The air in the grand hall of Mnemosyne grew thick with anticipation, heavy with the incense smoke coiling around the ancient pillars. Shafts of light filtered through stained glass windows, casting shadows across the assembled Remembrancers.
At the center of it all stood Mnemion, his face an impassive mask as the Archcurator approached with measured steps. The old man's hands trembled slightly as he lifted the obsidian robe of the High Remembrancer.
For a moment, Mnemion allowed himself to savor the triumph, years of careful maneuvering culminating in this moment.
"Kneel, Mnemion," the Archcurator intoned, his voice carrying the weight of centuries.
Mnemion sank to one knee, bowing his head in a gesture of humility that felt foreign to him.
"Do you swear to uphold the sacred duty of the High Remembrancer?" the Archcurator continued, his voice echoing through the cavernous space. "To preserve the memories of Aethoria, to guide the present with wisdom from the past, and to safeguard the future through the power of recollection?"
"I so swear," Mnemion responded, his voice steady and clear. The words tasted like ashes in his mouth, but he spoke them without hesitation.
The Archcurator nodded solemnly, then draped the obsidian robe over Mnemion's shoulders. The fabric settled around him like a second skin, and Mnemion felt a surge of power course through him. Whether it was the magic imbued in the robe or simply the intoxication of authority, he couldn't say.
"Rise, Interim High Remembrancer," the Archcurator intoned, taking a step back.
Mnemion stood, feeling the weight of countless eyes upon him. The gathered Remembrancers bowed their heads in deference, a sea of solemn faces etched with lines of knowledge and time.
He allowed his gaze to sweep across the hall, lingering for a moment on the empty space where Edward Vortis should have stood. A flicker of... something... passed across his features.
The Archcurator approached once more, his face creased with concern. "These are trying times, Mnemion," he said softly, his voice meant for Mnemion's ears alone. "The loss of Edward has shaken us all, and young Elden's... situation... weighs heavily on our minds. We look to you for guidance in these dark days."
Mnemion inclined his head, his voice low and measured. "Indeed, Archcurator. Rest assured, I will do what must be done to preserve the integrity of Mnemosyne and protect our sacred charge."
The old man's eyes narrowed slightly, searching Mnemion's face. After a moment, he nodded and shuffled away, leaving the new High Remembrancer alone in the vast chamber.
Mnemion watched him go, wondering idly how much the Archcurator suspected.
As the assembled Remembrancers began to disperse, Mnemion made his way through the crowd, accepting congratulations and pledges of loyalty with practiced grace. His mind, however, was already racing ahead, plotting his next moves.
As the ceremony drew to a close, Mnemion's smile faded. His fingers traced the intricate patterns on his new robes. With measured steps, he made his way to a secluded alcove, hidden from prying eyes.
Mnemion's hands moved in complex patterns, weaving a spell of secrecy and misdirection. The air shimmered around him, and he felt the familiar sensation of reality bending to his will. His form began to fade, becoming translucent as his consciousness slipped between the cracks of reality.
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The world twisted and lurched, a nauseating kaleidoscope of fractured timelines. Colors that had no name in any mortal tongue swirled around him, and Mnemion felt the crushing weight of infinite possibilities pressing in from all sides.
When the vertigo subsided, Mnemion found himself standing before a massive door that defied comprehension. Twelve clock faces adorned its surface, their hands moving in eerie synchronization. Above, words shimmered in and out of existence: "The Hands of Time."
Mnemion's fingers brushed against the clock face frozen at the 8th hour. A pulse of energy surged through him, and the door swung open with a sound like reality tearing at the seams.
Beyond lay a chamber that seemed to exist outside of time and space. Shadows gathered around a circular table, each deeper and more absolute than the last. As Mnemion took his seat, he felt the weight of ageless gazes upon him.
"You're late," rumbled a voice like grinding stone. The figure that spoke was more absence than presence, a void in the shape of a person.
Mnemion inclined his head, careful to keep his tone neutral. "My apologies. The ceremony-"
"Spare us the excuses," another voice cut in, this one carrying the resonance of a thousand possible futures. "What news from Mnemosyne?"
Mnemion's fingers steepled before him, his voice carefully modulated. "The pieces move into place. Edward Vortis is no more, and his son... well, let's just say his future looks rather bleak."
A ripple of satisfaction passed through the gathered shadows, but it was tinged with an undercurrent of tension. One of the figures leaned forward, its form seeming to devour the scant light around it. "And the artifact?"
The slightest hesitation. "Not yet found. But I assure you, it's only a matter of time. Edward was clever, but he couldn't have hidden it beyond my reach. I have every Remembrancer scouring the archives, and I've sent—."
"Assurances mean nothing," the central figure spoke, its voice carrying the finality of a closing tomb. Even among this gathering of impossibilities, it stood out as something other. "We require results, Mnemion. The Codex must be recovered. Without it, our efforts are for naught."
The air grew heavy, pressing down on Mnemion like a physical weight. He fought to keep his composure, acutely aware of the delicate balance of power in the room. "I understand. It will be done."
As the meeting concluded, the shadows began to fade, melting back into the fabric of unreality. Mnemion rose, preparing to return to his physical form, when a hand like living darkness grasped his shoulder. He turned to find himself face to face with the void-like figure that had spoken first.
"Do not fail us," it whispered, its voice carrying promises of fates worse than death. "Remember, Mnemion, you are not irreplaceable."
With a shuddering gasp, Mnemion's consciousness snapped back to his body in Mnemosyne. He stumbled, catching himself against a bookshelf. The familiar scent of old books and dust filled his nostrils, grounding him in the here and now.
As he straightened his robes, a young scholar rounded the corner, her eyes widening at the sight of the new High Remembrancer. "High Remembrancer? Is everything alright?"
Mnemion's face smoothed into a mask of calm authority, betraying none of the turmoil within. "I'm quite alright, thank you. The weight of history can be... overwhelming at times. But it is a burden we must bear."
The scholar nodded, clearly awed by his words. "Of course, High Remembrancer. Is there anything I can do to assist you?"
Mnemion considered for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, actually. Bring me all the records we have on Edward Vortis's recent research. And... discretely inquire among the senior Remembrancers about any unusual artifacts or texts he may have been studying before his... untimely demise."
"At once, High Remembrancer," the acolyte said, bowing deeply before hurrying off to carry out his orders.
Alone once more, Mnemion allowed himself a small smile. With purposeful strides, Mnemion made his way to the High Remembrancer's chambers – his chambers now.