The moment I said my name, five years worth of images, sounds, colors, and emotions struck me like a torrent, worming their way into my mind. In the forest they’d been muted, but now their shouts built up in my mind.
I didn't like what I saw. My early life was a trial by fire, filled with pain and hardship. Those memories hurt so badly I wanted to scream.
Then, a voice broke through the memories and they scattered.
“You are useless to me.”
Patriarch Mou demanded my attention, his anger bouncing off the walls of the hall. The four servants behind the Patriarch stared at me with tense eyes, and the five other Alchemist’s children stiffened, each of them unsure and afraid.
Would they help me?
No.
One by one, they looked away from me. We had come in as a group, but we didn’t know each other, nor did we have any attachments to each other.
They had no reason to protect me.
A small hand protectively grasped my own, breaking the tension. The girl beside me, Rain, shook her head, refusing the Patriarch’s words. Her wide eyes met the Patriarch’s defiantly, and I felt her fingers shiver as she did.
“He’s not useless,” Rain said.
Patriarch Mou blinked in surprise, and his lips pursed into a tight smile.
“No, none of you are useless, and I am loath to leave a potential alchemist behind.” He amended. “Especially one of the Alchemist’s Children. He entrusted you to me, and though his memory wipe appears to have partially failed, I will still accommodate you. Show me your mark.”
Patriarch Mou took a single step forward, his gangly form looming over me, and I looked up at him, blinking in confusion.
He kept his eyes on me as he raised his hand—
—And I saw his hand coming down on me. There was a sharp crack as his fist met my skin and pain exploded from my cheek. I looked up, hoping for sympathy, but all I saw within the Patriarch’s eyes was madness.
I jolted as the crystal clear memory of being struck shot into my mind. It had come more suddenly than the others, and a flood of fear and panic accompanied it.
The memories of my past life were growing stronger as he grew closer, and I shrunk back at his approach.
No.
I didn't want to see this.
[You have paused the skill - I Want To Go Back.]
“Ah,” the Patriarch paused. “I have acted rashly.”
He took a step back, and I realized I was trembling. Something within my memories had caused me to react instinctively to the Patriarch’s approach, and from those memories I’d felt waves of fear.
“Please, child, reveal your mark to me. The mark of the Alchemist.” Patriarch Mou demanded, though his voice was softer than before.
“I don’t know what that is,” I said. “I don’t remember anything before today.”
“The wipe did get most things, then. Your mark. The mark.” The man repeated himself, then tapped his forehead in exasperation. “The spot that burns.”
“Ah, okay,” I nodded. My tone was docile, but it was all an act.
My skill had paused, but the memories I'd already gained had told me exactly what he wanted to see, and I knew that if I didnt show him, he’d force me to. With an emotionless pull I pulled my shirt down, revealing my right shoulder blade to the others.
“Divines,” one of the four servants swore. He shuffled back, holding his hand to his mouth with a sick expression. “The Alchemist burned it into his skin.”
“Quiet, Eman,” the Patriarch chastised.
The other servants covered their noses, but kept a better composure. Their emotions were hidden, but I could see one was distressed, and the others grew a shade paler.
Only Patriarch Mou leaned forward in curiosity.
“Not burned. Fused,” he said. There was a hint of glee in his voice. “Monstrous. Truly monstrous. 49,990. What does that mean?”
“I don't know,” I said.
“It was fifty thousand a moment ago,” Rain whispered from beside me.
The staff let out a sharp intake of breath, and even the Patriarch took a step back, his eyes filling with surprise and tinged with dread.
“Put your shirt back on,” Patriarch Mou demanded. “I’m not sure why you still know your name. Something must have gone wrong.”
“If you say so,” I replied.
The Patriarch shook his head and put his hand up to grab our attention. One by one he checked the other’s marks. Only Rain had an obvious mark, her left arm branded for all to see. Jein, Jaden, Brandon, and Kiela had their marks on their ankles, chest, and back, respectively. Each mark was a different size, but all had the same shape of two lines connecting in a circle and then passing through each other, with three circular lines in the middle, mimicking an eye, and the marks glowed bright orange, their lines fused with our skin.
Underneath the marks were numbers that glowed in a similar fashion. The first three children had the same number as me, 49,990.
The second last child, Jaden, had a different number.
49,989.
Kiela had the lowest number.
49,988.
“No, no, no,” for the first time, Patriarch Mou held a hint of panic in his voice. “You,” he snapped his fingers at me. “Show me your mark again.”
