Ninety-Nine K Memories

The green glow enveloped him, confusing and blinding, as if he were floating in an ocean of liquid light. There was no up or down, only a shapeless vastness that embraced him with a suffocating heat.

His mind was a whirlwind of distant voices and broken memories, slipping between the real and the forgotten. He tried to scream, to move, to resist… but his body did not exist, it was just a thought trapped in a dead-end maze.

And then, as if time shattered into a thousand pieces, the light began to wane.

Sound came first, like a diseased heartbeat.

A distant murmur, incessant, harsh. Hoarse voices, coughing engines, the metallic groan of worn-out vehicles, and the incessant hum of a weary city. Then came the stench: a thick mixture of stale dampness, old urine, and garbage fermenting under the sun.

Amber District reeked of abandonment.

His eyelids closed and opened in a slow blink, as if the world needed to recharge.

The city lights flickered below like an ocean of dead stars. And then he wanted to laugh at the cosmic joke. How many nights had he dreamed of flying? Now, on the crumbling ledge of a building groaning in the wind, he understood the fine print: flying was just falling with style.

The bottle of cheap rum in his left hand weighed more than his will.

—Shit…! —His words fell before he did.

Before his brain could process what was happening, his muscles had already responded for him. His right hand shot out towards the ledge like lightning, gripping desperately as his body hung over the precipice.

A dry snap ran through his shoulder as it dislocated, tearing a muffled scream from him. But he didn't let go. He couldn't.

Further down, the bottle he had been holding a second before spun around, until it impacted against the ground in a shower of bright fragments.

“Damn fool,” he shouted inside his head. “What were you trying to achieve? Die like an idiot?”

With a grunt of effort, he tried to pull himself up using his left arm, but his body barely contained any strength.

Desperate, he looked for a foothold for his feet against the facade, digging his soles into the bricks worn down by time. However, they gave way without resistance, as if they were mere layers of dust accumulated over decades.

—Stay still… —he begged the rubble, but it was already flying away like ashes from a funeral. Lost in the darkness of the street.

Suddenly, the piece of ledge his right hand was holding onto gave way with a dry crack, and his fingers closed in on empty air. Gravity dragged him down, stretching the muscles of his left arm like ropes about to snap.

His shoulder burned, sweat blurred his vision, and in his ears resonated the beating of his own heart, wild and accelerated.

—SERIOUSLY?! Not even one damn full day here, Ascendant sons of…?! —he roared at the sky, as if defying some mocking god.

Panic seized his mind like a runaway beast, but with a guttural scream that welled up from the depths of his being, he managed to silence it.

He ignored the pain that shot through his body, as if he were merely a spectator of his own agony. With his left arm, he clung on with desperate force, pulling his body upwards. His legs, trembling and on the verge of collapse, responded with difficulty, propelling him a few centimeters closer to the ledge. Finally, with a last effort that burned his muscles, he managed to hook a leg over the edge.

Crawling like a wounded animal, he managed to climb onto the roof, where he rolled onto the rough, cold surface.

Air entered his chest in irregular gasps.

His right arm, useless, hung like dead weight, while his left trembled uncontrollably. Cold sweat ran down his forehead, mixing with the dust and blood from his scraped chin.

He remained lying down, motionless, for what seemed like an eternity, feeling the world spin around him.

With a groan of pain, he forced himself to stand and his gaze was lost in the gray sky, where the heavy clouds seemed to reflect the weight of his own existence.

—Another sentence disguised as life… Another end to which I would be chained with no escape. But not this time. They can wait eternally, because my soul no longer belongs to them.

Then, he felt it.

The memories came to him, clear and precise. They were not scattered fragments or blurry dreams; they were his, as vivid as the countless lives he had already left behind.

Asteron Draven. That’s what they called him in this cycle, but his existence was always in doubt. He was born into wealth, but lived in exile within his own home. His hair and bearing were unmistakable, the spitting image of his father. But his eyes… those damn green eyes.

Rumors, like venomous snakes, pointed to him as a bastard, a mistake in the sacred lineage of the Dravens. His mother blamed him for ruining her reputation. His father, though silent, could never hide the doubt in his gaze.

DNA tests confirmed what no one wanted to accept: he was a Draven. But being one on paper did not restore his place in the family.

He was a ghost among his own.

Raised by strangers, ignored in the grand halls, hidden from the world. The Draven surname belonged to him, but only as a burden without honor or recognition.

He never had the love of his family, but he did have a goal: to forge an Ethereal Heart. His destiny depended on it. They provided him with tutors, knowledge, all the necessary means. However, no matter how hard he tried, he never managed to create it.

