I forgot Seraphina's name today.
Which might not sound like the worst thing that's ever happened, except I was looking directly at her, mid-conversation, while she was handing me a sacred relic of the Dawn God and saying something very serious about "inter-planar soul entanglement."
And I said:
"Thanks, um... Sparkles?"
SPARKLES.
Not even close, past-me. Not even adjacent.
She blinked.
I blinked.
Spoon audibly facepalmed. That's right—he doesn't have hands. He somehow still managed it.
"Kael," Seraphina said slowly, like she was trying not to cry or curse or smite me, "are you feeling… alright?"
Oh, Seraphina. Sweet, shining, emotionally stable foil to my unraveling nonsense. I wanted to say yes. But my brain had just rebooted in the background with the Windows 98 startup sound, and a floating prompt now read:
[System Alert: Memory Loop Unstable. Please Insert Soul Recovery Disc.]
Which would be fine if I HAD ONE.
So instead, I said:
"Did you know spoons were originally sacred moon artifacts used to stir the tides of fate?"
And then I walked away.
Let's rewind. Sort of. Try not to get dizzy.
This all started around breakfast, which—ironically—is when I forgot what toast was.
TOAST.
I stared at the plate like it was an eldritch horror. A warm, buttered rectangle of existential confusion.
"Spoon?" I whispered. "Why is the bread... burnt and sliced?"
"That's toast. You invented a haiku about it last week. You called it 'Bread's Fiery Afterlife.' Are you having a stroke?"
"Emotionally? Always."
I'd laughed it off at the time.
But then came Sparklesgate. And the hallway spiral. And the walls shifting like I was in a badly optimized indie horror game. And then, of course, the mask started whispering again.
In Belladonna's voice.
Which. Not ideal.
Let's pause here. Because if you're one of those readers who's like "Wait, what's the Mask of Echo again? I was too distracted by Kael's flawless sarcasm and emotional avoidance mechanisms,"—first of all, thank you. Second of all, let's recap:
The Mask of Echo is a semi-sentient artifact that bonded with me after I accidentally won the Echo Trials by being emotionally constipated, cosmically stubborn, and vaguely hot. It's also possibly feeding off my memories now, which is great, because I barely had enough to begin with.
Anyway.
Today, the mask said:
"Glory is a spiral. You are the noise in its center."
I said:
"Cool. Do spirals cover tuition?"
It didn't answer.
By lunch, I was glitching in and out of conversations like someone accidentally pressed CTRL+Z on my personality.
"Hey Kael—did you study for th—"
"Horses are just medieval motorcycles, Tessa, don't lie to me."
"...What?"
"WHO IS TESSA."
Spoiler: it wasn't Tessa. It was Aureline. My (possible) fiancée. Who now thinks I have a horse fixation and an identity crisis, which—okay, fair.
So I did what any reasonable protagonist would do when they realize their brain is rebooting like a corrupt save file:
I climbed the library tower. Alone. Dramatically. At sunset.
Naturally.
"This is fine," I told myself, staring at the skyline as if answers would rise out of it like plot convenience.
"This is fine," I repeated, as the wind whispered names I didn't remember knowing. As memories flickered past my eyes like someone left the dream projector on shuffle.
I saw my mother's face.
Except she wasn't my mother. She was Belladonna's.
Then I was in a castle.
Then I was on Earth again.
Then I was—
"Stop."
I blinked.
Spoon hovered inches from my face, looking unusually serious for a cutlery-based entity.
"Kid," he said, "you're unraveling like a sweater made of wet string."
"Is that a technical diagnosis?"
"It's a spoon diagnosis. Which is legally binding under Echo Rule 19b."
"What happened to Rules 1–18?"
"Most of them are about proper cleaning."
Then he did it.
He smacked me.
Flat-side. Across the cheek. Not hard. Not soft. Just… Enough.
"You needed that."
"I also need therapy, sleep, and to not be haunted by my own lore, but sure, start with that."
Enter: Belladonna.
Because of course the moment my internal stability hits a critical failure threshold, she appears—cloak billowing, eyes glowing faintly with worry, and holding a tome made of soulbound parchment and excessive dramatic tension.
"Kael," she said gently, "you're fading."
"No, I'm being stylishly unstable. There's a difference."
She stepped closer.
"You're looping. Echo residue is catching in your core. It's pulling fragments from every timeline the Mask touches."
"So I'm what, the world's saddest mixtape?"
She didn't laugh.
Instead, she held out a hand.
Not to attack. Not to cast. But… to offer.
"There's a stabilization spell," she said. "I can give you one anchor. One true memory. But it has to be mine."
"Why not yours plural?"
"Because if I give you too much of me, you won't be you anymore."
Oh. Great. Now we're doing emotional intimacy. I wasn't mentally prepared for feelings today.
Inner Me: "Panic. Run. Deflect with humor."
Me Out Loud: "Will it make me see you in a wedding dress again?"
"Kael."
"Fine."
The moment her fingers touched my temple, I fell.
Not physically. Not fully psychically. Just deep enough to drown in someone else's past.
And suddenly I was a girl in a golden palace. Sitting on a throne I didn't want. Wearing a crown that weighed like guilt.
I saw her parents.
Distant. Demanding. Worshipping her title, not her.
I saw her sneaking into the woods alone. Sword in hand. Mask half-finished. Teeth gritted.
"If I can't be free, at least I'll be feared."
And I understood her.
Not just the persona. Not just the politics.
But her.
Belladonna.
The scared kid pretending she was born to rule.
When I came back, I was crying.
I hate crying.
My nose gets red. My sarcasm short-circuits. I start sounding like someone in a sad indie song.
"Well?" she asked quietly.
"You have way too much princess trauma," I said. "You need monarchy-funded therapy. Possibly a pet ferret."
She blinked.
Then laughed.
Real. Loud. Sharp and broken and healing.
And in that moment, I think something clicked.
Something broke.
And maybe something else—something important—finally started to heal.
Next Time on Kaelverse:
Kael gets crowned. Again. Against his will. Professors riot. Students cheer. Spoon updates his LinkedIn to "Advisor to Royal Glitch." And Kael? He just wants a nap.
Up next: Chapter 63 – "Sovereign of Nothing."
Because apparently if you're popular and unstable, the System just makes you royalty.