Chapter Text
1.
When Klein transmigrated to this world, he didn’t know what to expect.
Waking up in someone else’s body was shocking enough. He watched his fatal head wound heal without intervention, the flesh squirming in the low light to cover the exposed brain. And then he had to clean up his own blood and brain matter all the while suffering from a horrifying headache.
The scent of blood made his stomach turn, but his determination to clean the room kept him focused.
Altogether, it made for a poor first impression of this world, and founded his suspicions.
Was this the setup for a Victorian-era horror story?
He choked down a few slices of dry bread and flavourless hot water after Melissa left for school.
It was all they could afford. Benson had a decent, stable job, compared to many of the poorer people living on Iron Cross Street, but even then it was difficult for their family of three to get by. They struggled.
He recalled Klein was supposed to have a job interview at Tingen University’s History department soon. He would have to prepare for that while he lived as Klein. What a pain.
The afternoon flew by in a flash. Within a few hours, he learned of the supernatural aspects of this world and learned more than most people would in a lifetime.
A fellow transmigrator who had left an enormous legacy behind.
A tarot reading disguised as a comedy show. Or maybe it was the other way around.
Access to a mysterious realm of probably a divine being, with the help of the simple ritual he had used on earth before transmigrating.
And as a staggering finisher, the discovery that there was such a thing as Beyonders.
Beyonders.
Humans with extraordinary abilities. All that was needed to become one was a specific potion, which determined your powers.
A Victorian-era horror fantasy story, then?
He barely had time to recover from all the information.
A visit from four inspectors confirmed Klein’s growing suspicion that the original Klein had become caught up in a mysterious accident. It could explain his memory loss and his suicide—Klein’s jumbled memories provided no clues that this had been on his mind before.
The two higher-ranked inspectors didn’t provide much input on the events. Instead, they calmly accepted his amnesia.
Did they know something he didn’t?
Why wouldn’t they share it with him?
Perhaps his situation was not as unique as he had initially believed.
He filled the day with mundane activities to convince anyone observing him that nothing was wrong. After eating a good meal of lamb stew, both he and Melissa spent the evening studying.
His seat was hard and slightly uncomfortable. The gas light was bright enough that he didn’t have to squint at the pages, but the writing of the book was small and failed to grab his attention.
Thoughts about the supernatural repeatedly surfaced in his thoughts, distracting him from his texts. ‘Are these strange things real?’ What things had Klein seen? What had driven him to suicide? He struggled to focus: he still had to prepare for the interview at Tingen University. He could not allow himself to get distracted. Their family needed the extra income.
He was distracted until he got ready for bed later that day, and found a word on his skin.
‘Polite,’ was written in a slanted scrawl across the underside of his left forearm.
What.
A blur of previously-forgotten memories bubbled to the forefront of his mind: in this world, soulmates existed. An unsettling phenomenon where your soulmate’s thoughts and views about you were written on your body, in their handwriting.
Klein inspected the handwriting in the poor lighting and rubbed at the word with his finger, frowning. The letters didn’t smudge and the skin felt no different than usual.
The handwriting was a traditional form of calligraphy, often taught to children who received more regular schooling, like nobles. The ‘P’ was large and written with a flourish, followed by smaller text with ample space between the letters. The handwriting was slanted. Overall the text felt messy, but still readable.
Both the handwriting and the choice of words, ‘Polite,’ implied that this person was educated, not someone from the poorer areas at the end of Iron Cross Street.
Klein reconsidered the genre while he smoothed his hand over his arm.
This must be a romance story after all.
It may also be a dark comedy. He smiled grimly, remembering the blood and the tarot reading.
He undressed further, searching for more words. He found one more:
Poor.
It was drawn in the same scrawl, following the curve of his ribs.
His lips twitched. How rude.
But considering his current living situation and how his family only barely got by on Benson’s salary, he supposed this was a fair assessment of his financial situation. Even so, a flicker of annoyance burned within him. These words would stay on his skin forever, branding him with this moment of time in his life.
Had the original Klein met his soulmate before today?
Klein’s fragmented memories of this were vague, but it was certainly possible. The past month he had been focused on studying and graduating, and after that he had spent all his time fretting about his interview, studying, and translating that Fourth Epoch notebook with Welch and Naya. He couldn’t remember meeting up with his soulmate during this time.
Would this soulmate bond be his, or the original Klein’s?
He frowned again. He didn’t know enough about soulmates or the occult to make a proper deduction.
Since there were only two words, it was very likely that he or the original Klein hadn’t interacted much with their soulmate. After first impressions were made, more words should have gradually filled up his skin as he and his soulmate got to know each other more deeply.
He traced the word ‘Poor’ on his ribs, inspecting the stark contrast of the dark word on his light skin.
With a sigh, he grabbed his shirt where it was resting on the sink, and put it on again, hiding all evidence from sight.
For now, this was simply a complication.
The most important thing was to get back home: seeing his family and friends again, sharing good food together.
Creating a relationship with a soulmate he would leave soon seemed cruel. It would be better to simply ignore the soulmark and focus on himself.
---
The next morning, Klein’s head was spinning with information and impressions.
Officer Dunn had woken him during the night and brought him to meet with the spirit medium ma’am Daly. Afterwards, he had offered Klein a position amongst the Nighthawks’ civilian staff.
The offer pushed him into action and focus in the early hours of the morning.
He sat at the table, tapping the wood with his pen, and considered the pros and cons for the better part of an hour.
