The book was heavy in Subin's hands.

  Smooth leather worn down from years of use made the cover, and the spine had a few cracks in it.

  It was exactly as he remembered from his dream, down to the hurried writing.

  Well, admittedly he's assuming that part, he couldn't read what the man had written in the dream.

  But the writing showed the same rushed feeling to it, and it was directed at whoever was going to read it after dream-him.

  Which ended up being real-him.

  Why him though? Subin hadn't been extraordinary. He hadn't even been that good at what he did.

  Not that he wasn't good, he just wasn't good. Many of his coworkers knew so much more than he did about medicine and chemistry, and were, well, impressive.

  The only thing he felt he did better than most people was his baking. And that was because it was special to him.

  Now he's here, in this stupid room holding this stupid book chemistry,

  He's scared of opening it?

  If dream-him was actually writing to him, and he's now in dream-him's world like some bad reincarnation anime?

  That - Subin couldn't really deny it actually.

  If he was even remotely right, then what about the other dream-hims? There were so many of them, but the people he vaguely remembered around them seemed the same.

  And… in most of those dreams they died fighting.

  Flashes of the fights run through his mind, the clashing of swords against each other or claws, the smack of fists hitting flesh, the whispers or yells of spells being cast.

  There was always a desperation there, lurking behind every action. A desperate silent plea that changed slightly every time but still lingered.

  Sometimes it was purely just to live and sometimes to keep someone else safe.

  Sometimes it was something unreadable, fueled by what he could only describe as pure rage.

  That person scared him, and the concept that he might be connected to them only made it worse.

  He didn't want to be involved with someone who was capable of anger like that.

  Someone who had to have done something that was worth someone fighting him to the death over and over.

  He didn't want to do this. Hell, even being curled up in the bed with the stupid magic stairs felt better than the thought of delving deeper into whatever this was..

  Maybe he can do this halfway actually. The bed doesn't sound that bad, he can just.. bring the book with him.

  Read it in the one place in the room that doesn't remind him of what dying probably feels like.

  Subin pulls the book to his chest, and turns towards the stairs.

  Going back up them would probably be fine. They acted like normal stairs when he went down so… they probably won't decide to stop floating?

  He pauses for a moment, foot half off the raised platform of the study, and he glances back at the desk.

  Beside the space where the book was sits a quill and inkwell.

  He should grab that. The other books in the room all had titles from what subin had seen. This might be the only notebook in this room.

  If Subin wanted to keep his thoughts organized, then writing them down would be best. And he's used a quill before once when Josh with that weird historical org of his convinced him to try. It wasn't that hard.

  He grabs the quill and ink, then heads back upstairs.

  Thankfully, the stairs don't attempt to dump him down them and he makes it to the bed.

  Sighing, he throws the book - gently, the thing looked ancient - onto the corner of the bed and he puts the ink and quill on the bedside table.

  The bounce as the book lands is the only movement for a second before the blanket is ripped from the bed. Subin wraps it around himself, burrowing into the small feeling of normality that the object radiates.

  Once he's comfortable and suitably bundled, he glances back at the book picking it up.

  Delaying any longer is just going to make this a hundred times worse for himself, so before he can try and talk himself out of it he flips the cover back open.

  He's greeted once more by the rushed handwriting, and the frankly strange first sentence.

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  ‘Hello Reader, as I shall call you. I am sorry for what I have put you through.

  I know not what name you have gone by for the past few years, or what you look like now, so forgive me as well for the strange moniker.

  I do not have much time to record everything that is necessary, so forgive the rushed nature of this I beg you, Reader.’

  Subin frowns at this, rolling his eyes. For someone who is supposedly in a rush they're spending a lot of time asking for forgiveness.

  ‘This journal is a collection of everything that I we? You? should be the most important items for you to know.’

  A tightness starts to form in Subin's chest as his eyes linger on the crossed out section, one that only gets worse as he continues.

  ‘You shouldn't remember any of this Reader, not if the spell worked properly. But you should pretend you do.

  No - it is imperative you pretend you do.

  Only Merren knows what I have chosen to do and I know not how the others will react.’

  Subin couldn't breathe as he read the next line, anxiety squeezing his chest until it felt like a band had been wrapped around his heart.

  ‘You must act like the Demon King, and you remember everything.’

  This can't be happening. This is some stupid book and show trope that happens to fictional characters. He worked for a healthcare firm before this damn it!

  That’s like arguably one of the least fantastical jobs out there! You work with all sorts of nasty things!

