Jacob woke up on the floor of the white cell, face down. His handcuffs were back on. He sat up, cracked his neck this way, then the other. He was alone in the room.

That makes three. Fuck.

Despite having no concept of night and day to orient himself by, he settled into an uneasy rhythm. He ate when he got fed, slept when he got tired. Eating and sleeping. Sleeping and eating. He tried to keep track of the number of times he ate at first, but the isolation and sensory deprivation was warping his mind. He tried to make scratches on the walls to note down the number, but whatever material they were made out of, it withstood all his destructive efforts.

Eventually he lost track completely, adrift in a white sea where time was an unreliable, taunting concept.

Moraine was taking her time. Part of him wished she would show up just to dispel some of the monotony. But she didn’t. So he spent most of his waking time doing the only three things he could do besides eat and sleep—walk, work out, and think.

He quickly threw out any hope of a rescue by the Heroes’ Guild. Destroying Green Meadows had been part of the assignment anyway, so Starman had certainly ensured its demolition before the arrival of STF troops, destroying any evidence of how the others had died and the fact of Jacob’s disappearance. To the Guild, he was probably just… dead. Maybe they assumed his Blessing had given out, that it wouldn’t resurrect him if his body was too badly damaged. Or maybe they were expecting to find him somewhere in the ruins, alive but buried.

Either way, it was going to be a long time before anyone suspected anything. If Fenway’s body was found, and some of the data she had recovered could be extracted from her System node, then maybe. But he had to assume Starman would have thought of that and taken care of it preemptively.

Jacob had once taken Starman for an idiot, but he had since revised his opinion. The bastard was deceptively cunning, hidden behind a disguise of simple-minded, well-meaning bravado.

Someday I’ll get my hands on him. Once I’m strong enough.

I’ll break every bone in his body before I let him die.

That thought warmed his heart enough to carry him through a few eat-sleep cycles.

He didn’t want to think about Becca, tried to avoid it as much as he could. It inevitably led him to think about what she was doing now, how she was holding up. She’d undoubtedly been told not to expect his return. She probably didn’t believe it, not yet. But enough time would break her down.

Maybe she would forget before he did. He didn’t really believe that, but the very notion spread through him like poison. He tried to keep it contained by occupying his mind with other matters. Mostly. But he forced himself to think about her at least once per eat-sleep cycle. To make sure she was still there.

He assumed that the memory loss was something that happened all at once—a piece of him ripped out every time he died—not a progressive symptom. But there was no way to make sure, so he had to keep checking.

Jacob was in the middle of doing pushups when he was yanked into the air and slammed against the wall. Moraine came in, chipper as always.

“Hello hello! How are we feeling today, Jacob? Good? That’s good. Again, I’m so sorry about the delay. These people, they have no respect for my time at all.”

Jacob didn’t bother struggling. He wouldn’t get out that way. He had to think of something smarter. In the meantime, he’d play docile. They’d let down their guard eventually.

She sighed, tapping her clipboard with the back of her pen. “Jacob, when someone says ‘hello’, it’s customary to respond, isn’t it?”

“Eat shit and die,” Jacob replied. He folded his hands forward so he could give her two middle fingers.

“Ah, yes. I’d forgotten about your rebellious spirit. Very amusing. Jacob, I’d like to talk about our previous experiment.”

“The one where you killed me?”

“Yes, that one. Did you see anything while you were dead? Anything related to your new aspect?”

“Nope. Not a thing.”

She pointed her pen towards him. “I see what this is. You don’t want to talk. You’re angry with me. I understand, I do. But you must understand that this is unproductive behavior. It has to stop.”

“Make me.”

“Yes, why don’t I do that?”

She folded away her coat and placed the clipboard on top of it, rolled up her sleeves. Then she held up one finger, and a tiny hand sprouted from it.

“I have a fun aspect too,” she said, smiling sweetly. “Would you like to experience it?”

