Soren flipped through the pages of the book...
~Dedication
For Elena, my darling wife, and the seeds of her womb, Joel and Collins.
~
To the Future, fighting for the salvation of humanity, or what's left of it, I hope this journal finds you well—better still, I hope it does not find you.
For if it didn't, then my painful adventures somehow yielded fruits that led to humanity's victory.
But if it did, then I pray for the comfort of the grave, for it's a better place than this dreaded world.
I begin this journal with the words of an emperor long dead, who wrote in quieter times, under quieter stars.
For when those same skies tore open in my time, and the Eldritch horrors spilled into our world, I clung to his teachings like a drowning man clings to driftwood.
"What is not good for the beehive cannot be good for the bee."
— Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 6:54
I wish I had heeded these words sooner.
I was just an ordinary man, a mechanic on an island that was one of many, with nothing special.
Just a man with grease on his hands and a calm life in his chest.
My father had taught me his trade the way fathers mentor their sons in simple places. It was slow and filled with patience.
Like the reverence of a priest handling sacred scripture.
The metal, screws, and bolts were our prayer, and the tools that made them work were our hymns.
Another fixed engine meant another week of food on the table.
And on our small island, I was the only one who knew my father's craft well enough to always keep the generators alive. That made us comfortable enough.
I had a beautiful wife, two healthy boys, and a home that mostly smelled of grilled fish and engine oil.
I must be honest, my wife was the scholar in the family, and not me.
She was the one with the mind for books and the hunger for meaning. I would tease her, asking why she never pursued her studies further.
Why did she settle for our humble island instead of some grand academy across the mainland?
She would smile that soft smile she saved only for me and say,
"Because the simpler things in life give the truest joys."
Then she would lift her battered, sea-scarred copy of Marcus Aurelius' Journal, the one she read every night, and add:
"And because this book says peace is our birthright when we choose it."
Sometimes, I want to think her beliefs made our quiet life last longer than most.
Even as the radios were bombarded with news of Eldritch horrors tearing the world open for months…
Even as mainland cities fell and people awakened strange abilities after bonding with souls…
Our small peaceful island remained untouched.
At night, I would sit on the porch and watch my boys play with the little stick figures I welded from iron scraps, bolts, and screws. Their laughter would be carried across the salt wind—what a blessing.
My wife would curl into my side, reading yet another passage from her favorite book. Her voice was always soft, warm, and endlessly patient.
If I had known…
If I had known what was coming…
I would have treasured those quiet nights more fiercely.
Because the last one came the night the Glass cracked.
The fracture had shimmered across the sky above our island—like reality itself had split open.
And through that wound stepped an Eldritch monstrosity the size of those towers in huge cities. Its form had been a shifting nightmare of eyes and shadows.
I watched it as it tore through our village in mere moments.
I watched it devour my children like crumbs.
I watched it take my wife in a single, uncaring hand.
When it finally stopped, I reckon its hunger briefly satisfied, it turned away from me.
It no longer needed the last bee, not when it had consumed the hive.
The pain I experienced that day still haunts my dreams sometimes.
For grief is a kind of madness, and grief is a kind of courage.
So that day, I followed the creature through the broken Glass…
…and found myself lost in the world on the other side.
This was where my painful adventures began, for I had bonded with a gray soul, Chronovore the thief...
Soren paused, eyes wide with shock.
Did he say "chronovore"?
Soren asked himself, reading the words again and again.
He really did not know what was more shocking. That the first Soul Mecha pilot in history was an F-rank soulbond warrior, or that, like him, his bond was also named Chronovore.
All of a sudden, Soren was more interested in this journal than ever before. He wanted to know more. This was a coincidence like no other.
Firstly, Soren had not given a name to his Shade. Somehow, he already knew it.
Now, he was riddled with a million questions.
Why was no one talking or saying anything about the First Soul Mecha pilot, or that he was F—rank?
In fact, now that he thought about it, nothing about the First Soul Mecha pilot was found anywhere. Not in schools or magazines. If he had not been given this journal, he might not have known of his existence.
Did the first Soul Mecha pilot also have time loops, or was it just him?
What kind of pain did the First Soul Mecha pilot go through?
Maybe it was 'misery loving company,' but Soren really wanted to know. He flipped through the pages again and again, his eyes scanning fast for any mention of time loops or repeating the same day, but there was none.
Ring~
"This is to inform all cadets to be present in the lecture area by 18:00 this evening for evaluation of their First Form technique."
The announcement's arrival pulled Soren from his train of inquisitive thoughts, reminding him of 'today.'
Any day he did not act was another day gone and would probably end in a brutal death.
His eyes were suddenly on the journal again.
The words of a page revealed themselves.
"Fate is not a chain laid upon your neck by the heavens.
It is a blade placed in your palm.
If you hold it loosely, it cuts you.
If you grip it firmly, you carve your path."
He thought back to all the 'todays' he had experienced.
There was an Eldritch onboard. And he needed to kill it.
However, as he closed the journal, his soul-steel dagger underneath reflected his face.
He could see it. A very tired boy pretending to be a warrior.
He did not even have any training whatsoever, and he was launched for battle by fate itself.
For a moment, he felt his shoulder heavy with every failed loop, death, and reset.
On top of that, he was an F-rank that could not even bloom a first form.
His eyes moved from the dagger to the journal again.
The first Soul Mecha Pilot must have been like him. Much different circumstances, but definitely similar.
And not just their Shades having the similar names. He also lost his family and so much more.
Back then, the gauge for souls was not even available, meaning he did not even know he had the worst rank of all souls.
And yet, he had used fate and carved a path so deep the future had to follow his tracks.
If an ordinary mechanic could become the first pioneer, then what the hell is my excuse?
If fate was truly a blade, then maybe the loops were just cutting him, forcing him to grip harder.
Soren suddenly took a deep breath, and then he exhaled.
His fingers tightened around his Soul-steel blade.
A different battlefield, but still the same enemy.
With a leap, he jumped down from his bed.
"Tommy, can I borrow that magazine you were reading yesterday, on Shades and Eldritchs?"
This time around, Soren was going to choose how 'today' will end.