"You heartless brute!" a boy's voice shouted from behind, getting louder as it drew closer. Vinny instinctively stepped aside without thinking, leaving the boy to tumble and roll across the pavement. "Ow!"
This one! Unlike his previous encounters, recognition hit immediately this time.
"Phil! What are you doing here?!" Vinny exclaimed, surprise flooding him as memories poured out like water from a half-open faucet. None of the kids were supposed to be outside near sunset, unless they were being supervised.
"Oh no, not this time! You're the one in trouble!" the boy pointed an accusing finger, a triumphant grin spreading across his face. "You promised you'd take us to that place you always go to every week, but you snuck out alone! You liar!" Philip, or Phil, as {Vinny} used to call him, wasn't mincing words. His tone was a mix of wounded indignation and gleeful victory.
"Hey! Keep your voice down, you're drawing attention," Vinny hissed, glancing nervously at the passersby. "But you—" Phil's protest was cut off by a hand clamping over his mouth. Vinny grabbed him by the collar and pulled him inside the nearby building, slamming the door shut behind them.
So this is my house... A strange wave of comfort filled Vinny's chest, as if he'd lived here his whole life. But it's not mine, he corrected himself almost instantly.
"Hey! Aren't you going to apologise?!" Phil demanded, straightening up with an exaggerated frown.
"Shh! Do you want to wake everyone up?" Vinny whispered again, finger pressed to his lips. The building was silent, which meant the other kids were asleep, as usual, after their afternoon writing and arithmetic lessons.
"Ah, you're late again! I thought you'd decided to stay at the Redmane mansion tonight," came a woman's voice from the right. Vinny and Phil turned to see a young woman in her twenties wearing a headscarf and a long robe.
"Sorry, Nina. Got a bit caught up. And why's this rascal still awake?" Vinny asked, shooting Phil a sly, teasing smile he couldn't quite resist.
"Hey! I'm not a—"
"Yes, yes, we know. Now let Vinny rest from work," Nina said, dragging Phil toward another room on the same floor.
"I'm not done yet! I'll deal with you later!" Phil shouted before finally disappearing.
Kids never change, Vinny thought with a faint sigh. Still as energetic as ever. He shook his head and pushed the thought aside to focus.
{Vinny} owned this building, or rather, this orphanage. The details were fuzzy, but he remembered it being under his care for at least a week now. At the front was a small reception area where Nina worked both as caretaker for the children and as {Vinny}'s assistant, a tough job, honestly. Maybe I should give her a day off... I don't think {Vinny} ever did. Wait, would that seem suspicious if I suddenly did?
He made his way toward the staircase on the right side of the reception room. The third floor was his, while the first and second belonged to Nina and the kids. He'd been personally covering the orphanage's expenses ever since the church's funding had been 'temporarily frozen', which forced them to cut support for this orphanage and several others. Right, now I remember, I haven't lived in Marcain all my life. I came here... about two years ago, I think. He still couldn't recall why or for how long exactly, but he figured more time and enough investigation and deduction would help fill the gaps.
When he reached the third floor, he paused in front of his room, taking a slow look around. Everything's exactly as I, well, as {Vinny}, left it. The design here matched most residential buildings: patterned walls with geometric shapes in deep red, white, and pale brown tones.
He opened the door and quickly shut it behind him, ensuring no one would disturb his little 'session'. Leaning back against the door, he took in the sight of his room. Funny enough, his first thought was how much it resembled his own back on Earth, though to be fair, {Vinny}'s mess looked slightly more organised. Piles of books and papers were stacked neatly under a low bed near the door, while an open wardrobe on the opposite wall was half-filled with a chaotic mix of folded and tossed clothes.
To the left of the bed stood a desk with an ink bottle, a quill, and scattered papers, some blank, some covered in writing. One of the chair's legs looked ready to give out. I'll fix it... later.
Across from the door was a window beside a bookshelf overflowing with volumes of all shapes and colours. He opened the window, letting the cool air sweep through, and gazed outside at the neighbouring rooftops and the river glowing crimson beneath the setting sun, a graceful arched bridge crossing it.
The wooden frame of the window was carved with dragons and flames, motifs he'd seen everywhere since arriving here. After all, the Scorch Dragon was the guardian angel of the Namrium Ulmeria Empire, the second-largest human domain in the last two millennia.
I don't have time to waste. Less than thirteen hours until Mr Warleen's appointment.
Vinny's eyes darted back to his desk. He rushed over and began rummaging through the piles of papers like a madman. He grabbed one sheet and stared at it, trying to make sense of the symbols. His mind hovered somewhere between understanding and confusion, until suddenly, the letters snapped into meaning.
Thank goodness I don't have to relearn writing from scratch.
He kept flipping through papers frantically. They were all medical notes, herbal recipes, patient records, letters of thanks, or appointment requests, but none of them was what he needed.
He turned to the bed, lifted it, and dragged out the stack of papers and books hidden underneath. One by one, he searched through them, hoping for even the smallest clue to help him out of this mess. Nothing. Just more medical notes and research drafts.
