Zach cracked open one eye, feeling an immense pressure pushing against the corners of his mind. His eyes burned with fatigue, and his body felt bruised as he lifted his right hand up, dragging it down across his face. It felt like he’d spent the entire night drinking.

  So, this is what happens when I use as much as I did yesterday. Straining my eyes, the running, the strength when I punched through his chest. That’s good to know.

  He opened his eyes fully, looking at his hand. During the night, his hand had completely healed. The loose flaps of skin that had framed his wounds were now sealed up; not a trace remained, no proof last night had ever happened.

  He dropped his hand, sighing softly. The sunlight pouring in through the windows and curtains showed that it was well into the morning already. Why hadn’t they woken him?

  It’s Incepday, he realized.

  But since they were in the apocalypse, they didn’t have the luxury of taking the day off, so to compensate, it had gradually become a day people went in late to their Functions. Ten or eleven, rather than the usual six or seven.

  A small mercy.

  He lifted his other hand and was happy to find the bandage hadn’t been tampered with this time. He looked around the room and found there was no washing water. Of course, not. Heating water would’ve been a waste if they weren’t washing immediately.

  I wonder what time it is.

  He jumped up from the bed, cursing himself for an idiot. He’d come home tired yesterday, barely making it through the dinner he’d shared with John, barely able to recall his experience at the shooting range. The minute he’d entered the room, he’d gone straight for the bed, falling asleep the instant his head touched the pillow.

  That meant that for the second day in a row, he’d been unable to read the black book hidden underneath the bed.

  He hesitated a moment before he went to the door, cracking it just enough that he could see the room beyond. It was empty. That meant he at least had five minutes, if not more.

  He closed the door, feeling oddly like a child about to open a present. He walked around to the left side of the bed and dropped to his knees. It was exactly as he’d left it, the nails keeping the fabric of the base together. He pulled them out gently, letting the flap fall loose, before he shoved his hand up there.

  For a second, he panicked, thinking the book wasn’t there, but there was more space than he’d thought, which meant he’d simply pushed the book a bit more in than Oliver had.

  He stretched to reach it, and when his fingers finally closed around it, the wave of relief that washed through him was near bliss. He pushed himself up against the bed; on this side of the room, if someone walked in, they wouldn’t see what he was doing.

  Perhaps he’d just say he’d fallen off during the night.

  He hesitated.

  He’d used Eve’s cards to go into that realm, into Severity. Despite the amount of time he’d been here in this world, in this body, he’d found nothing concrete. Nothing that could definitively explain what he was doing here, how he’d really gotten here.

  A part of him was hoping he’d find something substantial within these pages—a large part of him. If this amounted to nothing, he doubted he could still cling to the belief that everything would eventually work out.

  The book’s cover was smooth to the touch, yet at the same time, it had the distinct feeling of great age. He opened the book to the first page and froze. Written in what he just knew was blood were the words, Run away now!

  The pages were old, stained a sickly yellow. There were no other words on the front page. He swallowed, unable to explain his unease at seeing that writing, and turned the page. He fell into his old habit, reading softly to himself.

  “How strange, to finally be starting this. I, Cardinel Emery, first of my bloodline. I do not doubt the others have begun writing their own entries. But this is mine. For my blood. Before our greatness emerges, before we change this world, it is important to know how this story begins. Like everything, it begins with blood. Whatever the plebeians tell you, it is imperative that you never forget that.”

  Zach inhaled deeply and caught a whiff of something akin to metal. Every letter on the page was raised slightly, the lettering almost as black as oil. The longer his fingers stayed on the page, the more he realized it didn’t feel like ordinary paper.

  It was harder than paper should be, with small, almost imperceptible cracks in the page.

  He continued with the entry.

  “We left seven weeks ago, and now, finally, the continent appears on the horizon. I wonder if the others made landfall on theirs. Even from this distance, I can smell the ignorance of the people of this land.

  “If they are anything like the natives in Prime, I expect some resistance. But it is nothing I cannot handle. There seems to be a problem with the rudder. I have to see to it. I will continue once we make landfall.”

  The next page was a new entry. There was no date, no heading. The only indication that this was a new entry was the calligraphic flourish of the first letter. Like the first page, the letters here were raised slightly, as if large clumps of ink had been used to write every word and had dried like that.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “The locals here are interesting, to say the least. They seem more taken with our arrival than I originally thought. They have royalty here. Who would have thought that these fools have notions of monarchy? I’m well aware of how the others would make use of this revelation.

  “For now, I’ll do as we discussed, but I doubt my affability will last long. You see, for me, they make a mockery of our great cause. What right do they have to deem themselves and their unborn bloodline worthy of ruling? No! Before I die and make way for my descendants, I’ll wipe this stain from the continent.”

  Zach placed two fingers against his temples, rubbing in circular motions. It felt as though his mind was slowly being wrapped in gauzy cotton. He looked up at the ceiling, shaking his head, and blinking hard to get over the sensation.

  It worked.

  He lowered the book, listening to see if John or Eve had come out of the room already. It was still quiet. He swallowed again, his throat dry, and continued.

  “Oddly enough, the land reminds me of Oceania, a region of lands back in my home world.”