I turned around, lowering my shirt past my shoulder blade, and he gasped as he laid eyes on my mark. I knew that on my back, the number under my symbol would have changed to match theirs.
49,988.
“Divines, no. That cannot be what it means.” The man’s eyes glazed over with sorrow. “All of you, say, ‘status screen’. Do so immediately.”
The children hesitated, but one by one they obeyed his orders. None of us knew why he wanted them to say it, and neither did I, but I had a way of finding out.
Please, I thought. Tell me.
[Your skill, I Want To Go Back, has activated. Warning: Full integration requires sleep. Partial integration is available.]
And suddenly, I knew exactly what he wanted from me. The memories pounding at my head told me the answer. But despite that, I said the words anyway.
“Status screen,” I said.
The moment I spoke, a blue box appeared in front of me. It was transparent, as though my hand could go right through it, and it was plastered in front of my eyes, moving alongside them to fill my vision wherever I looked.
This box was different from the blue boxes that appeared before me in the forest, or when I used my skill. This blue box was more detailed and contained different words.
Name: Aldwyn.
Class: N/A.
Tier: 0.
Mana: 1
Vitality: 5
Intelligence: 15
Wisdom: 11
Stamina: 14
Dexterity: 13
Available stats to assign: 0
Skill list:
I Want To Go Back (Legendary): Tier 0.
Mark of the Alchemist (Locked): Tier 0.
Recipes:
Tonic of anxiety soothing: Tier 0, low-rank. Ingredients: Shartmuck stem, cresp berry seed x2, and a dollop of Timerii paste.
Tonic of stemmed bleeding: Tier 0, low-rank. Ingredients: Shartmuck and howler juice.
Potion of Inner Strength (Flawed): Tier 0, mid-rank. Ingredients: Mana crystal dust. Bone shards. Water of life.
Potion of Inner Potential (Flawed): Tier 0, mid-rank. Ingredients: Mana crystal dust. Heartblood. Water of life.
A series of gasps escaped the Alchemist’s Children, and my voice joined them, but I wasn’t faking my surprise. Most of the information meant nothing to me, but flashes of my past life struck me as I scanned the screen. In that life, I’d had only 8 intelligence and wisdom when I first arrived at Patriarch Mou’s household.
Now that number had increased to 15 and 11 respectively.
What did that mean?
And then there were these recipes...
I could feel a memory trying to grasp my attention, and I glanced at the others. All of them were distracted, and nobody was looking at them.
So, I allowed the memory to flow into me.
“Stats are the measurement of a person’s capabilities, and a presentation of their value.” A voice boomed out in my mind. “But they are so much more. Stats are your existence, and their strength is your strength.”
I blinked in surprise. The voice in my memories wasn't the voice of the Patriarch. It belonged to the staff member that had spoken up before, Eman.
A quick scan confirmed that the real Eman wasn't talking. He stood to the side with a concerned expression.
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The voice I heard was definitely coming from my memories.
“The stats you see now are your base stats, without any boosts or increases, which will mean far, far more to you in the future. For now, however, keep these base stats a secret. Or lie if you must. It will never hurt you to have people underestimate your stats.”
“Are you okay?”
The memory abruptly finished as Rain’s question touched my ear.
“I am,” I nodded.
Once again, I looked over my status screen.
It was divided into stats, skills, and recipes.
Strange.
What was a skill?
The memories tapped at my mind once again. In my past life, I’d held the [Mark of the Alchemist] skill in my status screen from the beginning. However, that was my one and only skill. I hadn’t arrived with any others.
Now, one new skill had taken its place among my list.
[I Want To Go Back (Legendary)]
Is that what I think it is?
The moment the question entered my mind, a familiar System notification opened in front of me, but this time it came with far, far more information.
I Want To Go Back (legendary): Memories of a past life flood through you. Some from a distant time, most from the nearest years of your life. You have lived a life, and yet it is locked away, chained, for fear of the madness it would instill in you. Some memories may still slip through, for they are a part of you, but most will remain locked until you rank up this skill.
Tiers:
Tier 0: Unlocked. The next five years of your life have been lived once before. These former memories will become clear to you in the coming months. If you activate the skill, specific memories will reveal themselves to you.
Warning: Memories cannot fully integrate until you are asleep. Partial integration has activated.
Tier 1: Rank up requirements have not been met. Trials completed: 0/2.
Passives:
Tier 0 passive effect: Locked. Trials completed: 0/1.
