Recollection

Thanatos found himself in a secluded corner of the school grounds, nestled behind the main building.

The afternoon sun cast its gentle rays over the grassy expanse, and the young writer felt a sense of privacy and intimacy wash over him.

He was not alone, however, a girl from his class had joined him.

The girl stood across from him, her gaze fixed on him with a scowl.

Her hands were on her hips, her posture rigid and expectant, as if she was waiting for him to say something—anything—that would break the tense silence that had settled over them.

He stood before the girl, his heart pounding as he struggled to get the words out.

"I… I think you're really cool." His voice wavered as he struggled to maintain his composure.

The popular girl's eyes danced with amusement, her laughter bubbling up to the surface.

"Oh please. You think I'm gonna fall for that? You're not my type, like, at all." She brushed past him, her head held high, and made her exit. "Stay in your lane, loser."

'This was how things always were. People always laughed at me, made fun of me, and for no real reason,' he thought to himself. 'It was just a way for them to express their dominance and hide their insecurities. It had nothing to do with who I was or what I did. This was just how the world worked.

He continued to ponder, 'But the world inside my novels was vastly different. There, I was a god.

Readers respected me, paid to read my work, eager for a glimpse into the very mind that my peers and others laughed at.

It was ironic that in the real world, I was a nobody, but in the world of my novels, I was a legend.'

Thanatos wondered if, perhaps, it was this contrast between his two worlds that led him to be so captivated by the idea of becoming an isekai protagonist himself.

Thanatos' life outside of his novels was a world apart from his novels themselves.

His siblings were successful, a doctor and a lawyer, and his parents were proud of them.

He, on the other hand, was an outcast, a nobody to his parents, who often ignored him.

Without friends, without any earthly connections, he found solace in the fictional worlds he created, where he was not only respected but revered.

And so he poured his heart and soul into his writing, creating a reality he could be proud of.

Thanatos considered the irony of his situation. 'Why would I even want to go back?' he thought bitterly.

'Even in the world of writers, I'm an outcast. A nobody, mocked by my peers. But in my novels, I'm a god. Why would I want to return to a world where I am nothing?'

He looked around at the world he'd created, a world that was now his to explore.

For the first time in a long while, he felt at home, surrounded by the magic and wonder of his own imagination.

He contemplated his newfound home in this fantastical world, and he realized that there was one thread, one connection that still anchored him to his past life. His readers. His fans. His community.

'I used to chat with them, engage with them,' he recalled, his heart suddenly heavy.

'I have built a family of sorts, around my books, with fans scattered across the globe, waiting eagerly for my next story. And I owe it to them, to see this journey through. I have to return, not for my sake, but for theirs.'

****

A few hours later.

They were both walking and Charlotte turned to Thanatos, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them.

"I've been meaning to ask," she said, her eyebrows furrowed in curiosity. "Why can you talk? Aren't skeletons mindless undead? How do you possess intelligence, the ability to speak? You're unlike any monster I've ever encountered."

Thanatos shook his head, his words direct and certain. "I don't remember anything. I have no recollection of the past, of who I was or what I did."

Charlotte's expression softened into one of sympathy.

"It must be difficult," she murmured, her voice almost a whisper. "Starting anew without any memory of your past. But don't worry. You're not alone. I'll help you navigate this world."

Charlotte seemed deep in thought, her gaze distant as they continued their journey through the dark dungeon.

"You know," she started, her voice low and contemplative.

"At first, you seemed so curious about me. You asked about my past, my magic, my history. But then you stopped." She looked to Thanatos, her eyes intent and searching. "Why did you stop? Why haven't you asked me any personal questions lately?"

Thanatos, the embodiment of dark humor, grinned inwardly, his unseen smile adding an air of levity to the situation.

'I know everything about her,' he chuckled, 'She's an open book to me, literally. After all, I wrote the damn thing.'

And yet, maintaining the facade of ignorance was crucial. No need to alarm the Mage by revealing his omniscient but vague knowledge of his novel just yet.

"I figured you'd tell me when you were comfortable," he offered, his tone light and nonchalant.

Charlotte nodded, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips. "Fair enough," she said, "That's actually pretty smart." Her tone was laced with a newfound respect.

She then shifted, her shoulders drooping with exhaustion. "When are we going to rest? I'm tired."

Thanatos blinked, realizing with a jolt that hours had passed since they'd been walking.

He felt nothing, no weariness or fatigue, as he processed Charlotte's request. "Sure, there should be a place to rest up ahead," he replied.

The eerie silence of the dungeon, punctuated by their footsteps, seemed to grow heavier as they walked on, their pace slowing as Charlotte's exhaustion took hold.

Charlotte sat down on a nearby rock, hastily starting a fire and preparing a meal.

The crackling of the flames was the only sound to break the silence, until a loud, earth-shaking rumble echoed through the dungeon.

The ground trembled beneath them, and Charlotte let out a shriek. "What's that?" she cried, her eyes wide with fear.

Thanatos' eyes narrowed, his empty gaze piercing the darkness. "Monsters. They're coming."