Jacob said nothing. He could only watch the single thin strand of an arm extend and creep towards him, fingers splayed.

“Ties That Bind is really designed for pulling things together,” she explained. “Likely born from psychosexual trauma and a need to reconcile with my estranged father.” She sighed. “I wish I had more time for therapy. We have therapists here, you know. There’s this one, Yuri, he works miracles. Off-track, sorry. Ties That Bind pulls things together. But my aspect allows me to reach a little deeper, to pull on issues… closer to the heart.”

Jacob watched as the hand touched his chest and sank straight through clothing, into his flesh. He felt something crawl around in there, an overgrown parasite.

“Wait,” Jacob said. “Don’t do it.”

“Too late.”

“I’ll talk. I will.”

“Too late! Let’s make this a lesson for next time, yes?”

He felt a sharp squeeze in his chest. His heart. He gasped for breath.

“I don’t enjoy this, Jacob. I really don’t. But progress demands sacrifice.”

His heart squeezed tighter, close to bursting. The elongated arm slithered like a bony eel. He was getting light-headed, face all cold. His vision tunneled, and he slumped forward against his bonds.

“Sweet dreams.”

*****

Nothing. Emptiness. Annihilation.

Then forest.

Jacob started by taking off the sunglasses and tossing them aside. He peered up at the twilight sky. Through a gap in the tree coverage, he saw the moon peering back at him.

Number four.

Jacob did a quick inventory of his life story and found that there was a gap between fifth and seventh grade where he didn’t remember anything at all. A blank piece of himself that he could only fill in with vague guesswork.

Getting worse. That’s nice.

Jacob started walking through the forest with no particular direction in mind, but he quickly developed an idea.

Fenway. Sonny said he’d felt her presence here. Which means I can find her.

Fenway, with her million degrees. She has to know something about all this. Something that’ll help.

So that was the plan. Climbing to the top of a nearby tree to scout his surroundings, he found that the features of the land were completely different from last time, as though tossed by a giant like a blanket. Different mountains, different valleys. But there were still trees everywhere.

He didn’t know how to find her in this endless hell wood, but something told him it wasn’t an issue of purely geographical navigation. Its makeup was in many ways nonsensical, unreal. He’d run across Sonny at random despite the sheer size of the place. That couldn’t be a coincidence.

Maybe it’s just an issue of trying to find her. Or wanting to find her. I wasn’t actively looking for Sonny last time, but I found him anyway. I was hoping to find someone, anyone.

So if I specify Fenway, I might be taken to her.

It was as good an idea as any, so Jacob set off. Constantly, in the back of his head, he thought about finding Fenway. As he jumped over rocks, as he ducked under branches, as he forced his way through dense thickets. He called out to her, spoke her name. The forest swallowed up his voice—he was sure it couldn’t be heard far.

Better than nothing.

Jacob nearly stepped on a person laying right across his path, but managed to catch himself. He bent down and pulled some bushes away from the person to get a better look. No wonder he’d almost missed him, he was all covered in moss and roots and plants. The roots lay across him like rope, and roots pierced his ears too, one on each side. A fungus grew out of his mouth.

The man was a stranger with pale and withered features. His eyes were the only part that moved, following Jacob’s face. The Death Glare did not trigger on him.

“You all right?” Jacob asked.

The man did not reply except with a small shiver in his bottom lip, some vague indication that he wanted to speak. Jacob asked a few more questions, but the man remained mum.

So Jacob stood back up with a sigh and moved on.

Someone who’s been here too long, maybe. His negative space or soul or whatever coming apart.

Jacob wandered. Hours passed. Probably. It was just as difficult to tell the time in the forest as in the cell. He rested on a rock for a while, wondering if he was wasting his time. But there was nothing for it. He had to keep going.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

And then, when he entered a rare clearing, there she was. Fenway. She sat on the edge of a spring pond, her bare feet submerged in the dark, still waters and producing tiny ripples. She wore a white summer dress whose skirts lay arrayed about her in a wide circle, its perfect purity contrasted against the grimy hues of the undergrowth. Her black hair was loose over her shoulders.