Tier 1 Passive: Locked. Rank skill up to tier 1 to unlock requirements.
Available trials:
First trial: The Patriarch. Incomplete.
Second trial: The Disappearance. Incomplete.
Third trial: The Traitor. Incomplete.
Fourth trial: The Tower. Incomplete.
I winced at the flood of new information. Before today, I’d never heard of [I Want To Go Back], or any skill, really. But it was clearly the cause of the memories pounding my mind and showing me a life I’d yet to live. According to the description in the blue box, there were five years of memories trying to cram themselves into my head.
All I had to do to receive them was get a good night's sleep.
But how had I obtained the skill in the first place? None of my memories revealed that answer to me.
“Seriously, what is a skill?” One of the other Alchemist’s Children, Jein, asked out loud.
“What you are seeing now are your skills.” Patriarch Mou clapped his hands together, drawing our attention to him. “Or rather, two skills in particular. The first you are granted by the System upon surviving the Death March as a child—”
“—The System?” Rain interrupted from beside me. “What’s that? And what are these blue boxes?”
“The System is our god,” Patriarch Mou’s voice was sharp. “Save for the divines, of course.”
As the Patriarch spoke, my memories rippled in answer to her question. They revealed a more complex explanation.
Eman’s voice once again filled my mind. “The System is a guide, and a tool. In everyone's first year of life, they underwent a trial. Surviving that trial gifted them a skill, which is an ability that allows a person to do something they otherwise wouldn’t be able to except with extreme training. And often not even then.”
In my case, my new skill allowed me to do something impossible even with training, remembering my past life.
I shook my head. I needed to focus.
“No more questions,” Patriarch Mou’s eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. “I will answer all in due time.”
Rain stepped back, but I could see she was dissatisfied. The other Alchemist’s children had their own concerns, and whilst Jein and Jaden looked up at Patriarch Mou with fear, Brandon looked unconcerned, the tall child shaking his head at the proceedings. Kiela’s silver hair fell over her eyes and masked her expression, but I could feel indifference radiating off of her figure.
“To all, the System is a god, and it even speaks to others directly. In other words, it is a living being, or at least a thinking one,” the Patriarch continued.
I froze at his words. Did that mean that the System knew I had these memories? Did it not care?
Jaden raised his hand demurely, “I can see the [Mark of the Alchemist] in my list. And another, something called [Sword Mastery - Basic].”
“Good, good.” The Patriarch crowed, turning toward Jaden and examining him with a smile.
We all turned with him, and Jaden smiled as the attention of the room fell onto him. His eyes were bright green, and jet-black hair flowed over clothes that held less dirt and were less torn than the ones I wore. As his eyes drifted over the room they landed on me, and he smiled slyly before returning his gaze to Patriarch Mou.
The Patriarch had allowed a smile to creep onto his lips. “[Sword Basics] is a good skill. As for the [Mark of the Alchemist], you should all have that skill there. As well as another. Each skill has a single term, and an accompanying rarity. Read them out loud to me.”
Several of the staff looked nervous, and I focused on Eman. The man was sweating into his collar, torn between anger and unease as he heard his Patriarch’s demand.
When I saw his expression, his voice once again flooded my mind. “Asking people to read their skills out loud is the highest of taboos, and the greatest of insults. Wars have started over that question.”
This time I dismissed the memory quickly, but my curiosity about Eman was quickly growing. Clearly, the man was a caring teacher. But he also worked for the Patriarch, who instilled terror into me just by looking at him.
“What are they?” A new voice asked. “The skills. And you. I don’t know your full name yet. How can I trust you?”
Heads swiveled to the end of the line of children opposite to me. Kiela was looking up at the Patriarch with sharp eyes. Unlike Jaden, her motley clothing was similar to ours, and just as ragged, but the silver strands flowing across her shoulders and waist paired with piercing gray eyes gave her a regal bearing. Strangely, she had a healthy glow to her skin that the others around me lacked. I was the only one to notice it.
Despite being objected to, Patriarch Mou smiled, and nodded thoughtfully.
“Jaden responded immediately,” the Patriarch said.
“I'm not him,” Kiela replied. “Which means I'm not as stupid.”
Jaden huffed at her words. “What’s your skill, Kiela?” He shot back, half asking, half petulant. “Something embarrassing?”
“It’s one that exists,” Kiela replied nonchalantly, her eyes boring into the Patriarch’s. “And it’s telling me not to answer your question.”