Eventually, he concluded that the financial stability and access to mysticism knowledge outweighed any dangers the job might offer.
He made his way towards The Hound Pub and then to Blackthorn Security Company to inform the captain of his choice.
Led into Blackthorn Security Company by Rozanne, he glanced at the open offices along the corridor. The sound of a typewriter came from one of the half-closed doors and the smell of paper permeated the air.
The green-eyed officer he met yesterday was sitting in one of the open offices, seemingly working on a report.
He was wearing a casual shirt, top buttons unbuttoned and his hair was messy. It was clear he had dragged his hands repeatedly through the long strands. It was a surprising contrast with the neater uniform the man had been wearing yesterday, but it suited him.
Their eyes locked.
Neither said a word, but Klein could feel this man’s gaze burn into his face, inspecting him. His eyes were deep and green.
He wasn’t this intense yesterday, was he?
Puzzled, Klein gave the man a polite smile and continued walking, following Rozanne deeper into the company towards Captain Dunn.
Once with Captain Dunn, he carefully reviewed each clause before signing his employment contract. Aimed at civilian staff, the contract focused on secrecy and the added risks even civilian staff could experience. Since he had decided on becoming a Beyonder as soon as possible, the added risks were to be expected, acceptable even.
He also got a more detailed description of his tasks as a professional among the civilian staff and a further explanation regarding Beyonders. He received his advance payment from Mrs. Orianna and his revolver holder and bullets from Old Neil.
He could return home in the late afternoon.
He paused in the doorway to the reception area.
He had forgotten to ask Old Neil about the available pathways.
Sighing, he turned back around and made his way back into the deeper recesses of the building and turned a corner.
His new colleague, the poet, stood in the half-light and leaned against the wall, eyes unfocused.
“Good afternoon,” Klein offered a polite greeting.
The man straightened, eyes sharpening with recognition.
“Captain Dunn mentioned you might join us,” he cocked his head, sizing Klein up. His voice was low and even. “I suppose that makes us colleagues.”
Klein nodded and extended his hand. “Klein Moretti. Civilian staff, for now”
“Leonard Mitchell, Sequence 8 Midnight Poet.”
Leonard’s handshake was firm and lingered a second too long. His eyes once again scanned Klein’s face with a surprising intensity, his curiosity obvious.
“I’m glad you decided to join.”
Klein smiled. “Is it that unexpected?”
“Not at all. You seem… special.”
Klein’s smile became strained. Special could mean far too many things.
“I’m hardly that. I just want to help my family get by. It would be unwise to refuse a stable position like this, despite… recent events. I imagine most would do the same.”
“You’re still alive despite the notebook. That’s special enough, to me.” He stepped closer and his green eyes were deep and serious as they stared at Klein.
Klein fought his instinct to back away as his personal space was invaded.
The intensity and admiration in Leonard’s tone were at odds with their unfamiliarity with each other. They were basically strangers. No, worse, they should be developing a professional work relationship. These words and his demeanor… felt a little too personal.
Leonard seemed oblivious to his thoughts. “Well I should be on my way. I’ll find you later, we can talk some more.” A polite smile pulled at his mouth.
Klein inclined his head. “Of course.”
He stared at the man’s back as he walked away.
Was he always like this? Poets were generally allowed to be more eccentric in social interactions. Intensity and eccentricity were almost expected of them.
He sighed before turning to leave. He would find out soon enough if Leonard’s behaviour was odd. For now he’d rather focus his attention on getting more comfortable with his new position as a civilian staff member.
---
At night, Klein found another word scrawled on his skin, this time on his upper leg. ‘Formal,’ it read.
Klein stared at it with an unhappy frown.
Many people called soulmarks romantic, but he mostly felt it was intrusive. Perhaps tomorrow he’d wake up with ‘confused’ written across his face. Why should another person be able to mark him so visibly with their opinions of him?
Besides, people were capable of change, not just their personality but also their circumstances. ‘Poor’ felt like a disrespectful dig at his current circumstances, but those circumstances could change any moment, with one lucky job offer. Yet the soulmark would remain on his skin forever.
Formal.
The word itself wasn’t too bad. After his transmigration he had picked up some of the original Klein’s behaviours and values, and ‘Formal’ certainly fit his personality.
He could have received worse words.
But even so, its sudden appearance was—unsettling.
The word implied that his soulmate had interacted with him today. If they hadn’t spoken, then at least he had seen Klein.
Besides Miss Rozanne and Mrs. Orianna, he hadn’t spoken to any women today. But he hadn’t met either of them before today, so they couldn’t be his soulmate: he already had some words written on his skin last night.
He had talked to some people on the way to Blackthorn Security Company while on the carriage and in the pub, but none of them were familiar.
Then besides the ladies, at Blackthorn he had also talked to Captain Dunn, Leonard, and Old Neil.
He was quite sure he had only ever been attracted to women though.
Was it possible his soulmate could be a man? Perhaps there had been some mistake. The transmigration could have affected the soulmate bond the original Klein had.
At least the Church of the Evernight Goddess was neutral towards same-sex relationships, not outright rejecting it but not promoting it either like it did with equality between men and women.
He grimaced and covered up the new word, choosing to ignore their presence and what it might imply. He should focus on his new work and making his way back home.
He got dressed and brushed his teeth. As he was lying in bed, he pondered the genre assumptions he had made soon after his transmigration.
Not just Beyonders but also soulmates. Klein could only hope the narrative wasn’t a drama.
-tbc-