did he learn a new spell? Curious, Dimitry reached for his vol pouch only to find it wasn’t there anymore.

The man’s lips curled into a smile, and blood gushed from the gaping hole in his upper chest where a tracheostomy tube should be. “Even if you had some, I wouldn’t recommend its use.”

Dimitry put the spent book back on the man’s stomach. “How did you know what I was thinking?”

The man lifted the books off of his abdomen and, IV dangling from a vein in his arm, set them aside on a metal tray. They vanished.

The room was an enigma. It built itself, phased objects in and out of existence, and included a man who read Dimitry’s thoughts. How could it be a real place? Although it made little sense, it certainly felt real: chilly air currents, the overpowering scent of sterilization products, the man’s deep, vibratory voice.

“It’s time for the last step.”

Two large floor tiles beside Dimitry opened towards the ceiling like double doors, revealing a machine embedded in the ground. Glass cylinders resembling large upside-down test tubes protruded from its top surface, each containing a vibrant blue liquid. The machine rose slowly, releasing pale fumes that tickled the tips of his invisible toes. When it stopped moving, it emitted a satisfying “thunk” sound. A long crevice with an opening the size of a grapefruit indented the side of the machine facing Dimitry.

The contraption appeared identical to the one that carved a pawn into Dimitry’s wrist within the dark hall. Was he in the same place as last time? The man implied that the room appeared different based on the viewer. Was it Dimitry who changed and not the room?

“I’m guessing you want me to put my arm inside?”

“Knight, be courageous.”

Dimitry didn’t forget the agony the machine caused him last time. It sliced through tissue with a blade sharper than carved obsidian. His gaze shifted to the imprint on his wrist. The pawn’s mellow blue contrasted with that of inflamed purple vessels. Their presence would make the procedure hurt more than before, but what was a little more pain to him?

It was best to get it over with.

He thrust his arm into the machine.

Something akin to metal plates compressed around his arm, squeezing already agitated purple vessels. The pawn imprint melted into a thick liquid which flowed out of his wrist, then a blade sharper than a surgical scalpel pierced his flesh. Dimitry slammed his eyes shut as it sliced intricate shapes. When cool gel poured into his arm to numb it, he heaved a sigh of relief. Dimitry pulled out his arm, and the machine sunk into the ground.

The imprint of a chess knight embedded itself on his wrist. Did it have a purpose? It didn’t seem to be anything more than a decorative piece.

“You should be proud,” the man said.

“Proud?”

“Few who start as pawns make it to knighthood. Whether it was through luck or ingenuity, you defied fate.” He smiled, displaying brown and yellow teeth. “You have entertained them greatly.”

“Are you saying that everything I’ve been through was for someone’s enjoyment?”

“Enjoyment is just a benefit. Your life holds more value than that. Your patron. They would really appreciate it if you kept up the good work.”

“Who is ‘they’?”

“Looks like our time is up.”

“Wait!” Dimitry yelled. “Answer one more question.”

“Be quick.”

“What’s the emblem for?” Dimitry flashed his wrist at the teal robed patient.

“I’m not allowed to say much on the topic; it would be unfair to your opponents. Follow its guidance. With the aberrant route you’ve chosen, you’ll need all the help you can get.”

“Aberrant route? Opponent? Is something going to happen?”

“Just do your best.”

“What do you—”

Dimitry’s voice cut out. The man disappeared from his bed, and the room crumbled. He tried to shout, but his larynx wasn’t there anymore.

Darkness consumed the world once more.