It was the first time he’d seen her wear anything but stuffy business attire. His first time seeing her hair in anything but a tight bun, too.

She looked up at him. Her disapproving scowl was the same as always, but her attire put Jacob in mind of a spoiled forest princess.

“What took you so long?” she asked.

“Someone thought this was a date,” Jacob said with a grin, nodding at her dress.

“Shut up.”

Jacob approached, but found himself unwilling to sit down next to her and ruin the perfect picture. Instead, he remained a few meters off, looking out over the pond. A single dragonfly darted about above the surface, shining an iridescent blue.

“You expected me?”

“I expected you sooner.”

“How long has it been for you?”

Her scowl lessened, and her expression grew uncertain. “I don’t know. Time is hard to grasp here. It’s like a river running both ways at once.”

“Bitch, then what are you complaining about me being late for? I’m here now.”

Despite his words, he could empathize with her. He knew how she felt. Everything moving too slow and too fast all at once.

She took a deep breath and gave a shaky smile. “You’re right. You’re here now. I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come.”

Jacob nodded. “I came. I have questions for you.”

“I know. That’s why I’ve been preparing answers. That’s why I’m here.”

“That’s unusually considerate of you.”

“Not really.” Fenway’s gaze took on an iron-hard edge. “You’re our vengeance, Mr. Sorenson. I’m not going to let you fuck it up. I take it the people who killed us are still alive?”

Jacob chuckled. “Yeah, they’re alive. Do you know anything useful that might help me? I got caught by the Red Right Hand. They’re holding me somewhere. I need to get out.”

“I don’t know about ‘useful’. Not in the practical sense. But I’ll let you know what I’ve theorized.”

He glanced around at the trees that ringed the clearing, reaching in like long-fingered wraiths. “Then do you know what this place is? I asked Sonny, but he said, and I quote: ‘How the fuck should I know? I just live here’.”

“That does sound like Tom. And this forest is a sort of gravity well for lost souls. A final destination for some, those who don’t find their way again. But this is not the only such place. I’m almost sure of it. I’m ready to move on.” She splashed her feet in the water. “But I was waiting for you to show up.”

“You’re not waiting for Sonny?”

She shook her head with a rueful smile. “That idiot will never make it this far. He’s probably given up already.”

Not so far off.

“You think so?”

“That was always Tom’s problem. Well, the greatest of many. He’s always working against himself. You’ll never get anywhere in the Forgotten Green like that.”

“Is that what you’re calling it?”

“Not me, Mr. Sorenson. The trees whisper it, if you listen.”

Jacob pursed his lips and rocked on the balls of his feet. “Magic mambo-jumbo. Got it.”

They both watched the dragonfly zip back and forth, tirelessly searching for prey it would never find.

“When I asked Sonny what it was like being dead, he told me something interesting.” He proceeded to explain the story about the paper man and the cut-out. “What’s your take on it?”

Fenway nodded slowly. “It’s not a bad way to explain it. There are certainly more technical explanations for what constitutes life after death, but I take it you don’t want to spend the next three hours discussing it.”

“Yeah, I’d rather not. I can’t say I feel… inside out in that way, though. I feel pretty normal. I mean, I know I’m dead, but my body feels the same.”

“Not so surprising. For you, death is only a temporary state before you rebound back to life. Your disembodiment process is likely not complete.”

“I see.”

There was a short silence. He sighed, then she did.

“Ask away, Mr. Sorenson. All your burning questions. You will not get another chance. Not from me.” She leaned over to peer into the water. “If you return—when you return—I will have moved on from this place. Wherever I end up next, we probably won’t see each other again.”

Jacob gave a quick snort. “That’s a relief.”