  The page under his hand wrinkles from his grip and Subin panics, letting go before he can rip it.

  Could any of this still be some sort of sick joke?

  He doesn't really think so, not with all of the weird things that have happened.

  And if it isn't, then this book at least claims to be the only thing that he can use to help him right now.

  Gently this time, he lifts the page again, flipping it and continuing reading.

  ‘Reader, I know you may not trust me. At least I would not trust me in this situation and you are’

  The next part is scribbled out, causing another frown from Subin.

  ‘That is fine. If you don't, there is a list of things I will add to this after I explain more, follow it and if nothing happens then you can discard this journal and do whatever you like.

  ‘Admittedly I know that won't happen, but many people trust only facts they can see, not words they can read.’

  Great, Subin thinks, the person who wrote this might be insane, and is also pretentious as hell.

  ‘You have some freedom in how you act for the first month, I have always been disoriented until around then when I return. Those around you will write off any strangeness as that.

  ‘Especially Harker, Gods bless that man, he will explain away any odd behaviour from you.

  ‘Reader you can trust him, just -’

  The journal has a clear pause here, and Subin recognizes the blob of ink left at the end of the word easily. It happens when you leave a fountain pen sitting on a page for too long, all the ink pools out and smudges.

  ‘- do not tell him you do not know him at all. Pretend you recognize him at least slightly.

  ‘I worry the truth would hurt him more than any lie.’

  Then man who had helped Subin before appears in his mind. He wasn't able to get much of a read off of him before other than that he seemed kind.

  And whoever wrote this seemed to agree as well, but the way they said it was…

  Well frankly it sounded like when someone makes a decision for someone else and justifies it without their input.

  Maybe they have good intentions but isn't that up to the other person to decide?

  Whatever, he shakes his head slightly and continues reading.

  ‘As it is, I do not wish to tell you the truth even though you deserve to know more than anyone.’

  The next few lines are crossed out so much that the only things subin can make out are the occasional first word of each attempted sentence, then it continues.

  ‘There is no easy way to say this. Your life before this was both yours and not.’

  What? What does that mean? Subin chews at the inside of his lip, the action pulling his mouth into a half frown.

  ‘I do not know fully the reason behind this, if it was supposed to be someone else's before yours or not, but it- you- we? You filled in an empty place from my understanding.’

  ‘Your experiences are still yours, you still lived that life, but it was not in your world, despite it being the only one you have known.’

  ‘Because your world is this one.’

  The urge to throw the journal rises up in Subin. This is so stupid.

  Why is he even entertaining any of this? It's obviously just a stupid-just- its something alright?

  Who would believe any of this happening?

  He wishes he could just talk to someone about all of this, but the only person he’s seen at all so far has been Harker, and who knows where he is right now?

  Its - this is stupid.

  But what else does he have to go off of right now?

  He could say that the journal is insane and doesn’t make any sense whatsoever. Throw it away, walk out the door and go see where the hell he is.

  But then there's the offhand that the journal is right. And that outside the door is whatever world this ‘Demon King’ lives in.

  And Subin... doesn't want to take that risk.

  So he keeps reading.

  ‘You- Reader, you come from this world. You are cursed. And have been for countless years.’

  ‘When you die, you do not have the privilege of being able to see whatever the Gods may have for us.’

  ‘Instead your soul is sent temporarily to another world.

  ‘One where you can live out a completely different life, and be someone else.’

  ‘Normally you would remember this, you would remember everything, but I-’

  There's another ink blot here, the hesitation from the writer seeping into subin as well. He stares at it for what feels like eternity before he finally moves to the next line.

  ‘I chose to erase those memories from you. To make you forget Reader.’

  ‘I am sorry. I am so sorry, Reader.

  ‘I know I have erased who you were before with this decision. And have stolen that life from you, but I had to.’

  Subin's grip on the book cover feels like his only lifeline at the moment, worry pulling him into a hunched posture.

  ‘I couldn't do it anymore.

  ‘You are my clean slate, Reader.

  ‘My new beginning.

  ‘When this cycle ends and I die again I will not be the one reading this journal.’

  ‘I asked Merren to erase my memories. To place a spell on me to modify this curse once, and when I move worlds erase everything.’

  ‘So you can live a life without years of betrayal and fruitless fighting weighing your conscience down.’

  ‘So that I can be the leader my people deserve through you, even if the cost is erasing myself.’

  ‘Please, be a better king than I have Reader.’