I saw a universe with science and technology. Metal birds flew high, ascending through the clouds, discovering the clear heavens with its descending sun and blanketing universe. Skyscrapers stabbed the skies, a shining beacon that blinded those who dared gaze upon them. Reflected sunlight melted cars, towering waves washed away stilted wooden houses, and the whistling gust of winds blew away rusted roofs.
Unwarranted, memories rushed in. All belonged to a girl who once lived, dead due to an unfortunate event where a car slipped on ice, her body bisected as the lower half was crushed into a pulp. Her upper half slid sideways off the car’s hood, dropping into a broken thud on the frozen ground.
Her memories joined mine, and I was her now. There was no jarring moment where I felt like a new person. Those memories were always there, locked in the unconscious part of my mind until it was knocked open through sheer accident. Despite the bump on my head, I was still Agnes—the commoner child of farmers with memories of another life, who so happened to be able to manipulate magic that only nobles were supposed to have.
Still, there was a niggling part in my brain that yelled at me that I was in danger. Something was wrong, it said. Something was fishy. It screamed at me to realize. Realize!
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
But my attention was turned away from it.
There were muffled words from behind the door. Father’s voice was restrained, but there was a hint of a threat in his tone. Mother’s voice was softer, clearer. Through the cracks of our humble home, I heard her calm father down.
Our home was quiet.
Footsteps.
There was one, no, two people walking. The wooden boards creaked under their feet. There was a sharp knock on the door.
Without my permission, it creaked open. It revealed a man with shining silver armour emblazoned with the Church’s crest: a dove with a sword. He was handsome, face chiselled in the right ways. A sheathed sword rested at his hip, his hand gripping the hilt. His eyes bore into mine, and I looked back, unable to steer my gaze away from him as if my blatant stare would stop his threats to my life.
Someone cleared their throat, and I reluctantly tore my gaze from the knight and towards an old man with a vaguely bishop-like hat. He wore all white, but the hem of his clothes was stained brown by the dirt.
“Miss Agnes,” he said, voice kind and grandfatherly, “the Church has found your ability to use magic. Upon deliberation, we have enrolled you in the First Academy where you will learn how to harness your magic and be in service to the Church and the Crown.”
He smiled.
My stomach sank upon the realization.
“We welcome your cooperation wholeheartedly.”
I had Isekaitis C.