Inheritors I / To Inherit the Will of the World

The rain had begun easing up hours ago, but I still found myself struck by the occasional drop as I headed deeper into town. Reaching yet another street corner, I pulled out my phone to check the time.

10:32 p.m. I’d been wandering out here since it started getting dark. Given it was barely March, that meant quite some time had passed already. I had nothing to gain here, no goal to accomplish nor destination to reach, yet I couldn’t will myself to return home yet. It wasn’t like I hated that place or anything; I just found it suffocating.

It wasn’t their fault. I knew they meant well. It wasn’t even like their generosity missed the mark or was unwelcome. I was the only one to blame. It was my fault it wasn’t enough. I was the greedy one, and I’d be the first to admit it. But knowing that didn’t change how I felt.

And that was why I ignored the 43 messages and nine missed calls from my mother, begging me to come back. She didn’t have to worry; I wasn’t going anywhere. I had nowhere to go, after all.

For a moment, I considered replying to at least let her know I was okay, but the sudden onset of a burning pain in my abdomen interrupted any internal deliberation. Digging the nails of my right hand into my left arm and clenching my teeth, I waited for the blinding torment to pass.

For the past day or so, I’d been attacked by these random spurts of agony. For better or worse, I was beginning to get used to them. As usual, the feeling dissipated after a couple dozen seconds. I knew this wasn’t normal and that I should get it checked, but it felt like such a hassle. What gave me the right to bother other people about it when I was the one in pain?

Pocketing my phone and drifting past the corner, I was intent on continuing my “journey” for at least another hour or so. I knew it was irresponsible for a high schooler to wander around at dark for hours on end, and yet here I was. I was causing endless problems for my parents, so I wouldn’t blame them if they decided to abandon me. I probably deserved it. In fact, that might make everything easier.

But as I took another few steps forward, the anxiety in my chest tightened around my heart. I’m the worst. The only thing I’m capable of is hurting the only two people in the world who care about me. What kind of monster am I?

I had to go back. No matter how being there made me feel, I had to return. I could take it. Other people shouldn’t have to suffer from my own screwed up feelings. Besides, it wasn’t as though being out here made me feel any better. I clicked my tongue in frustration and turned on my heel, heading back the way I came.

Or, at least, that was my intent. As I finished rotating, a jolt of pain shot through my entire body. The localized assaults had been enough to overwhelm me, but this was on another level altogether. It felt as though every cell in my body had erupted into scorching flames, each and every one hell-bent on liquifying me from the inside.

I wanted to scream in agony, but the blaze had long since incinerated my nervous system, blocking any hope of a single signal escaping my brain and reaching the rest of my body. I collapsed backward and slammed into the pavement, but my pain receptors were too occupied to notice. I couldn’t even shake or convulse; my mind was so overwhelmed that even involuntary responses were beyond me.

Am I dying? I’m dying. I’m dying? I’m dying! I’m dying! My thoughts were trapped in recursion, a single sentiment crashing through my neurons without end.

I’M DYING I’M DYING IM DYING IMDYINGIMDYINGIMDYINGIMDYINGIMD—

As long as they can make it, I have no regrets.

A thought that did not belong to me injected itself into my consciousness, ripping me back to reality.

Or so I thought. Although the pain subsided and my nerves reconnected to my brain, the sight my eyes drank in was entirely foreign. No streetlights, no blackened sky, no twinkling stars partially obfuscated by clouds. All I could see was a dark, wooden roof, its construction closer to what I’d expect from a remote log cabin than any modern building in the 21st century.

Did I… pass out? My body ached, but it was nothing like the pain I had felt before. My confusion didn’t dissipate in the least when I sat up and realized I was in a bed. Did someone find me on the street and—

“Leon?” A voice sounded to my right, one tinged with a distinct mix of hope and despair.

Still dazed, I turned my head to face the source of the sound and came face to face with a girl I didn’t recognize sitting in a chair next to me.

“… Who?” She had to have been talking to me, but I had no idea what she was trying to say.

The girl’s face contorted in pain for a brief moment. Before I could react, she stood up, turned on her heel, and ran out of the door positioned behind her, opening, exiting, and shutting it, all in one smooth motion.

I wasn’t sure what I had done to her, but… I shouldn’t have said anything. Nothing good ever comes of opening my mouth.

I knew I should be trying to figure out what had happened to me, but the fog lingering in my mind made pursuing any sort of goal difficult. Instead, my eyes wandered around the strange room without a hint of intent.

And then my gaze fell upon a window to my left. At first, I was struck by the golden sunlight leaking in through the glass. I collapsed not long before midnight, so at least half a day had to have passed. That train of thought vanished from my mind, however, once I saw my own reflection in the glass.

That person was undoubtedly me. And yet, that person could not be me. It was warped. Distorted. Not physically but conceptually. It was wrong.

Some details were minor, like the length of their hair. It was too long. Not by much, but enough that I could recognize it was different. But what froze the breath in my throat was the muscles. The person gazing back at me wasn’t an Olympic weightlifter by any means, but it was clear they were no slouch when it came to fitness, either. It’s not something you could just achieve overnight. It couldn’t be me.

So why… why is that face… mine?

A creak in the opposite direction diverted my attention back toward the door. From it emerged an older man, maybe in his thirties or so, with short brown hair and a slight beard. As before, I had never seen this person in my life.

“Hello. In spite of the circumstances, I am pleased to meet you.” His tone held a hint of familiarity, but his words did not.

He waited in silence for a few seconds, perhaps expecting a reply. Met with nothing, he chose to continue. “You can refer to me as Seris. Professor Seris, to be more exact, but we will get to that in time. May I ask for your name?”

Faced with a direct question, I no longer had an excuse to stay silent. “E-Everett. My name is Ever—”

I cut myself off, stunned. I knew what that man said. I understood it and even replied. But it was wrong. The sounds, my mouth movements, all of it was fundamentally wrong, foreign to everything I had experienced in my life up until now. My thoughts were too hazy when I first spoke with the girl to realize, but I couldn’t ignore it now. It was as if I were speaking a language I didn’t know, interpreting a tongue I’d never heard, and my body was doing it all as if it were natural.

As if? That’s exactly what’s happening, isn’t it?

A normal person might panic in this situation. I didn’t know if I was level-headed, insane, or just broken, but as the puzzle pieces fell into place, I was quick to accept reality.

“W-where am I? And… who am I?” I softly asked the man.

The kind smile he once held faded at my question. “I’m sorry, Everett. You are in a place very far from your home.”

“But… why am I here?”

A look infused with many complex emotions washed over him. “Your soul has been summoned to this world to finish what your predecessor started.”

Predecessor? I didn’t have to open my mouth for the man to understand my question.

“The you of this world, a hero like few others, willing to put everything he had on the line for the salvation of us all. But he could not complete his mission.” The man clasped his hands into fists and looked straight into my eyes. “That is why you are here. To finish what he and the others started. To save us all.”

“Save you? From what?”

“Save us from calamity. The end of humanity. Perhaps the end of the world. That is the cruel fate you have inherited.”

The man spoke matter-of-factly, as if his words carried no hint of absurdity or hyperbole.

“Alright. If you need my help, I guess I’ll do what I can.”

I, too, responded matter-of-factly, as if I were agreeing to the most mundane proposition in the world.