The staff members stiffened, their conflicted expressions growing stronger, but the Alchemist’s Children were looking at Kiela like she’d gone crazy. I nodded my head slightly. Somewhere in my memories a name struck out at me, paired with an image of an older Kiela revealing the name of her skill to me.
[Danger Sense].
It was an invaluable skill to have in this kind of situation, and I had a feeling that it was going to save us all a lot of trouble. Now, and in the future.
“I believe the children are wary because they don't know us,” a new voice cut through the tension. It was Eman. The man stepped forward, adjusting his collar and wiping a bead of sweat away from his forehead with a tanned hand. “They have been thrust into a strange situation and place. We owe them an explanation, Patriarch.”
“Very well,” the Patriarch's voice rumbled over us. “Forgive me for my late introduction, I am Simo Mou, Patriarch of the Mou household,” he replied. “My household has controlled all that we can see for ten generations, each growing stronger than the last. Now, the alchemist has bestowed upon us six of his children, proving how great our influence is.”
I resisted the urge to object to his words. They weren’t false, but my memories told me that they hid the truth. Six children was nothing. Other organizations, academies, clans, and households had been gifted hundreds of the Alchemist’s Children in one fell swoop.
Only being granted six meant that the Mou household had long fallen into disrepair.
“And your skills…Well, the System grants those to all of us. They are gifts. Abilities. Not solely about power, skills improve everything about a person. Some may be possessed by many people, and only provide small boosts to capability. Others are rarer, and give benefits unheard of and unique. To describe a skill simply, it is like gaining a helping hand, or an extra limb.”
His words satisfied the people around me, and I saw Kiela tilt her head to the side, then nod. Her [Danger Sense] skill worked in strange ways, not all of which were compatible with conversation. She was satisfied with the answer, however, I knew that she’d fallen into a trap.
No. The scene couldn’t continue like this. Kiela had missed something vital.
“And this rarity thing? If you’re asking us for it, then it must be important.” I interjected.
A flash of annoyance crossed the Patriarch’s eyes, and I saw his fingers clench tightly as my words hit the ears of my fellow children. That was the one question he hadn’t wanted us to ask.
“Aldwyn.” he mulled my name over, elongating the end of it as he stared at me. “I asked you about the rarity of the skill to satisfy my own curiosity,” Patriarch Mou spoke evenly. “Rarity is a term that helps us determine how powerful a skill is, and how powerful it can become. Common, uncommon, rare, epic, and legendary. Each is taught in the annals of history as having its own place, and many heroes wielded skills of the highest rarities.”
The only Alchemist’s Child who had yet to speak, Brandon, raised his hand. “And this is all because of the System?”
“Our deity. Our savior.” Patriarch Mou’s voice took on a reverent tone. “The System has been with us since humanity was young. It grants us skills, it grants us peace.
“Does it make mistakes?” Kiela asked.
For the first time, Patriarch Mou allowed his anger to paint his expression into a scowl. “Do not insult the System, or not even the greatest of us can help you. Those who dare go against it become the enemies of the world.”
I held back a retort. The memories in my mind were hazy, and unclear. Like I was being torn between myself and a version of me that had never existed, but I knew that the System had never granted me favors, or aid. Nor had it reached out to me in any way, shape, or form.
Despite being labeled a savior, the System hadn’t saved us from our fates.
As the Patriarch spoke, I glanced at Rain beside me. The numbers on her arm had continued to dwindle.
49,985.
49,984.
49,983.
A shudder ran down my spine.
“Your memories have been wiped, but you have still lived fifteen years of your lives. You should have a variety of skills,” Simo Mou continued. “Now then.” his tone grew colder, and sharper, signaling the end of his request and the beginning of his orders, “tell me, what skills do you have?” He asked.
I could have refused to answer. After all, I knew the Patriarch wouldn’t push for an answer. No, he couldn't. The System didn’t take kindly to those that broke its taboos.
However, I had a plan, and I could see from the annoyance and exasperation in the Patriarch’s eyes that I’d brought him to the brink of anger. One final push, and I’d be able to move the situation to benefit myself, and the others who’d arrived with me.
Come on, I begged my memories. Tell me the name of a skill. Any skill.
“Ayad lad, ayad indeed. To think you'd unlock a skill as useless as that working with me. Ha! Well, you're welcome to my kitchen anytime. Especially when I need help cooking a feast!” A single memory nudged back in response, and a smile crossed my lips.
“[Flavor],” I lied. “Um, it’s labeled as common.”
