A Crimson Moon

I wept until I fell asleep.

Somewhere between my sobs, I felt my lips curl upwards. 

It felt... wrong.

I tried to imagine what my face looked like, but I couldn't.

I had smiled before, but those facial contortions were never genuine. 

.

.

.

Dreams are the result of the subconscious mind stitching together fragments of different experiences. I haven't had a dream since I was very young.

My life has always been monotonous, so predictable that my brain stopped bothering to record anything as unique.

When I slept, it felt more like a timeskip. No vivid imagery. Just a few seconds of pitch black, and then I'd open my eyes to daylight.

This night was different. It wasn't a timeskip. And it wasn't a dream. It was like I was viewing someone else's dream... no rather someone else's memories. These memories were ones I'm particularly familiar with.

--- 

I was hovering outside a small, silent house, where a boy's tears fell as his father walked away. After the door closed, he wiped his cheeks and stepped into the world. He found himself before a grand guild hall, my mind unable to fully remember the name—"F–i––al." Bravely, he reached for the heavy wooden door and knocked.

Inside, a girl in bright, strange clothes laughed and teased him as he struggled to join. Then everything faded to black.

Yet one image stayed with me: the boy's face lighting up in awe, his smile wide and hopeful as he looked at the guild master.

.

.

.

My eyes fluttered open.

A bright light beamed down on me like every other day, but this one felt brighter.

I got up and looked down at my trembling hands. It was where my tears had fallen.

I let out a long sigh and searched for the book. All I found were ashes that clung to my skin.

There was a hollow ache in my chest.

That book had been with me for twelve years. I read it so many times, I wouldn't be surprised if someone told me we were related by blood.

Every reread left me with the same ache. The same sense of yearning.

It was strange. I was utterly emotionless, yet I still longed for something.

To quiet that yearning, I reread the same story over and over again. I never got tired of it.

But this time, the ache was stronger. And now, there was no way to fulfill it.

The book was gone.

My eyes were on the verge of welling up again, but I moved on. There was no use getting stuck in the past.

My stomach let out a low grumble. I rose slowly from bed and went to eat breakfast, same as always. A cut bagel with fried eggs in between.

After I finished eating, I was heading toward the shower when a loud bang hit the door.

Who could that be?

I stepped closer. Another bang, louder this time, more impatient.

I peered through the peephole.

A man stood there. Middle-aged. Scruffy beard. Mud-stained boots. Pitch-black cloak. I would've dismissed him off as a drunkard, but he looked sober.

I hesitated.

Then slowly unlocked the latch and opened it a crack.

"Can I help—"

Before I could finish, his arm snapped forward. The door exploded off the hinges, crashing to the floor.

I stumbled back, heart pounding. The man blinked, startled by his own strength.

"…Shit," he muttered. "I apologize... I didn't mean to do that. I'll pay for the repairs."

"Who are you?" I demanded

"Just a recruiter from Crimson Moon."

The crimson moon was a guild that sat just outside my apartment complex. It wasn't really regarded that highly and only housed one notable warrior, who claimed the name of a prostitute killer from Victorian London, Jack The Ripper. 

"We detected an Awakening last night," the man continued, eyes scanning the room. "It came from this apartment."

I blinked

Somehow, that waste of property space was able to detect my awakening last night...??

"And we're here to recruit you."

That caught me off guard. As far as I knew, guilds didn't send recruiters door to door. At least, that's what my father used to say. But he died years ago. And these days, with guild competition ramping up, I guess things had changed.

"You break down my door, and now you want to offer me a job?" I asked, my voice flatter than intended.

"Look, I panicked. I thought you might bolt. Most new Awakened do."

I grit my teeth, and then nodded my head. Signaling I'd hear him out.

The recruiter then launched into a pitch, benefits, training, companionship, but I wasn't really listening.

My mind drifted.

I didn't even know what my Ancestral Remnant was yet.

I only had a vague theory, that it absorbed something from the stories I read. But what did that even mean? Assuming my ancestral remnant did absorb something from the stories, I didn't even know what it absorbed from said stories.

The emotions? The themes? The characters themselves?

I don't even know if my ancestral remnant is combat-related. Sure, some guilds used non-combatants, but you'd earn more working a regular job.

 "Hello..? You there?"

His voice snapped me back to the present.

"So… what about it? You joining us?"

I opened my mouth to decline. But I suddenly remembered the story from last night.

A young boy, abandoned and alone, who walked into a guild seeking people he could call family.

That scene never hit me before. Not even after all the rereads.

But it did. Once after they had died due to a molten attack so many years ago.

My lips trembled. My vision blurred again.

Who knew emotions were so burdensome?

I held back the tears and looked down at my hands.

Clenched them.

The words sat on the edge of my tongue, unsure. But that boy from the story... he reached for the door, even while bleeding inside.

"...Yes. I will."

I said it before I could talk myself out of it. It was due to some sudden surge of motivation. 

The recruiter nodded in gratitude, handed me two thousand for the door repairs, and left without another word.

I quietly returned to my room and let out a long, slow sigh.

I reached into my pocket, ordered the repairs through my phone, then turned on the television to pass the time.

Coincidentally, every news channel was buzzing about Jack the Ripper. Apparently, he'd taken down over seventy moltens by himself

That was my future superior.

I guess I should've felt reassured knowing someone that powerful was in the same guild.

But then something made my eyes widen.

Jack was always seen wearing a mask. No one knew his face. His black cloak concealed everything, even his hair.

But in one paused frame…

Just for a split second…

Strands of hair slipped out from beneath the cloak.

Dirty brown.