  It felt like the floor had been ripped out from under him. His skin went cold, shock settling in deep in his bones. For a while, he sat frozen, his hands holding the book open. He stared at the sentence.

  Back in my home world.

  “So, the Emerys know about transmigration?” he asked himself.

  Beyond his bedroom door, he heard the front door open. “Is anybody up yet?” Eve shouted.

  He dropped the book in his lap, looking fearfully at the door. Should he say something? What would make her walk past his room? At that thought, his eyes found the damn bucket. He steeled himself, clenching his jaw so hard he actually felt some pain.

  “Ol?” she asked, her voice getting closer. “Are you up?”

  “Using the bucket,” he replied in a strained voice, hoping she took it as self-consciousness.

  “Oh, sorry,” she answered hurriedly. “I brought the morning rations, so when you’re done...”

  “Got it,” he called back.

  He heard her footsteps echo away from his room. He sighed, forcefully blinking away that gauzy feeling. That was when he realized what it was. He hadn’t experienced it in days, but that was Oliver’s mind actively fighting to keep a memory from him. Like his headaches blocking his own memories.

  He looked back down at the book—at the journal. Oliver had read this. That much was clear from the way his mind tried to prevent him from remembering that this was all familiar. He didn’t know how much time he had left, but he at least wanted to finish the entry.

  “Naming a country is more arduous than some would think. I find myself falling back upon old tropes. Such as using the layout of the land. As such, from this point onward, I will refer to this land as Tettralias.

  “I will not document the local name of this country, because, like everything else, they will eventually see things my way, whether through bloodshed or the diplomatic process the others prefer. Besides, the name they use doesn’t matter. I will wipe it from the face of history.”

  The entry ended on the very last line of the second page. Zach looked around the room, trying to find something to mark his place. Perhaps he didn’t need to; he was only two pages in. But reason was a distant concept.

  He tore a small piece of his bandage off and slid it into the book, between the second and third pages. The book went right back to its spot within the base. As he drove the nails back through the fabric, his mind tried its hardest to make sense of what he’d read.

  Whoever this Cardinel Emery was, he’d come from his world. Though his words sounded a bit too excited at the prospect of discovering this continent. Cardinel had named the country as well. Which meant he’d been successful.

  For a long time, Zach just knelt there on the ground, staring sightlessly across the room. This was almost too much to comprehend. He set aside the questions the text raised and pondered something else.

  Where had Oliver gotten the book?

  The fact that Cardinel had the Emery surname led him to believe it was a family heirloom. Had Eve and John given it to him? He paused, eyes going wide. That would mean John and Eve, and maybe even the Head, knew about transmigration. That only made his situation that much more dangerous.

  If they were familiar with the concept, didn’t that mean they could spot the signs? Suddenly, he was poring over everything he’d said to them since coming out of the hold. Had he said anything incriminating? Noah had already warned him, and for the most part, he thought he was doing a great job of watching what he said.

  They couldn’t really attribute any odd personality changes to him being from another world, could they? It was hard to believe something of this nature could be common enough for Noah to believe him the minute he’d heard about it, and now the Emerys had someone in their own family who’d done it?

  He shook his head.

  Someone in their own blood... Was it a coincidence that he wasn’t the first transmigrator in the Emery household? And who were these ‘others’ Cardinel kept referring to?

  Too many questions, too many worries. He shook his head and growled in frustration. He didn’t want any distractions, and this sort of mystery, the mystery of the Emery household, seemed just that. A distraction. On the other hand, it could very well be the key to him getting back.

  “Ol? If you’re done, I’ve got hot water!” Eve called.

  Zach sighed, grudgingly pushing himself up to his feet. He so badly wanted to read on, but Oliver’s obligations were calling him. He considered taking the book with him, but decided not to when he remembered that Oliver had hidden it. It wasn’t supposed to be seen.

  He opened the door and found John and Eve sitting at the counter, John having his morning rations. Some type of grain porridge, boiled in water. His own bowl was waiting there beside them. He took a deep breath, willing away any worry that might be in his expression.

  He had to admit, though, it wasn’t too difficult. The mere sight of them seemed to ease his troubled mind. Was that possible? He’d known them for not more than two weeks.

  He could remember the first time he’d laid eyes on them, staring out from the execution platform. The rage that had filled him then at their sight, at the thought of their abandonment. How could he have thought that about them?

  Looking at them now, he could tell they were filled with nothing but love. A love that made him want to connect with them, to own some of the shared memories Oliver had created with them.

  “I heard you had quite a day yesterday,” Eve said as he approached. There was something in her tone that tickled a part of his mind. He wondered about it for a few seconds before it came to him.

  The Dreamhold. The woman at the front desk at the medical ward had said she’d gone to check if there were any survivors. Judging by her tone, there weren’t any. But she didn’t want to talk about it.

  “I was at the shooting range,” he said, taking his seat.

  The water she’d brought back stood beside the couch, and as far as Zach could see, neither of them had used any yet. It didn’t seem right, taking some when they were starting with the porridge. So, he’d do the same.

  At least, that’s what he told himself.

  It certainly wasn’t because he wanted to experience having breakfast with them. Breakfast where they spoke about normal things, like the sweltering heat Eve had experienced outside, or the restful night John had had, an experience Eve said she envied, having had a restless night herself.

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