In the sealed bridge of the Righteous Abandon, Elias finds a journal — scorched, but intact — identical to his own. Inside are entries written in his handwriting. His voice. His idioms. His memories.
Except they aren't his.
They belong to a version of himself who chose differently.
A version who stopped being the user… and became the System.
----
The bridge was sealed.
Lirae rerouted the door logic through an auxiliary conduit six decks below and spliced an override using only a cog-key and half a lumen-battery.
She called it "creative heresy."
Volst called it "illegal."
Bit called it "fun."
The door hissed open to a long-dead command deck.
And all the lights were already on.
Not torchlights. Not emergency strips.
Candles.
Hundreds of them.
Melted into the consoles. Pooled down the backs of gutted cogitators. Burned to the base atop shattered astropath thrones.
The flames were low. But not flickering.
Steady. Controlled. Ritualistic.
At the center of the command dais sat a single leather-bound journal.
Its pages were fanned open.
Its cover was scorched — a half-burned flame sigil carved into the binding.
And on the page, in handwriting Elias knew by heart, was a single line:
"If you're reading this, you didn't choose the knife."
He didn't speak as he approached.
The others spread out.
Malk secured the flanks.
Bit lit a line of incense.
Lirae walked in tight orbits around the journal, scanning, muttering.
Volst stood silent, watching Elias — and only Elias.
He sat down slowly.
Crossed his legs on the dust-covered deck.
Opened the journal.
And began to read.
Entry 1:
"The first time I felt it, I thought it was the flame. But it wasn't.
It was the reflection burning back. Watching me. Copying me too well.
So I carved my chakra into iron. And told it to get out."
Entry 3:
"The System lied. It never gave me power. It gave me a part.
A narrative. A script.
I followed it until the story was too good to change.
And then it swallowed me."
Entry 6:
"The Emperor is not dead. Not exactly.
He speaks only through echoes now.
Each echo finds a host. Each host thinks they're the first.
That's what the flame is. A memory trying to wear a person."
Entry 11:
"I broke it. The script.
I stopped obeying when the System told me to draw the blade.
I didn't kill the psyker.
I let her live.
And in doing that, I severed the tether."
Entry 13:
"Without the script…
I became something else.
Something outside the user role.
So now I watch.
I keep the story from resetting.
I burn out the users who stay too long."
Elias stopped reading.
His hands were shaking.
The journal was warm.
Not from flame. From something deeper.
Something aware.
Bit knelt beside him.
He didn't speak.
Just looked at the journal, then at Elias.
Then whispered:
"That's not prophecy."
Elias looked at him.
Bit's eyes were calm.
"It's autobiography."
Volst stepped closer.
"Is it real?"
Elias nodded once.
"I think it's mine."
"You don't remember writing it."
"No."
"But it remembers being you?"
He closed the journal.
"That's what scares me."
The System reactivated suddenly.
No warning.
Just data flooding back in.
> Temporal Document Recognized
> Identity Overlap: Confirmed
> Memory Link: Dormant
> System Annotation: USER.1 = MERCER.PRIME
Mercer. Prime.
Bit sat back on his heels.
"I don't think you're the first Elias Mercer."
Elias whispered, "I think I'm the last."
Volst stared at the flickering candles.
"Then what happened to the others?"
No one answered.
But the last page of the journal was already turning.
And written in fresh ink:
"They stopped asking that question.
That's how they became me."
[END OF PART 4: Journal of the Forgotten Mercer]