“Humor. Hurry up. Time may be of major consequence to me, but you’re on a clock.”

Jacob could think of one question he wanted answered. “Back in Green Meadows, you used magic, or something like that. You called it Applied Mysticism. Could you teach me?”

“No,” she said firmly. “You don’t have enough time for that. No offense, but I don’t know if you could learn it with unlimited time. Not without at least a handful of points in Mind.”

“Offense taken. So harsh.”

“I could explain the basics of what magic is, if you want. Might be useful if you ever have to face a fellow practitioner, or deal with magic items.”

“Go ahead, I guess.” Jacob couldn’t keep the disappointment from his voice. A little magic might have been enough to turn the tide against his captors.

She folded her hands in her lap and raised her chin, as though reciting something from memory. “The System, as we have previously established, is derived from the force slash element known as Law. Thus, you might say that a User is a practitioner of Law. And Law is itself derived from the primordial force, which is the Pattern. A magic user—wizard, warlock, mage, mysticist, sorcerer, arcanist, whichever flavor you prefer—is one who influences the Pattern directly.

“This is a freer form of power with potentially bottomless potential, but learning it is both difficult and dangerous. The Pattern is a fickle, fickle thing. A magic user must learn to align themselves with the part of the Pattern they wish to influence and subtly pull on it. This alignment process might be achieved through spoken incantations, physical gestures, written symbols, potent reagents, symbolic sacrifices, and communal rites, to name the most common ones. Like I said, it’s a freeform art.

“I studied for six years and was only able to master the very basics. I could barely pull on the Pattern enough to cause an appreciable change in the world around me. As such, I wouldn’t suggest you ever pursue it. That is unless your Blessing makes you immune to aging as well, in which case setting aside a century or two for dedicated study might be time well-spent.

“Should you ever be forced to fight a magic practitioner, first gauge their level of mastery if possible. If they are around my level, kill them quickly. Casting takes time and leaves one vulnerable. If they are a master, you should beg for your life. Magic practitioners are a proud bunch as a rule, so the more you grovel, the better. A bit of flattery can’t hurt your chances.”

Jacob cleared his throat, rubbing at the back of his head while he tried to commit the broad strokes to memory. “Right. Yeah. Groveling, got it.”

“It might also be prudent to know the difference between Relics and magic items. A Relic is an item bestowed with power by the System. A magic item, logically, is one that has been enchanted by a magic practitioner.”

“I see.” He went over to the water. Took off his shoes and socks, rolled up the legs of his pants, and sat down next to Fenway. He let one toe lightly touch the water’s surface. Cold.

He forced himself to stick his feet in anyway.

“This is a doorway, isn’t it?” he guessed. “To the next place?”

She gave a rare laugh. “How perceptive of you, Mr. Sorenson. Yes, that’s right. These waters run deep. They call to me.”

“Are you going to jump in there?”

“Actually, I was rather hoping you’d try. I’d like a bit more data before I commit my eternal soul to the depths. If something rises up and devours you…” She shrugged. “You’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure about that?” Jacob asked, eyebrows raised. “I don’t know if Cheat the Hangman covers my soul.”

Fenway brushed a hand through her hair and adjusted the way it fell over her shoulder. Evidently, she did not feel the need to answer that question.

“One more thing,” he said. “I figured out what that line means. ‘Death is not the end, but beware its effects’. Dying makes me forget. Every time I die, something else gets pulled out of me.”

“That’s very unfortunate.”

“Do you know any way I might be able to mitigate it? Anything at all?”

She looked up at him with a grave expression. “I suggest you start writing things down.”

“I can’t. I’m in a prison.”

“Then break out of prison.”

“Of course. Thank you once again. Always a treat talking to you.”

“Any more questions?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then get swimming. Goodbye, Jacob.”

Fenway reached back and shoved him. He toppled face-first into the dark waters, bubbles rising around him. He sank like a rock. Looking up, the surface was already a fading haze of light, quickly shrinking. Looking down, there was only darkness.

