Scaramouche had always felt out of place, as if he wouldn’t belong to this world. In his dreams, he would often see glimpses of a past life—a time of swords, battlefields, and endless skies. The flashes were vivid, but fragmented, showing him moments of pain and conflict that ultimately always ended with his death. He often jolts awake from his nightmares with a bitter taste of blood.. it was all so strange.

One peaceful day, he was sitting on his favorite bench in the park, enjoying the fresh air as he closed his eyes for a moment. However the atmosphere shifted slightly and he suddenly felt a lot colder. The wind whispered ancient words and the sound of clashing metal seemed to echo in his mind. He couldn’t shake the sense that someone was missing in his life, someone he had fought alongside in a time long forgotten.

Scaramouche felt as if he was slowly going insane over time. He would often find himself staring at the ceiling, questioning his sanity and wondering if he was losing grip on reality. His nightmares worsened, dragging him into vivid scenes of bloodshed every night. He hadn’t had a peaceful moment for months, and the world around him seemed less real with each passing day.

The memories of a life he shouldn’t remember were growing stronger, consuming his waking thoughts. Desperate for answers, he decided to investigate—surely there had to be some explanation for what he was experiencing. The library seemed like a good place to start, where old books might hold the secrets to his fractured memories.

It was lunch time and Scaramouche decided to waste his time in the library. His gaze scanned all the different books and their Titels until he suddenly stopped at one. 'The forgotten chronicles of divine war…'

He reached out to take it but before his fingers could grasp it, someone else’s hand appeared at the same time. Scaramouche paused, lowering his arm to his side, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at the person beside him. Something about them seemed familiar, too familiar…