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"My name is Karl Jacobs…" a feeble voice rasped through the darkness, his form propped against dusty bookshelves.
When asked a year ago the worst way he could envision a timeline progressing, Karl wouldn't have hesitated to answer with grim conviction. With everyone dead, he'd say, that, or world-corrupting anomalies. He hated to imagine either, always swearing to never allow such events to come to fruition.
A man of his word, he held true to that promise. Nowadays, he almost wished he hadn't.
"My name is Karl Jacobs, and this is my library…"
Karl heaved himself to the side and stared at the spines of the books, having reread over his journalings many times throughout his imprisonment. Trapped within his own sanctuary, isolated inside the very walls that transported him through eras-- it would be poetic, had he not lost the ability to string together meaningful verses months ago. Those intricacies were too much for the deteriorated state of his mind, countless travels having taken their toll.
"I write down stories…" he raised a hand, thumbing the leather cover of a booklet with brows knitting together. "Stories of my travels. Though timelines, and realities, because they need to be remembered. And my memory, well…"
His memory couldn't be trusted, it was crumbling more and more by the day. Karl understood it was a problem before. At least, he'd been told as such. Told by the entries in the castle made of quartz, --those warned him of forgetting, he thought-- and by the only other source of human interaction he received in this timeline. Dream never failed to remind him how fast he was slipping, of how it was like watching the sand of time itself slip through Karl's fingers, no matter how desperately the man attempted to hold onto it. To Karl, that comparison somehow made too much sense. His experience felt more akin to scooping the sand into a pail, and observing as it somehow disappeared regardless. Illogical, confusing, and unfair.
"My memory is bad," he continued resolutely, "It's getting worse now, because of Dream. Because he's…"
A trembling breath, and Karl dropped his hand. Trying to recall information he shouldn't always made an ache throb through his skull, and when he refused to back down, refused to reside his grasp on the memory, the ache would sear white hot. He would fight the universe for the data it stole from him, trying to unscramble neurons and reform broken connections. Maybe the knowledge was never rightfully his to begin with, but that didn't mean he wanted to give it up any less.
Karl closed his eyes. "Because he's made me into a weapon. To-- to undo his mistakes, to make his future…"
The words tasted like poison, bitter on his tongue. Admitting them aloud was admitting defeat, but keeping them inertial further heightened his risk of forgetting, and that scared him even more. He'd already forgotten how it started, how he wound up locked inside his library originally. Though he couldn't imagine it was a pleasant memory, so maybe it was one better left behind.
He couldn't ignore how he'd become the enemy's leverage, however. Now matter how much he wanted to pretend it was all part of a terrible nightmare, or a cautionary tale to be heeded from another version of himself. Dream had Karl under his control, for he'd done what even the brunet couldn't do himself. He'd managed to direct and harness his interdimensional abilities, forcing Karl to activate them whenever he deemed necessary. His only respites were the occasional breaches of power that still stuck at random, sending him centuries away only to return to the same place hours later. They were a breath of fresh air, but also taunting, showing him a freedom he otherwise lacked.
"But I have to be tough. I have to try, I have to keep remembering. So I can get out, back to… to the others…"
He shook his head, the term too general to him to accept.
"Back to my friends," he tried instead, "and-- and my fiancés!"
Tears welled, stinging behind his eyes, their relationship's momentary ebb in his mind being enough to make his heart break all over again. Their features were already blurry as is, Karl finding himself met with distorted versions of his partners the more he tried to look back. The faces he saw in his travels would meld together with present day's, and he was not allowed to see his loved ones in person. He wasn't even sure if they were both alive.
He knew Dream had a long history with--
The name was in his mind, but did not sound. It was as if glossing over a term one did not recognize in a stream of text, skipping strangely despite the acknowledgement of its presence.
Karl could barely force himself through the thought without crying harder.
Dream had a long history with ᓭᔑ!¡リᔑ!¡, and because of this, Karl knew his partner --while unlikely safe-- was certainly living. Dream bragged of how he kept the man around, and even with all his lies, Karl could sense it was the truth. He also knew their captor wouldn't kill either of them, at least not permanently, even if he did hold ᓭᔑ!¡リᔑ!¡'s presence over Karl's head. Using him as an ultimatum, explaining just what he'd do to the ravnet if the traveler didn't comply. It always made him cave.
ᑑ⚍ᔑᓵꖌ╎ℸ ̣ ||, on the other hand, never had a connection to Dream before the wars, and the two only evolved to despise one another during them. Dream went back and forth between proclaiming the man was suffering under his reign, or simply dead, depending on Karl's behaviour. Fact or fiction, even on days he remembered what was said prior, and even on days like today where Karl couldn't remember his fiancés' names, the news of his death would shatter him without fail.
He was weak for them, but he was strong for them, too. He survived, and he endured this hell for them.
"I will get back to my fiancés, and I will remember their names…"
Karl wiped hard at his eyes, salty tears further discolouring his kaleidoscopic hoodie.
"I will remember all of their names…"
His words, then, were firm.
For the boy with blond hair who had been locked away in a massive prison, far worse than his own.
For the teenager with horns upon his head, who'd been publicly executed on stage.
For the kid whose appearance was divided as himself, brainwashed into aiding the enemy.
For the figurehead of a ruler, who wanted nothing but the best for their people, but was instead donned with a crown of thorns.
For all of those who tried to oppose, and instead faced the wrath of time itself.
And for all the others who fell in line under Dream's tyranny. The thousands he never met, or has failed to recall; living a fate that now, Karl may admit was worse than death.
Outside of the faux door, footsteps padded down the hall, echoing towards his location with harsh familiarity. The brunet pushed himself to sit upright, drawing in a shuddering breath.
"My name is Karl Jacobs…" he reminded, in preparation for what was to come. "Don't forget who you are."