Stars danced across Jack’s vision. Despite feeling a healing sensation, his body and mind were failing, his life drifting away. His thoughts blurred into a haze of garlic breath, dull pain, and the grotesque scent of well-cooked meat. It reminded him of roast venison, one of his mother’s best dishes.

  What colour were her eyes again? Jack’s mind was slipping away. Blue? No, those are my eyes. Confusion muddled his thoughts. Green? Hazel? The memory twisted just beyond reach. He could still see his mom’s warm smile, gentle and constant, but the exact hue of her kind eyes eluded him.

  The loss stung more than any dagger. Mom. I’m so sorry, Mom. Then, for a fleeting moment, her face returned to him in perfect clarity, and with a choked breath, he croaked, “Green.”

  Greaves froze, the blade halted mid-twist. He eased his grip around Jack’s throat, confusion clouding his features.

  Jack’s body gulped a few precious breaths of air, clinging to the last shreds of life.

  “Green? Green who?” the Viscount demanded. “Who is Green?” He shook Jack like a broken rag doll as though that would shake the answers loose.

  Jack remained silent. The healing sensation surfaced again. It’s not real.

  “Why did he send you?” Greaves asked in a confused tone. “Is he part of Viscount Daelrath’s circle, or one of those damn greedy gnomes?”

  In a haze of confusion, Jack’s thoughts drifted to his father. The stoic but kind parent who’d taught him how to ink a page, who beamed with pride at every scribbled flourish. He had been so proud when Jack advanced from Novice to Apprentice Scribe in just three years; most took five.

  He could see his dad seated at his desk in a crisp dark grey suit and bowler hat; his father had always been a figure of dignity. Would he be proud of me now?

  Since the fire, since the murder of his family, he’d made little progress as a scribe. Revenge had consumed him, and cheap ale had done the rest. His precious craft, relegated to a means to an end, earn coin to buy a drow blade and poison.

  No. He wouldn’t be proud, his heart sinking further. I’m not proud of myself. I should’ve been a Journeyman. Maybe an Expert Scribe, like Dad. But he’d thrown it all away for revenge, for vengeance.

  The thought of his father’s disappointment broke Jack’s heart further, adding to the weight of two decades of longing and regret. He was grateful, at least, that he hadn’t hallucinated his father’s disapproving gaze.

  “Was it one of Viscount Daelrath’s circle?” Greaves asked again, his voice more urgent. “Answer me and I’ll end your suffering.”

  Stolen novel; please report.

  As the poison dulled Jack’s pain, his mind wandered to his younger sister, mischievous, relentless, and hilarious. He’d missed her stupid antics, like the time she put itching powder in his underwear, knowing he had his first date with Jasmin that evening.

  I so miss beautiful Jasmin. A faint smile crossed his blood-soaked lips. He remembered the beautiful girl who would later become his fiancée for a few short, happy months before tragedy struck and knocked them off their bright path. Before his entire world fell apart.

  In his delirium, he could see the twenty-year-old brunette standing before him like they were on their first date again. She was laughing at him while he scratched his groin as they tried to watch a play together. They were forced to leave due to Jasmin’s loud laughter and Jack’s lewd behaviour.

  “W-what was the play about?” Jack asked her aloud, her laughter echoing in his ears even as she vanished like smoke. At least she’d had a good life without me ruining it.

  After his family’s death, Jasmin had been left behind, believing Jack had perished in the fire. Last he checked, she was married with several children and living a good life. “That should have been my life,” he croaked while thinking about his ruined face and scarred body. A cruel reminder of all he had lost. No woman wanted him now.

  The hallucinations came thick and fast, as though he were flipping through a deck of tarot cards, memories of his family in their happiest days. His mother chopping herbs, his father tying fishing lines, his sister dancing barefoot in the courtyard, his little brother’s first words.

  “Mom. Dad. I miss you,” Jack murmured, as more fleeting images of his mother holding his new baby brother and his father gifting him a pocket watch on his first day working at the Royal Library.

  Memories of a good life flashed before his eyes. The sting of their loss was as raw as ever. He felt the regret of not spending more time with them when he could. The hurt cutting as deeply as the pain from his wounds.

  The Viscount stabbed him again.

  Jack felt a twinge of pain, the poison protecting him from the worst of it now.

  “What are you prattling on about?” Greaves demanded, shaking Jack by the neck. The smell of burning flesh grew stronger. “Tell me who Green is, and I’ll end this now. Why do you suffer for those who sent you to your death?”

  Jack’s senses began to fade. He could no longer hear Greaves’ voice. His breathing turned shallow, laboured breaths gurgling and crackling in his throat. His eyes rolled back, revealing their whites, as he sank deeper into the poison-induced hallucinations.

  The Viscount paused his savage assault and mused, “Why is he dying so fast?” Shaking his head in confusion and disappointment as he recognised the death rattle, he muttered, “Why are peasants always so damn weak?”

  Jack felt no pain now. As the healing sensation returned, his thoughts drifted to his little brother, who, before the age of five, had declared, “I’m going to be the bestest and bravest knight ever and slay all the dragons.”

  His heart warmed at that memory; it had been one of the few good ones in a long time. “There are no dragons,” Jack teased, recalling the sight of his younger brother swinging the little wooden sword he’d played with in their family home’s courtyard.

  In the memory, his brother looked back at him, proud, fearless, and hopeful. “There are dragons in my books, Daddy reads. I’m gonna slay ‘em all! You’ll see. I’m the greatest hero ever. Mommy and Daddy says so.”

  The boy had struck a heroic pose, wooden sword in hand, ready to battle an ancient dragon.

  Jack managed a bloody smile at the hallucination of his brother as he imagined his body healing from the grievous wounds. “I’m sure you wi…”

  There was no more pain, hallucinations, or Viscount Greaves.

  He saw an ornate door covered in intricate runes. The door opened, and there was a bright light.

  The last thing he heard was a female voice. “You’re not finished yet, Jack.”

  Jack was dead.

  See you on the next chapter when Jack becomes a ghost and haunts Royal Road readers for laughs and giggles. :)

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  Chapter 005 Waking To A Better Past