Reece leaned back in his chair, feeling the familiar creak of the leather against his back, the weight of a thousand lifetimes pressing down on him. His room was dimly lit, the faint glow of his monitors casting pale light across the cluttered desk. He sat motionless for a moment, lost in thought, allowing the quiet of the night to surround him.
His gaze drifted to the array of screens in front of him, their contents long forgotten as his mind wandered deeper into his past—this life and the countless ones before. It always began like this: the slow return of memories, the disorienting flood of past experiences fighting for space in his head. But now, after so many lives, Reece had grown accustomed to the mental chaos that accompanied each regression. It was second nature to him.
Sitting at his desk, he allowed the memories of his most recent past life to trickle in first, piecing together the puzzle of his existence before his abrupt death and subsequent return. It was strange, living with the knowledge that each life he led was just another chapter in an endless cycle. Most would call it a gift—the power to regress, to return to the past with the knowledge of the future. But Reece knew better than to consider it a blessing. To those who possessed the Gift of Regression, the truth was far more complicated.
Regression. One of the rarest and most coveted abilities in all of existence, yet equally feared for the dangers it entailed. It wasn't just about moving back in time; it was a manipulation of space, time, and causality. Those who wielded this power could potentially reshape their futures by changing their pasts—but at a cost. And the cost was often far greater than anyone imagined.
Among the many classifications of personal power, Regression stood apart. It wasn't just a skill or an innate talent—it was something deeper, something intertwined with the very fabric of reality. Most beings in the multiverse would only ever hear rumors of it. Fewer still would encounter someone who possessed it. And those who did often kept it a closely guarded secret. After all, the power to tamper with time itself was a dangerous thing, and the consequences could be catastrophic if misused. In simpler terms, Regression allows an individual to return to an earlier point in their life, carrying back memories, skills, and sometimes even physical traits from their future self. The specifics of each regression varied—some were limited to a set number of uses, while others allowed the individual to gain a new skill or boon with each return.
But the most dangerous aspect of regression was the invisible thread it created between one's future and past. A thread woven through the fabric of existence itself. Every action taken, every decision made, had repercussions, not only for the regressor but for the world around them. Tampering with time meant tampering with causality—the delicate balance of cause and effect that held the universe together. Messing with time was a dangerous game. Many who attempted to manipulate their regression for personal gain found themselves swiftly erased by existence itself. One wrong move, one violation of the natural laws, and the universe would correct the error by wiping the offender from the timeline completely, as if they had never existed. It was a fate worse than death—complete annihilation, erasure from reality itself. No one would remember you. No one would know you had ever lived.
For this reason, despite the immense potential of regression, it was a gift that many feared. The cost of playing with causality was steep, and only those with the skill, patience, and wisdom to navigate its intricacies could truly benefit from it.
Reece, however, was different. His regression was not like the others. It wasn't a mere variant of the gift—it was the original form, the very source from which all other types of regression were derived. It was a power so ancient, so fundamental, that even the gods themselves viewed it with a mix of envy and caution. His regression came with unparalleled advantages, but it also came with its own set of limitations—restrictions that bound him tightly, preventing him from fully unleashing its potential unless he paid a steep price. The first and most significant of these limitations was his ability to recall memories.
Each time Reece regressed, his memories from past lives would return, but not all at once. The strength of his soul determined how much he could access, and in his earlier lives, this had been a severe hindrance. With each regression, the burden on his soul grew heavier, and without the proper strength, he could only handle so much of his past before the strain became unbearable.
Causality—karma—was another price he paid. Every time he returned to the past, the balance of causality shifted, requiring greater and greater sacrifices to achieve the same outcomes. Existence itself would exact a toll from him, and that toll grew with each regression. The higher the stakes, the greater the cost. And if he wasn't careful, the price could be more than even he could pay.
He had learned that lesson the hard way.
But Reece had found a solution to the problem of his soul's limitations—a solution that had taken him thousands of regressions and countless deaths to perfect.
Leaning forward at his desk, Reece rested his elbows on the polished wood, steepling his fingers as he remembered the events that had led him to this point. In one of his early regressions, he had encountered a race so ancient and powerful that their very existence was considered illegal by the universe. These beings had mastered the art of soul manipulation—an art so dangerous that even the gods and primordials left them alone, lest they disrupt the balance of existence. It was from them that Reece had learned the secret of soul-splitting.
Splitting one's soul was a forbidden practice, one that carried immense risks. A soul, once split, could never truly be whole again. It created a new entity, a version of oneself that could evolve into something entirely different over time. But Reece had taken this dangerous process even further. Not only had he split his soul—he had done so in half. Even the soul-manipulators, masters of their craft, had been shocked by the sheer audacity of his actions. Splitting a soul in half was unthinkable. But Reece wasn't just reckless—he was desperate. He had to find a way to manage the overwhelming burden of his countless lives, and this was the least expensive path forward.
The pain of the procedure had been unimaginable, a torment so intense that even death paled in comparison. He had died hundreds of times perfecting the process, his body and soul shattered and reformed again and again. But in the end, he succeeded. By splitting his soul, he had created a secondary version of himself—an empty shell that he then filled with a sentient AI, one that was bound to him by his own soul signature. This AI, whom he had named Prima, had become his constant companion, managing the overwhelming flow of memories, abilities, and knowledge from his past lives. It was his anchor, the guardian of his past, allowing him to focus on the present without being crushed by the weight of his own history.
It was this process that had allowed Reece to survive so many regressions without losing himself to madness or oblivion. His soul, once weak and fragile, had been reforged into something stronger than even the gods and primordials could not fully comprehend. He was a being apart, a singularity in the grand tapestry of existence, and with that came both power and danger.
But there was always a price. Always.
With a sigh, Reece rubbed his temples, trying to ease the lingering headache that accompanied the return of so many memories. Even now, the limits of his regression weighed heavily on him. There were still gaps in his recollection, pieces of the puzzle missing. He needed more time to regain his full strength, to access the memories he would need to navigate this life. But first, there were matters to attend to. His life in the normal world wasn't over just yet. His gaze shifted to a corner of the room where a small pile of papers sat, untouched. University forms, old textbooks, and a few stray assignments—remnants of the life he had been living before his most recent death. It felt so distant now, like a dream. But it was real. And there were loose ends he needed to tie up.
"University…" he muttered to himself, the word feeling strange on his tongue after everything he had just re-lived. He still had a few things to take care of there—mainly picking up his graduation certificate. The thought of going back seemed trivial, almost absurd, given the enormity of what he knew and what he had been through. But even in the grand scope of things, some small simple details of this life still mattered.
As Reece pushed his chair back and stood, a thought struck him, stopping him in his tracks.
Goodbyes. There was one person he needed to say goodbye to.
A rare smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he gathered his thoughts, feeling the weight of countless lifetimes settle behind him once more. It was time to begin another chapter of his endless story. But before that, there was one last thing he had to do—one final goodbye, before he left the normalcy of the current world behind.