It continued, on and on. There was no sense of space in that thick sedimentary water. He only knew that he was sinking.

And he slowly got the terrible feeling of being watched.

Jacob held his breath for several minutes, but the depths were neverending. He gagged on mute, stale air, gagged on it until he couldn’t keep his mouth shut anymore. He took in a watery breath, and when he did, he stopped sinking. Suspended in the cold depths.

Jacob gave a silent scream as the last few bubbles of air escaped his lips.

If the pond really was a door, he didn’t get through.

*****

Jacob woke up still screaming. He opened his eyes and found Moraine looking right back, uncomfortably close. Her eyes were blue with flecks of brown.

She flashed corpse-like for just a moment. Her lips peeled back and her eyelids fluttered, but she didn’t flinch.

“I think I’m getting the hang of it,” she said, easing into a smile. “I opened your eyelids while you were away to see if the ability would work. It did not. Just thought you might want to know.”

She finally stepped away. “By the sounds of it, that was an uncomfortable experience, Jacob. Would you like to talk about what you saw?”

“How long were you watching me?”

“Oh, only a few hours. You spoke while you were dead, you know. Fragments. I was taking notes.”

“If I don’t talk…”

“If you don’t talk, I’ll just kill you again. Yes. As many times as it takes. But if you do, well… good doggies get treats, don’t they?”

“What like?”

“I could let you see your wolf. How does that sound?”

Jacob didn’t have much choice. He was going to break out of this place, he just needed an opening. Until that happened, the best thing he could do was minimize his number of deaths. Playing along would stall her at least for a while.

So he talked.

He told her about both journeys to the Forgotten Green. He left out the important bits, like meeting his dead allies, and fabricated a few specifics, but he kept the general narrative the same.

Moraine was a studious note-taker. Once she ran out of space on her papers she started scrawling in the margins, already providing her own commentary in parentheses and footnotes. She kept asking for more detail, more description, how it felt, how it sounded, nodding along the whole time while he talked.

Once they were finally finished, she read her notes over again with a wild grin. “This is great stuff, Jacob. I meant really great. You are going to answer so many questions for humanity. Isn’t that exciting?”

“Sure,” Jacob bit out. “Anyway, my reward…?”

“Of course! I’m proud of you.”

To his moderate surprise, she was actually true to her word. Four guards were called in and escorted him out of the cell, taking him into a featureless corridor. They walked down the long hall with cells on either side, Moraine at their head. She strode like a queen, radiating self-assurance. The lesser-ranked RRH members deferred to her with obvious respect. He imagined that she belonged fairly high up in their hierarchy.

Jacob was taken to another cell a good bit down the hall. He memorized the number above the door. Moraine opened the door and stood aside to let him enter. He was allowed in by himself, and the door closed behind him. It likely had less to do with respecting his privacy and more to do with preserving the lives of their men.

The cell was maybe twice the size of Jacob’s. Fenris had been pacing around in circles, but looked up when Jacob entered. He had a metal collar around his neck similar to what Jacob had. It looked painfully tight.

Jacob was glad to see a friendly face that didn’t belong to someone dead—animal or not. He opened his arms and Fenris pounced on him, knocking him to the floor. Jacob tried to shove the wolf off, but Fenris just grumbled and laid down on top of him, resting his large head on Jacob’s chest.

“Yeah, I’m happy to see you too, you filthy animal,” Jacob said with a smile.

For once, he didn’t even mind the wet dog smell.

Fenris’s chest was all better, as in not concave anymore, but he was still a little tender, showing teeth whenever Jacob touched that area. He felt skinnier, too. All ribs. Jacob couldn’t be doing much better.

“What are they doing to us, boy?” he murmured, leaning up to let his forehead touch the wolf’s nose.

Fenris gave a long groan in reply.

The visit was too short.

But it did restore a sliver of his sanity. A small one.