Jack was perplexed and sat holding the blood-red rose. He contemplated what the old lady had said while appreciating the birdsong above. Her words echoed in his mind. ‘All choices matter…’ ‘The Fates await to guide you…’ .

  “What is my fate? Guide me where?” He scoffed at the advice. There is no fate in a dream world. And no guidance can be given to a path that was already concluded. He was just going through the motions at the end of his life… probably.

  “Good things don’t happen to nobodies like me,” Jack muttered, his eyes drifting down to the red rose in his hand. None of this happened when I was sixteen. He felt adrift, replaying all the conversations and new experiences from the day. Each was unique, none repeating anything from his past. I didn’t enter Demeter’s temple, and I didn’t have dozens of classes to choose from or such high affinities. He was so confused. Scribe isn’t even an option now… There was no orc slave and no blood magic ritual.

  Jack noticed the dirt on his knees where he’d crawled behind a low flowerbed. He shivered upon recalling the vision of being chased by guards and being cut down. Mom definitely didn’t throw a brush and a shoe at me to chase me out of the house. He smiled at the ridiculous new memory. A moment of humour amid the chaos of his death dream… or one of the first memories of his new life?

  He again considered whether what he was experiencing was a second chance, a miraculous opportunity gifted to him by the Gods. Could the old lady have been a messenger of the Gods? She was cryptic enough to be one. Though rare, it wasn’t unheard of for the Gods to interfere in mortal matters.

  Jack stayed on the pew as dozens of people went about their business in the temple. A robed temple attendant opened a fading aether lantern and replaced the rechargeable aether capsule within.

  While contemplating his fate, he noticed a teenage beastkin place his hand on the Choosing Stone. The boy’s face lit up; he looked thrilled. He must’ve been offered a good choice. He caught the boy’s eye and offered a smile and a knowing nod.

  The young beastkin beamed. His black fur was marked with striking white streaks, which made his grin all the more vivid. “I’m going to be a knight,” he said, his voice shaking with excitement. “Everyone said I wouldn’t get the choice since I’m not a noble, but they were wrong.”

  Behaving as though someone might take it away at any moment, the boy selected the knight class. “I’m a Novice Knight!” he declared, pumping his fist into the air in celebration. His tail wagged like an eager pup as he hopped from foot to foot. His enthusiasm echoed off the temple walls, mingling with the faint trills of birdsong.

  It was rare, almost unheard of, for a commoner, especially a beastkin, to be offered the knight class.

  Jack returned the boy’s grin. “Congratulations. You must have worked damn hard to earn the knight class.” Despite being strangers, he was pleased for the young man. Access to a horse, multiple weapons, and formal knight training was a luxury few teenage commoners could afford. For beastkins, it was even less so. “Well done,” he added. “The Fates smiled on you today.”

  The young man nodded. “I-I’m going to go tell my friends and family. Thanks!” The newly anointed Novice Knight bounced his way out of the temple, his tail swishing side to side as birds chirped in chorus above.

  Jack smiled. Good for him… Now for my choice. My fate. His smile faded into a frown. I really want to kill the bastard who ruined my life. And now I know a blood cult exists in the city…

  He felt a responsibility to stop the blood cult. His hand gripped the dagger at his side as though he might use it that very moment to gut the Baron and every last cultist in the city. Holding the weapon made him feel better.

  “But should I? Is that who I want to become… again?”

  If this were real… he could marry Jasmin and have a family. He smiled, remembering the first time they’d danced. It had also been his first time dancing. Jasmin had laughed as he kept apologising for stepping on her feet.

  “I want that life,” he whispered. It was a simple life of love, laughter, and good food with family, always together. Still gripping the dagger, he thought about the life he should’ve had and how it was all ruined by Greaves.

  Jack closed his eyes and made the decision to believe the Gods had given him a second chance. Thank you for this gift. No matter what it takes, I’ll stop Greaves to protect my family and have a good life.

  If he was wrong and this wasn’t real, it wouldn’t matter anyway. The Gods would either be merciful and reunite him with his family in the Asphodel Fields, or be cruel and condemn him to Tartarus for all eternity.

  “Would you like an apple?” A female voice asked.

  Jack looked up to find a middle-aged woman dressed in plain priestess robes, who was carrying a basket of red apples. Caught off-guard, he blinked at the question.

  “They’re from an early harvest. With Demeter’s blessing,” she added. “Would you like one?” The woman pulled out a juicy-looking apple and offered it to him.

  “Thanks,” he said, taking it with a smile.

  The woman returned the smile. “They’re delicious. Demeter has blessed us with another good summer. There’s going to be an abundance of fruit soon.” The priestess left to offer apples to other visitors.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Jack polished the apple on his jacket and took a bite with a mouthwatering crunch. “Hmm… that is a good apple.” He took another bite. “What should I choose to change the future?”

  He began compiling a mental list of options while eating his apple. The first approach was to find a way to prevent his father from deciphering and translating the forbidden blood magic grimoire, the secret that Baron Greaves had murdered his family to protect.

  In his first life, Jack had become a Novice Scribe at sixteen and began working under his father, an Expert Scribe, in the Ancient Texts Department of the Royal Library. When Jack was eighteen, his father had started work on an ancient tome encrypted with a complex cypher. About a year later, his father had him, by then an Apprentice Scribe, join the effort. His dad had already done most of the heavy lifting, so within six months they’d cracked the cypher and begun translating the ancient Elvish text.

