When I came to my senses, I woke up in a place that was not unfamiliar.
My gaze swept across the surroundings.
An old, charred mansion now overgrown with wild plants and moss. Some parts had crumbled, and the silence seemed to consume the place.
I could feel it.
A sense of longing.
In a fraction of a second, my imagination began to work. Memories started to transform into a vivid scene.
I closed my eyes as scene after scene unfolded in my mind.
Ding… Ding…
The rhythmic chime of a bell.
In my imagination, I was inside a room that stirred a deep longing. It was a childish yet luxurious bedroom.
Then, someone appeared, shattering the window. A figure floated in midair, wearing a white robe adorned with golden ornaments, a peculiar, mismatched conical hat, and a blue bell hanging from his collar.
The man's gaze filled me with pain.
His eyes seemed to peer into my soul, penetrating and reopening old wounds.
There, sitting in the corner of the room, I saw two young children. One was a blonde-haired, red-eyed girl, around eleven years old. In her arms was a black-haired, red-eyed boy, filled with terror and fear.
Unlike the boy, the little girl was not afraid.
Instead, she held her younger brother tightly, ensuring he would not be frightened.
At that moment, I heard the cold voice of the man hovering outside the window.
"Disgusting… Damn traitors… I don't care if you're just children—blame your parents for their sins!"
Stepping onto the window frame, the man entered the room. His boots clacked against the floor as he landed.
Then, the little girl pulled a paintbrush from the pocket of her dress. The brush had a unique shape with a sharp texture.
As she swiped it through the air, a streak of watercolor seemed to appear, the red pigment gradually forming something. She was trying to paint something.
"Tch…"
The man clicked his tongue in irritation, visibly disturbed and disgusted by the girl's defiance.
He raised his right hand, clad in a white glove with golden buttons.
"The painter in this room shall turn foolish~"
His voice carried a certain weight that made me uneasy.
And sure enough, the little girl in the corner suddenly stopped moving her brush. Her face turned blank—she clearly no longer knew what action to take next.
That's right…
The "Sealer" Path was the perfect counter to halt an "Imaginer."
The boundlessness of imagination would fade before a Sealer.
From any perspective, the little girl no longer had any hope. She dropped her brush and clung to her younger brother.
"Everything will be alright…"
She whispered, her voice trembling.
Back in reality, I let out a long sigh.
This house clearly held painful memories. As an Imaginer, memories could manifest into false realities. Every detail, every pain or pleasure, was recorded vividly in my mind.
Unlike a Mentalist who could control their thoughts at will, an Imaginer could not.
The environment I stood in now triggered the buried traumas of my past.
However, I did not allow myself to wallow in sorrow. That would only hinder me.
Right now, I had something more important to focus on.
Before I woke up in this place, I had been in a mystical domain linked to the Imaginer Path. That place was called the Miracle Temple.
I met a mysterious figure who claimed to be my servant.
They enlightened me about the vast potential I could harness.
One of those potentials was rebuilding the Miracle Temple, which now lay in ruins. To do so, I needed to find Imaginer Fragments that could be used to support the construction of a new Miracle Temple.
According to what I was told, the closer the Miracle Temple got to its original state, the stronger the power of the Imaginer Path within my mystical ability, Author, would become.
This would allow me to ascend to the next level more easily.
Generally, there were eighteen levels within the mystical power system.
The higher the level, the stronger one became, and the more abilities they could use.
Currently, I was at the first level of the Author Path, which meant I could only use its primary ability—Story Integration.
In the future, as I advanced, new abilities would manifest.
The fragments in question were concepts that underpinned and influenced the Imaginer Path itself.
Simply put, I needed to reconstruct the Miracle Temple by acquiring deeper knowledge about the Imaginer Path.
The mansion before me was the main residence of the Hume family.
For hundreds of generations, it had stood as a symbol of the Hume family's dominion. But now, it was nothing more than a burned, abandoned ruin.
Beyond that, I noticed I was still wearing my black cloak, and the bone mask still hung around my neck.
Ignoring that for now, I approached the mansion. Pushing past the overgrown grass, I stepped onto the first stair.
Even after twelve years, I could still smell the ashes.
The integration really worked…
I murmured.
I had envisioned this scenario countless times, but experiencing it firsthand felt different.
The mystical power of Author had granted me a way to transcend all limitations.
Just to be sure, I touched my forehead. It was smooth—there was no cross mark there. That meant the Prison did not apply to this version of me.
I also discovered something important about this Story Integration ability.
Since I hadn't specified detailed plot points, the world seemed to fill in the gaps to make everything feel logical.
Right now, I could return to my consciousness as Ralph Veir Hume at any time.
Climbing the stairs, I finally arrived at the mansion's entrance.
According to my memories, this door—now stained and damaged—once stood firm, serving as the boundary between the Hume family's absolute authority and the outside world.
This place is truly in ruins…
Though most of the mansion had been destroyed, it still stood tall. That was thanks to the dedication of the Hume ancestors, who built the mansion with structural integrity in mind.
Ascending to the second floor, I entered room after room.
I stepped into a familiar space—my father's study.
The room was in shambles.
The desk had collapsed, and several objects had lost their shape due to the heat of the fire.
The only thing that remained untouched was a mirror.
I found myself staring into it.
A young man with slightly messy black hair, striking red eyes, and thin lips gazed back at me. His expression was grim, as if recalling a painful memory. That was my reflection.
I looked exactly as I did in my true form as Ralph Hume. Except this time, I was no longer forcing a smile.
Everything was fine until I entered another room. A childish yet elegant bedroom—or at least, it should have been.
Now, the place was in ruins, the walls collapsed, and the bed reduced to ashes.
My eyes drifted to the side, to the spot where my sister had held me in her arms until her final moments. I thought I had already set my priorities, my goals.
Yet why?
Why am I still shedding tears?
This is pathetic…
But it also enrages me…
"Everything will be alright…"
That phrase lingered in my mind like a stain that refused to fade. The sound of her voice, the way she spoke, the tremble in her words, and the warmth of her embrace—why did it feel like it had only happened yesterday?
"Fools will only kill themselves~"
Once again, that man's voice had the opposite effect on my emotions.
My tears were now replaced by clenched teeth. My eyes burned—not with sorrow, but with fury.
I was not seeking revenge—I was seeking answers.
I calmed myself, taking slow breaths.
My feet carried me toward the window, where a metal chair leaned against the wall, covered in dust and ash. Without a second thought, I sat down.
Sitting there, I closed my eyes.
"I'm home."
My voice cracked as I felt the fresh air, mixed with dust, brush against my face.
At this moment, my mind was finally at ease.
The overwhelming memories began to fade, replaced by new thoughts.
With Author's Book closed, I was still in the library, transcribing the holy texts.
I was here—so what had happened to my original body?
If I didn't wake up soon, it would cause unnecessary trouble.
That's right—at the very least, I knew that the integration had worked. Now, I had another self outside the church's walls.
I raised my hand, touching the rough surface of the mask. Then, I placed it over my face.
For some reason, I took a deep breath afterward, as if savoring the scent of bone and the filth around me.
But one thing was certain—this felt… satisfying.