Year after year, his failure became a shadow impossible to ignore. And when he turned eighteen, the Dravens discarded him as a failed investment.

And so, his existence diluted. Invisible among the walls that saw him grow. Until one day, the silence became unbearable, and he left without looking back.

Amber District received him with its dirty streets and desperate people. There, among the marginalized, he found a place to hide, but also to sink. But even in that place, the weight of his failure crushed him. Every day was a struggle, every night a reminder that there was no escape.

And today, on his thirty-third birthday, he had made the most drastic decision of all: to end it all.

But the red door had other plans.

Asteron clenched his teeth, his fists closed as if trying to trap his own destiny. He raised his face towards Veltraven, a metropolis devoured by its own ambition, where magic and technology converged, and Ethereal Hearts dictated everyone's destiny.

No one knows exactly how or why, but centuries ago, the Portals burst into the world like cracks in the veil of reality, breaking the fragile balance of humanity. With them came the Breath of the World, an ancient energy that transformed everything. Humans, once limited by their mortality, discovered that they could attain powers that only existed in myths. Those with talent and unwavering will learned to weave Arcane into their souls, forging Ethereal Hearts that turned them into Arcane Adepts, beings capable of defying the laws of nature.

In this new world, families like the Dravens rose above the rest. Their power did not come from wealth, but from their Adepts and the will to use them to impose their dominion.

Asteron let out a choked laugh, a broken sound that faded into the night wind like a sigh of resignation.

—A powerful family, but a discarded son. In an era of magic, but deprived of its essence. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg of this miserable existence. —He chuckled, his gaze fixed on the city that gleamed before him—. Are you amused? Is it a spectacle worthy of you, watching me writhe in the mud? You have no idea what you have unleashed. If my past lives have taught me anything, it is that no matter how many times I fall… I always find a way to rise again. And when I do, there will be nowhere in the world where you can hide.

The night wind carried away his words, as if the city was trying to drown them out.

The pain in his arm distracted him for a moment, and he frowned, contemplating his next move.

—First things first, fix this.

With a trembling hand, he touched his dislocated shoulder, feeling the swelling and heat under his skin. He knew what was coming, and he couldn't afford to hesitate. He positioned himself next to the rusted door frame of the rooftop, and, with gritted teeth and a muffled groan, he lunged forward.

The sound of the joint snapping back into place was brief, but the pain shot through him like an electric shock, leaving him breathless.

For a moment, everything stopped. The world was reduced to that throbbing pain and the feeling of nausea rising in his throat. But then, slowly, his arm began to respond again.

—That’s better —he murmured, moving his arm cautiously—. This is something else.

With a last look at the city, he went into the building’s stairwell.

The handrail, covered in a crust of dust and rust, seemed to disintegrate to the touch. The walls, bare and corroded by humidity, showed layers of peeling paint that flaked off like dead skin. The air smelled of mold and stagnant time, as if the building had been sealed in a capsule of abandonment.

Twelve floors of decay. Twelve floors that seemed like a distorted reflection of his own life.

The elevator, a rusted relic, had been out of service for years. Maybe it never had worked.

Luckily, he lived on the fourth floor, so the descent was not long, but each step he took downwards echoed in the stairwell like a dull heartbeat.

—In all my lives I’ve had awareness from the beginning —he murmured to himself, frowning—. But this time… this time is different. It’s as if I’ve woken up from a dream. Is it the Red Door?

The question floated in the air, unanswered.

Upon reaching the seventh floor landing, a harsh voice, loaded with contempt, snatched him from his thoughts.

—Ah, the illustrious member of the Draven family! —said a man, with a tone that oozed sarcasm—. So in the end you didn’t dare, huh? Not surprised. You were always a coward.

Asteron looked at him with disdain. The man was in the doorway of 702, with a bottle in one hand and a mocking smile on the other. His appearance was as repulsive as his personality.

—It’s for the best —the man continued, taking a swig from the bottle—. The dead don’t pay debts, and you owe me two months’ rent. If you don’t give me my money soon, you’re going to find yourself sleeping on the street, among the garbage and the famished cats. Although, come to think of it, maybe that’s too good for someone like you.

Asteron recognized him at first glance: the building manager. A parasite in human form whose soul must have been as rotten as the apartments he rented out. He had turned other people's misery into his business. He charged exorbitant rents and his tactics were as repugnant as the agreements he forced the female tenants to sign.

Asteron observed him, and in his eyes shone a deep hatred.