  After translating a few pages, they realised the book contained forbidden spells and knowledge—a blood magic grimoire—and presented their findings to the Baron. Greaves had ordered them to complete the translation and not discuss the book’s contents with anyone but him.

  In hindsight, that should’ve raised a red flag. However, they were so excited to be working on something so fascinating that they missed or ignored the warning signs. Even so, working alongside his father during those months remained one of Jack’s fondest memories.

  A few months later, the first section of the blood magic grimoire was translated and handed over to Baron Greaves. There were still years of work left to decipher and translate the entire tome. That was when the Baron killed his family and left twenty-year-old Jack for dead in his burning family home.

  Jack had gained plenty of experience and a few skill levels working on the grimoire. Even his father gained a level when they’d translated the first section of the book. It was hard for him to reconcile the good memories with the eventual murder of his family.

  If his father and Jack had never deciphered and translated the grimoire, there would’ve been no reason for the Baron to kill his family.

  He clenched his fists as the memory burned bright of Greaves’ beastkin guards pinning his father down while the Baron drove a blade through his heart.

  I hate that murdering bastard. He winced as a sharp pain stung his right hand. He looked down to find he’d gripped the blood-red rose so tight that a thorn had pierced his palm. He sucked the trickle of blood and hissed. It was a minor wound, but he’d have to hide the cut from his mother, or she’d fuss and worry.

  He could already hear her lecture about some distant uncle who died of a thorn wound, possibly even on his right hand. There was always a relative he’d never heard of who’d dropped dead from a harmless injury. With how many family members had met the Gods by such minor mishaps, his mother could’ve been a soothsayer of medical catastrophes.

  Jack tried to refocus. A thousand thoughts and memories tried to flood his mind, but only one mattered. Could he stop his father from working on the blood magic book that caused their deaths?

  It wasn’t that simple, though. His father was only one of the leading Expert Scribes at the Royal Library. Even if he could stop him, another scribe would take his place, and their family might die in their stead.

  Can I live with passing a death sentence on someone else? He thought about Jasmin, the daughter of another Expert Scribe at the Royal Library. I can’t take that risk.

  Jack rubbed the back of his neck, weighing his options with care. How can I stop the grimoire from being deciphered?

  He considered preventing it from being deciphered by destroying the book. If he could intercept and destroy it before it reached the scribes, the problem would be solved. He covered his face with his hands in despair.

  He had no idea where the book of forbidden spells originated. He recalled the similarity of the blood magic ritual chant he’d witnessed. All he knew for sure was that it was written in an extinct Elven language, and it was in the Royal Library, a few years from now. The book could be anywhere now.

  With the sound of songbirds still singing above him, Jack stood up and paced the temple again. That’s not enough to go on. Could I steal or destroy the book after I know where it is?

  He shook his head. With important texts, they almost always worked on copies, not the originals, which were kept locked away. He couldn’t stop the grimoire from being deciphered. That meant a scribe’s family would die.

  Jasmin’s sixteen. I wonder what she’s doing now? His thoughts wandered to meeting her, and his heartbeat raced. Would she even like me as I am now? I won’t be a scribe. I’m not really a teenager… He looked down at the blood-red rose while running his free hand through his messy hair in despair. Should I even try to connect with her? She’d had a good life without him… She didn’t need him to be happy.

  Jack sat back down to think while trying to put meeting Jasmin out of his confused mind. He had a serious problem to solve, so his potential future love life could wait. Is there anyone above Greaves I could inform that he was deciphering a blood magic grimoire?

  Blood magic was forbidden for good reason. A cult of blood mages had almost destroyed the Kingdom of Merciar a thousand years earlier. The class was considered so dangerous that anyone discovered with the class was summarily put to death. There were no exceptions.

  Jack was assuming the Baron wasn’t authorised to continue deciphering and translating the book after learning it was forbidden knowledge. But who could he tell? And how could he prove the encrypted book contained forbidden spells?

  His thoughts drifted to one of his past bad decisions. Why did we keep deciphering the book? Why didn’t we stop? We should’ve stopped! If only we’d stopped!

  He and his father were well aware of the crown’s policy on forbidden blood magic, yet they barely batted an eye when the Baron ordered them to continue deciphering the book. They should’ve stopped. It made no sense.

  He shook his head, having asked himself these same questions a thousand times. Who can I tell that the Baron is involved in blood magic, and how would I explain that the encrypted book contains blood magic spells?

  He’d just witnessed twelve nobles perform a forbidden blood magic ritual within the safest city of the Kingdom of Merciar. There might be many more blood cult members within the city. He might ask the wrong person for help.

  Jack considered sending an anonymous letter to the head of the Royal Library and even to the Inquisition, whose role was to hunt down users of forbidden classes. This might be an option, but there wouldn’t be any evidence until after the grimoire is deciphered and translated.

  Wait… I know the cypher. He sat up straight and smiled. He could decipher and translate the first section of the book and send a copy to the Inquisition before his father or another Expert Scribe tries to crack the puzzle.

  “Damn it!” Jack remembered he couldn’t choose the scribe class this time and cursed his bad luck. He scratched his face where he used to have a sensitive burn scar that would annoy him when he was agitated. He gave up on the idea of gaining access to the blood magic grimoire. He’d never gain access without being an Apprentice Scribe.