He moved on to the bookshelf, yanking volumes out one after another. Introduction to Medicine. No. The Cure for Every Illness. No. A Thousand Years of Plague. No. The Mother of Myths. No. That Time—wait, hold on.
He stooped, then reached back for the book titled 'The Mother of Myths'.
Is this... a novel? Why is it the only one here? The title had nothing to do with medicine, which was all the other books and documents covered. He flipped to the first page, then the second, then the last.
What am I even reading?
Every page was blank.
With a frustrated sigh, he tossed the book aside and kept searching. By the time he'd gone through everything in the room, he still hadn't found a single diary or personal note. Who doesn't keep a journal?! ...Well, I don't, but still!
He slumped into his chair, ruffling his hair in agitation. There didn't seem to be any quick way to get back to his own body.
He thought about seeking help from the Church; {Vinny}'s memories said they were the ones who dealt with such supernatural phenomena, but that came with serious risks. A fragmented memory, sharp and cold, surfaced: the Church's purge of the 'soul-alchemists' a decade ago, the official reports merely described it as a cleansing, without providing any real information. Looking into anything related to the soul could easily end with his head on a pike or a charge of heresy.
Should he just wing it and show up to the appointment tomorrow? What was he supposed to do? Sing for them? Cancelling suddenly like that would draw way too much suspicion. And pretending illness as a Doctor is so cheap.
Damn fame!
He exhaled slowly, trying to pull his thoughts together. Night was falling, and he was no closer to answers. Wait, {Vinny} recorded every patient he examined, with their names, symptoms, and prescriptions. Maybe I can find Mr Warleen's file somewhere in here!
Renewed with a spark of hope, he stood, knelt down, and began gathering the papers again, looking for Warleen's record. As he lifted a stack from the floor, he brushed against the cracked leg of his chair and cut his finger. "All right, chair, you win. I'll fix you tomorrow, if I survive it."
He stacked the papers neatly on his bed. There were far more than he expected, at least five hundred sheets by his estimate, which made him wonder just how long {Vinny} had been documenting all this. It's going to be a long night... if only I had some coffee.
Dragging his chair closer to the bed, he leaned over the pile. Ah, light. Right. Unfortunately, the conveniences of modern Earth weren't exactly available here.
He reached for the lantern on the desk, opened the glass door and pulled out the candle, grabbed a box of matches from the bookshelf, and lit it. Just as he was about to place the candle back inside, a drop of blood from his cut finger fell onto the wax. The flame flared violently, shifting from red to a deep, eerie blue with a loud whoosh.
What the—!? Does that usually happen? {Vinny}'s medical memories hinted at some knowledge of alchemy, but nothing that could explain this.
Then the 'vital essence' note flashed in his mind. It was referring to blood!
He watched the flame carefully for several seconds, this time keeping his hand at a safe distance in case it decided to explode or something. But nothing happened, just a steady blue fire. Such a strong reaction just from a chemical imbalance? he wondered. Doubt crept in, but he brought the lantern closer to the papers anyway. The more pressing issue came first.
The documents followed a clear structure: date, patient's name, symptoms, hypotheses, a dense explanation of the conclusions, and finally, the prescribed treatment.
He paused at one particularly dense page, its margins filled with complex symbols. Among the notes on 'humoral balance' was a cryptic side-note: "For catalysts of a higher order, the vital essence of the practitioner may prove the only key." Vital essence? Sounded like mystical nonsense. He tossed the page onto the 'irrelevant' pile and moved on.
Sometimes, {Vinny} even included notes about the patient's diet and personal habits.
Of course, Vinny didn't need to read every word. A quick glance at the name should be enough. His search quickened, the stack of papers growing smaller, and his unease growing stronger.
Then suddenly, as he flipped through another sheet, he noticed faint glowing red dots scattered across the page, standing out against the black ink. Looking closer, he saw the same strange red stains on the surrounding papers. I thought it was blood...but looks like I'm wrong.
After failing to trigger his mind, whatever that meant, he touched one of the glowing spots. It smeared onto his fingertips. The ink wasn't dry, which meant it had just been spilt.
Lifting the lantern, Vinny scanned the floor until his eyes landed on a plank with a large blotch of the same red 'ink'. How did I not see that before? ...Is it because of the lantern? That made sense, especially since the lighting had been good when he first came in. He pressed a finger against the plank; it was nearly dry. Not normal ink... takes a long time to dry.
He wedged his fingers into the gap between the boards and pulled. After a few strenuous tugs, the nails gave way, revealing a hidden compartment stuffed with papers and books. "Aha!" he said, triumphant.
Setting the lantern aside, he lifted out three books and several loose pages. Under the moonlight streaming through the window, they all looked blank, no titles, no writing, nothing. But the moment he brought them near the lantern, everything changed.
It wasn't like invisible ink glowing under UV light. The letters are forming by themselves, writing themselves, one after another! It was as if an unseen hand were scribbling furiously. Every time he turned a page, the previous one erased itself while the next filled in.
Normally, something like this might've looked like a cheap movie effect. But seeing it happen right in front of him, real and tangible, was something else entirely. For a moment, Vinny forgot all about the looming horrors waiting for him.