—What the hell did you just say, you wretch? —he asked, with a calm that barely concealed the anger burning inside him.

The manager was speechless, clearly bewildered by the lack of usual submission in Asteron. His face flushed with anger, and he opened his mouth to unload his frustration with a string of insults. But a soft, trembling voice came from inside the apartment.

—Please, don't do this —whispered the woman, in a tone that mixed fear and desperation—. My husband is about to arrive. Don’t ruin everything… for wasting time.

The man fell silent, but his eyes glowed with fury. He looked at Asteron with contempt and spat:

—This isn’t over, you imbecile…

With a grunt, he went into the apartment and slammed the door with a bang that made the frame tremble.

Asteron clicked his tongue, unable to hide his disgust, and continued on his way. After going down several floors, he reached the fourth level and opened the door to apartment 406.

The place was modest, even run-down, with a hole in the wall that he had never bothered to repair. But, despite everything, it was his space.

It felt as if he had lived a thousand lives in one, each more exhausting than the last. Upon closing the door to his apartment, he slumped against it, as if the weight of all those lives crushed him.

He took a deep breath, but the air brought no relief. He needed something more. Something to shake him up, to get him out of that endless lethargy.

With slow steps, he dragged himself to the bathroom.

The cold shower was not a choice, but a constant reminder of his helplessness in this life. The boiler had been out of service for months, and the manager, an expert in the art of evasion, always had an excuse ready for not fixing it.

He undressed slowly, feeling the weight of exhaustion in every movement, and stepped into the freezing water.

The cold water fell on his skin like ice needles. It cut off his breath and bit his skin, digging down to his bones. He stood there, motionless, as the water punished him. He wanted to believe that it would help cleanse his mind, but thoughts were quick to creep in. They were like rats, crawling through the corners of his head, gnawing at everything in their path.

—Look at you —he murmured, with a smile that didn't reach his eyes, as the cold water reminded him of his defeat—. You didn’t even insist anymore to get it fixed.

He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the damp, moldy bathroom wall. As the icy drops slid down his skin like small reminders of everything he had allowed.

—Did you really believe that enduring in silence was the solution? —he whispered, his voice cracking—. Were you so afraid of losing what you barely had? Is that how you wanted to live? Crawling for crumbs?

The water continued its course, cold and indifferent, dragging with it any trace of warmth left in his body.

Asteron let out a dry laugh.

—It was only a matter of time before everything ended with the little will to live you had left.

When he finally turned off the tap, his skin was numb. He dressed in clean clothes, if those threadbare garments that had survived too many washes could be called "clean." The seams were worn, the colors faded, but it was all he had.

He collapsed onto the bed, feeling the worn-out mattress sag under his weight, as if it too were exhausted from the years.

He closed his eyes, but his mind gave him no respite.

—That Red Door... —he whispered, as memories of past lives sprang forth like water from a spring.

Forgotten faces, skills he had once mastered, loves and wars that no longer belonged to him.

—Why now? —he murmured, opening his eyes just enough to see the cracked ceiling—. There was never an opportunity without a price. What am I missing?

His thoughts were interrupted.

The neighbors had started their weekly ritual again: shouts, slams, and the occasional creative insult that managed to seep through the thin walls.

Asteron covered his eyes with his arm as if that could protect him from the domestic cacophony.

—Ah, yes, the soundtrack of my life —he murmured with sarcasm—. All that’s missing is for them to invite me to participate. But no, thank you. I prefer to save up to get out of this cheap play. Although, of course, first I need the money... and that seems harder than escaping this pigsty.

Then, something changed.

Suddenly, the shouts died down, as if someone had turned down the volume of the world. The oppressive humidity of the room disappeared. The mattress under his back lost its shape, as if it were melting, and was replaced by something firmer, more natural.

Something was not right.

He opened his eyes wide and sat up quickly, looking around in disbelief.

He was not in his room, nor in the apartment, nor even in the city.

He was under a sea of stars that shone with an intensity he had never seen in this life cycle, as if the sky itself had decided to come closer to earth to show him its splendor.

The grass under his feet was cool and soft, and the air smelled of damp earth and wildflowers. Around him, trees rose like ancient giants, with thick, gnarled trunks, their canopies so high they seemed to brush the stars.

The sound of a nearby stream mingled with the rustling of leaves and the distant songs of nocturnal creatures.

For the first time since he had recovered the memories of his past lives, something escaped his understanding.@@novelbin@@

—Where the hell am I…? —he murmured, and his voice was lost among the trees.— And how did I get here?