I spend the whole day pretending nothing happened.
Remote work turns into a string of automatic replies. "Yes, I already checked." "No, it's not on your end." "I'll escalate this to level 2." My boss sends a voice note complaining about the delay and I just answer with a thumbs-up emoji.
I don't even listen.
My head won't stop.
Every ten minutes the thought comes back. The cursor answering by itself. Words appearing before I finished typing. The quiet voice calling "brother?" The smell that had no business being there.
At 11 p.m. I give up.
I sit in front of the laptop. Lights off. Just the screen glowing, reflecting across the room.
The document opens on its own.
I don't even click.
"Alright," I mutter. "Let's play for real this time."
I type slowly, measuring every word:
Eli Voss, 16 years old, woke up in the Voss family mansion feeling like something was off. He tried to refuse going to the Imperial Academy, but the words didn't come out the way he wanted.
The cursor blinks.
Fast.
And the text adjusts.
Eli Voss, 16 years old, woke up in the Voss family mansion feeling like something was off. He tried to refuse going to the Imperial Academy… but his body wouldn't obey. The personality he himself had written was already rooted too deep. The sarcasm slipped out before he could hold it back.
I don't remember writing that.
Not like this.
I try to delete it.
Nothing.
I rewrite over it:
He managed to refuse.
The text answers before I finish:
He tried to change his fate… but some lines were already written.
I let out a short breath, almost laughing through my nose.
"Okay… so it's not just about what I write."
I lean closer.
Now it's a real test.
I type:
Eli Voss's resonance was something simple. Something controllable. Nothing that would draw attention.
The sentence doesn't end.
The text corrects it:
Eli Voss's resonance was something simple… until it wasn't anymore. Strong enough to cross something that shouldn't be crossed. Strong enough to remember what had been left behind.
My chest tightens.
A warm, firm pressure, like a hand settling on my shoulder.
I close my eyes.
And this time it doesn't fade quickly.
The space shifts.
A wide corridor. Dark floor with golden veins reflecting light that comes from nowhere. Tall windows filtering a strange sky — too deep to be night, too bright to be day.
Footsteps.
Light. Quick.
A girl runs toward me, messy light hair, a smile too big for her face.
"Eli! Dad said if you don't train today—"
The voice hits me before it finishes.
I feel the body—not this one—react.
Weight on my shoulders. Light fabric. A different posture.
I open my eyes.
Room.
Cold coffee.
Breathing fast.
But something didn't come back.
The name.
Lira.
I didn't write it.
I didn't need to.
It was already there.
I swallow hard and go back to the keyboard.
I type:
Eli Voss didn't want to go to the Academy. He was going to stay in the mansion, with his sister, living that comfortable life.
The cursor answers almost instantly.
Eli Voss didn't want to go… but he would. Because refusing was no longer a choice.
I stop at the word.
Choice.
I take a deep breath.
I try to push another version:
He would stay.
The text doesn't accept it.
The line rearranges itself.
He thought about staying. But thinking wasn't enough.
I just stare.
Silence.
The cursor blinks.
Patient.
I could stop.
Close everything. Pretend this is still just a weird document.
Go back to what makes sense.
My hand doesn't move.
I save the file.
Slowly.
No rush.
"Right…" I say quietly.
It's not a challenge.
It's not doubt, either.
It's… adjustment.
"So that's how it works."
I lean back in the chair, still looking at the screen.
"You push… I pull."
The cursor keeps blinking.
It doesn't answer.
But it doesn't back down, either.