The Patriarch’s eyebrows twitched at my response, and several of the servants chuckled.
“That’s all?” The Patriarch asked. When I nodded, he waved his hand dismissively. “What kind of life did your younger self live to be this helpless?”
I bristled at his words, surprised at the animosity I felt. To him, the years of memories taken by the Alchemist life were an inconvenience. To me, it was a mystery I’d likely never solve.
The Alchemist’s Children around me wore similarly aggressive expressions, each driven by primal instinct.
“Useless, more and more you are useless,” Patriarch Mou’s eyes blazed with anger. “Aldwyn, you who has been named by another, it would have been better for you if you had never opened your mouth.”
He stepped forward and my anger turned to fear, the emotion strengthened by the memories of being terrified by this man in my past life. I shrunk back from his gaze, but as I glanced to my side I saw something that gave me pause.
All of the other Alchemist’s Children were frowning.
In my past life, only Kiela had refused to reveal her skills to Simo Mou. Now, I could see doubt and fear plastered across the children’s faces. But there was also resolve within them. My plan had worked. With any luck, none of them would tell the Patriarch their skills. Not in their entirety, at least.
“You have no place here. No home,” Patriarch Mou’s rant continued, oblivious to the change coming over the children. “I have no need for someone with useless skills. Nor someone who remembers his own past.”
“Why not?” I asked, keenly aware that it would only provoke the man.
Simo Mou’s eyes grew red at my interjection, and his fingers curled into fists. He towered over me, his posture denoting his power and his wisened image replaced by a cacophony of fury. The memories in my mind had seen this sight a dozen times before, when the Patriarch flew into a rage, he couldn’t be stopped, and he would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.
It was a lesson that the Alchemist’s Children had learned too late in my past life. They had already fallen well into his grasp by the time he revealed his true self, and after that they couldn’t escape from him.
Now, they were seeing this side of the Patriarch far earlier than before.
“Because it is clear you’re not them. You are not the Alchemist’s true child,” Simo Mou hissed. “If you are not them, then you are worthless to me. Worse than that, you are a thief, here to steal my charity. No, you are not worth the roof over your head, or the food I would have given you. Thieves pay for those meals with their lives.”
The Patriarch’s shout boomed over me and bounced back when they struck the walls of the hall, creating a dreadful echo that cascaded over those present. Gasps were stifled from the staff, and Eman stepped toward us protectively. I could see that none of them agreed with his words. We were kids without memories or places to call our own. It wasn’t our fault we weren’t born special.
Rain stiffened at my side, and I saw a similar reaction among the rest of the children. None of them looked happy. Now, they knew what would happen if they revealed too much, and the Patriarch realized they weren’t the child he wanted.
“There is only one Alchemist’s Child among fifty thousand children,” Patriarch Mou whispered. “And I need to be the one who received them.”
The others balked at his words. Their memories may have been erased, but they knew they weren’t likely to be the one the Patriarch wanted. And even if they didn’t know what skills or abilities the Alchemist’s true child had, they were quickly working out what would happen to them if they let knowledge of their abilities slip.
“Ahem,” the Patriarch straightened his back, and swept his gaze over the frightened children. Suddenly aware of the way the situation had played out, and the terror he had caused, he pursed his lips and shifted his gaze onto me. “Aldwyn, I apologize for my outburst. Today has been a trying day. I will grant you housing. And rations. You will be staying on the property, but you will not require the lessons we give in the coming months.”
He clicked his fingers and two staff members stepped forward, but then Eman strode through them and flanked my side. He wore a pristine uniform, dark silver and white in color. And he had a sword strapped to his side, his hand hovering over the weapon cautiously.
Whether he was worried about me or the Patriarch was a question I couldn't answer.
“I will guide him to his new lodgings,” Eman said.
“No!” Rain cried out from beside me.
The two servants looked at Simo Mou, and he waved his hand, signaling for them to return to their places. He gave Eman a steady look, but the staff member held his ground.
“Very well,” the Patriarch replied.
“Thank you, Patriarch,” Eman tried in vain to pry Rain’s hands off of me, but I gave her a smile and she relented. She didn’t even know who I was, and yet she’d still clung to me. It was strangely reassuring.
As Eman pushed my back to hurry me away, a faint smile touched my lips. I was being kicked out of the estate. More importantly, I was being thrown away from the Patriarch’s grasp.
Everything was going according to plan. And away from the Patriarch's grasp, the first thing I was going to do was grab a good night's sleep.
It was time to unlock my memories.