Retroactive Interference

Flying would never be something I could get used to. The boar carriage had a “cabin stabilizer” or whatever (I didn’t listen seriously to Sabedra), so my trip from Melhnora to Nautia was quite peaceful. All the peace I had was crushed as Sabedra dragged me across the air like a flag behind a plane.

Landing at the Sabedra’s lair, I dropped Res onto the ground and hurried to a corner to puke my guts out.

“At least vomit in the designated area. I like things to be clean in my home,” Sabedra said. I glanced at the mountains of trash that were rotting about in her “home”, but was too drained by the brief voyage to even comment on it.

Lyla scanned the cave with great interest, approaching a sense of awe, even looking at the junk piles like they were exhibits in the Louvre. “So, this is where a dragon lives,” she muttered.

You should ask for a refund for this lackluster sight.

“We should try to wake Res up, so I can talk to her.” I tried to get us back on track.

“Even if you connect your mind to hers, you need to understand how her magic actually functions to use it,” Sabedra said.

“But I do understand. Do you remember what I said about memory the last time we were here?”

Sabedra shrugged. “I was just reminding you.”

Right, reminding me.

“Should we first read through what she wrote down?” Lyla waved around the pile of Res’s notes.

“Oh, I’m sensing traces of mana on the paper. Be careful.” Sabedra said casually. Lyla immediately tossed the paper away. The pages fluttered in the air and scattered around the stone floor.

“Why? Now we have to waste time reorganizing them,” I said, with my hand rubbing my cheeks.

“Did you hear what Lady Sabedra said? There are traces of magic.” Lyla added gestures to emphasize her point.

“Res has been carrying this chunk of sheets with her the whole time. Why would it be dangerous?”

“She could have programmed a spell that wouldn’t activate when she had the notes,” Sabedra suggested. I was reaching for one of the pages, but Sabedra’s words gave me pause. I reconsidered the possibilities.

“We should burn it,” Lyla spoke as if this were the best idea ever.

A fire grew in Sabedra’s mouth. Panicking, I slipped between Sabedra and the spread of paper. “No! No! We can’t give up this information. I will still read the notes, but more cautiously.”

They conceded their pyromaniacal plan, but distanced themselves from the notes. But Sabedra is supposed to be tougher than me…

Nitpicking would just waste more time. I bent down to read the notes without touching them, and the content I saw made my jaw drop. What Res had written was unbelievable.

Because there wasn’t a single legible word on it.

My eyes flitted from paper to paper, combing through each one, but there wasn’t any Chomaonian on them. The writing looked more like random scribblings from a chimpanzee than proper characters of a language.

“Get away! The stored mana is doing something!” This might have been the first time I had heard Sabedra yell; the first time I had sensed urgency in her tone.

Everything outside dissolved afterwards, as a shadow dragged me into my own mind. Fragments of ideas tried to assimilate into my thoughts. My memories felt as though they were being squeezed by a pair of ceramic hands.

My name was Res. I was an agent of memory. I was on a mission to enslave a city and push it into ruin. The soldiers were the allies I had recruited. But they were still in the dark. They still relied on their memories. Otherwise, they could have broken free from my control.

Who am I? Where am I? What is happening? My mind felt like a vortex. All thoughts and emotions blended into a pot. In the swirling storm, only a few clouds of concepts remained constant: my detailed identity as Res, concrete instructions of my mission, and vivid descriptions of key past events.

What else would I need but accuracy and facts? The neutral depiction of those thoughts was so much more reliable than the messy blur of memories. A few stray recollections hang on being recognizable amidst the wild tempest of my mind. Those were the ones I had to give up, all so I could complete my mission of liberating the world from the past and the future.

The first image was of a damp room. I saw the scene from my perspective. I was talking to someone. A brunette elf. She had an unfriendly scowl on her face. Her expression got darker and darker. Until it culminated in her snatching a pair of necklaces off her neck and tossing them aside. She stormed out right after.

Who is this woman? There was a stab in my heart. It felt like a parasite had burrowed into me. I couldn’t describe how much I hated the feeling. I wanted it gone. This woman must not have been important, since I couldn’t find any dependable descriptions of her in the abundance of information I had.

The second image was more like a sound. A desperate wail that wanted to cling to survival. A shack disintegrating in flames. I couldn’t discern the source of the pathetic noise. But the feelings were familiar and unpleasant. A pebble of guilt that sank me. Horror that crawled on my skin. A lump in my throat that threatened tears.

Nothing should be more important than the curated content in my mind. Everything had to be reined in. None of the fleeting memories with their flimsy emotions. I strained to dismiss the silhouettes of thoughts that were forming from this useless memory.

The third image was of a place I couldn’t recognize. A mostly white room. An object that resembled a bed. Lying on it, an old man wearing a cup-like mask over his mouth, with a tube linking to something out of my sight. A continuous beep lurked in the background. A fading warmth from the grasp of his hand on mine.

“Thomas…” he said weakly.

I had no idea who the old man or this “Thomas” was. But one thing was for sure: I had to run from this sorrow that was boiling in my stomach.

And there was a final image. Two framed photos, one of a woman and the other of a man, each on a stand respectively, each paired with a coffin, devoured by silence. The accompanying feeling this time was a hollowness, as if everything inside me had been scooped out.

These were all fleeting images that shifted every moment. They could never be accurate, because they had been changing from the start, from when they were created by my mind. Though, a shroud of ideas persistently surrounded them. Ideas of misery and isolation. Why does my mind have to torture me this way? Why do they have to exist in the first place?

Fortunately, I had finally learned the truth. I should have discarded them a long time ago. Discard every trace of pain and fluidity. Only persistent neutrality should remain.

The guiding ideas seeped into my being, imbuing me with pure objectivity. My name was Res, and the present was the only time that could ever be real for me.