I Am Satisfied

Maeve's expression became solemn. Wetting her lips, she said, "Young master, knowledge of the Paths comes with its burden. You anticipated that you might lose your memory when you went for the ritual, so you wrote your thoughts in your diary. As a member of the Royal clan, your knowledge of the Path is naturally more complete than mine, and I could provide you false information, not because I intend to, but because my knowledge of the Paths is still very limited."

Maeve continued speaking after a slight pause, and she collected herself, "You should understand, young master, most people in *this* world would not be able to come into contact with the Paths of Dominion or even understand its workings even if they are shown."

Rowan frowned a little at the inflection in her voice when she said *this world*. Were there perhaps other worlds that were known? Could they be visited? He was in a brand-new world, and anything could be possible. Was this an alternate reality, or was he still in the same universe and on another planet? He figured these questions would be answered in time, and he should listen more to Maeve. Or he could just be mad, and everything happening was just a feverish phantasm of a mind tearing itself apart.

As always, he placed the solution on time. His new state of emotional detachment aided him in his decisions.

Maeve manifested a heavy book from thin air and placed it beside him. Whatever the methods she used to do that, it was still impressive. He made sure not to appear too surprised, though he had no memories of how she was able to perform her spatial magic. He was bound to figure it out soon enough.

He moved to touch the book, but she placed her hand on his. "Master, be careful. You have always wanted to become a Dominator. You've paid an awful price to become capable of becoming one." Sigh. "—Maybe too much."

She looked at him, and he detected a slight sense of sorrow in her eyes, but still, he saw pride—pride in him. "I will make sure you are not disturbed at this time," she said and bowed formally to him, then quietly shut the door.

Rowan mused at how she stopped calling him "Young master" and started calling him "Master", but that slight change brought about a sort of formless pressure around him.

Rowan closed his eyes, allowing his mind to become empty. It was a trick he learned during the rough patches of his life. By emptying his head, he found it easier to think.

It appeared that he was sinking into the role of the Prince. He accepted it. This world and the magical situation around him were sucking him inside its web, and his previous life was turning to shadows.

It was easier to accept what *is* than what *was*. His life these past few years had been out of control. His motivation was gone, and he drifted through each day with a lesser will to strive.

He had tried, yet fate was an unkind judge. He had always been found wanting. This new situation offered something so fantastical it drew him out of his lethargy, and he had a faint expectation brewing inside his chest.

So, it was almost natural to let the memory of this prince, no matter how patchy it was, meld with his. Habits and desires, blending.

He opened his eyes and buried the traces of hesitation inside his heart. The state of his awakening in this world haunted him, and if he were to find solace in anything, it would be in the means to protect himself.

Taking this step would mean he had mostly accepted the truth of this world. That he was now different, that reality as he knew it had changed.

Besides, he had never seen himself as wise or knowledgeable. He did not have all the answers, and he had never pretended as if he did. He could only try his best to make the most of any situation he found himself in.

"Now let's find out what this journey has in store for us."

Would he look back one day and regret journeying on this Path? He suspected that if he never touched this book, this diary that lay in his hand, he would live well. He had won the lottery if this was the afterlife.

As the son of a prince, this manor was his. He was rich, and he could forget the horrifying nature of his birth into this world. He could be happy under the protection of his father.

Could he?

His memories were patchy, and not having fully had time for deeper introspection of the circumstances he found himself in, he could at least come to a conclusion, which was that he had to tackle any situation he found himself in with a position of strength and knowledge.

That had always been his motto. A man without a plan was adrift in fog. He was purposeless and easy to manipulate and tear down.

He should know. The last part of his life was precisely that of a vagrant.

Running away from the truth was foolish. He was not an ostrich that would bury his head in the sands and hope for the grace and mercies of others.

He was Rowan Kuranes, and he would not run from his problems. And if it was too much, if his bones broke, and the weight of this world drained everything from him, if death came for him once more, he would go into that endless night with a smile on his face. After all, he had died once before. Who was keeping count?

A Dominator. The words brought a slight tingle to his spine, his pupils constricted, and his breathing increased. He suddenly remembered a memory, stood up, and looked around the room.

He was getting used to the memory meld, but there were still some bugs to fix.

He recognized this room. It was his favorite, and he loved the view. From here, he could see the Misty Mountains, and when the sun rose, it painted a picture of beauty over the valleys and hills that made him smile and brought him a sense of contentment.

This was the manor allocated to him by the purview of his birthright. It had a moat, numerous rooms, and a barrack that contained a stable detachment of troops. The room he was in was tastefully furnished, and a soft white carpet was spread on the floor. A humongous bookshelf covered both sides of the wall, and a workstation placed near the window was covered by a large piece of hide from an exotic animal.

A thought occurred to him, and he walked to the ornate standing mirror by the adjoining bathroom. He unbuttoned the top of his robe and checked his chest. On his heart lay a red tattoo of an eye. He never recollected getting one in either of his previous lives. He stared intensely at the details of the tattoo when the tattooed eye blinked and faded away, startling him.

He touched the spot on his chest, and underneath his fingers, he felt something bulge and squirm. He withdrew his hand in shock.

The moment he touched the spot of the faded tattoo, he received a sensation of hunger and filth, of cold and an endless nothingness, and he felt a deep fear. What was hiding under his skin?

Rowan sighed. Some decisions were taken away from him. No knowledge he knew would explain what lay beneath his skin. It reminded him a little of the hooded man in the slaughter mansion he woke up from, but somehow what he just touched felt worse, although it appeared to be asleep.

He walked to the window and looked at the open vista. The air was cold, and he hurriedly buttoned his robe. The sun was setting and painted the landscape a breathtaking shade of gold and green. Rowan stood for a long while, his thoughts unknown. He silently turned to his workstation, bringing the heavy diary along.

He finally settled and opened the diary. The first words made his pupils shrink. It read,

"My Lord Father wants to kill me, but I am satisfied."