From Corpse to Crown: Reborn as a Mortician in Another World-Chapter 80: The Unnamed Book and The Lie

Elian didn’t mean to stop in the village, really. He stopped by the bakeshop for a loaf of bread and he was on his way to the community well for water and maybe directions to the next shrine.

But then he heard his own name.

—or at least, the name he used to wear.

+

"His real name’s Elian," one of the farmers said, spitting in the dirt. "Still wearing the Queen’s mask. I heard he turned rogue and abandoned the Crown."

Elian had been drawing water and accidentally dropped the bucket in surprise. "Whoa! You all right friend?"

He nodded, looking sheepish. "S-sorry. The name just startled me. I knew him as Lucian."

The farmer shook his head and helped him draw a new bucket of water. "I don’t blame ya. Did a lot of good before he ran away. Helped Sweetwater Farm out of a rut."

Another man shook his head. "Must have been someone else. I heard he tore down Atreaum’s cathedral glyphs before he left," another added. "replaced the Queen’s seal with his own thread."

Elian’s knuckles clenched as he pulled the rope up, but bit his tongue. He refilled his waterskin and tossed a gold coin in the donation box. "Thank you," he murmured before leaving the well.

+

He still had to get the bread. But with how people were gossiping, talking about Lucian’s looks would only be a matter of time. His stomach rumbled and he sighed.

The next town as at least half a day’s journey by carriage, and a full day on foot. He promised his growling stomach a good meal then. Still, he was tempted by the marketplace.

He saw a girl selling meat buns, and he was sorely tempted to get one. Just imagining biting into the soft white bun and getting a mouthful of sweet-and-sour mournbeast meat had his mouth watering.

But he stayed strong, cloak drawn low and hood casting a shadow over his face. Nobody in this town knew who he was.

That should’ve made him feel triumphant.

It didn’t.

He didn’t feel angry.

Elian just felt...exhausted.

The lies weren’t personal--they were efficient. He was trained for moments like this; creating identities out of thin air. Elian was also very good at collapsing identities, simplifying truth, and erasing choices.

He already cut his long hair and enjoyed how light his head was. Besides. Lucian would be the one footing the bill soon.

What really gave Elian pause was the ache in his chest. It wasn’t the soft and slimy tendrils of grief. It wasn’t even the heavy burning of rage. Instead, it throbbed like a bruise on his ribs.

His Grimoire pulsed once and handwriting appeared for the Path of the Saint, lit with golden ink.

New Ability Awakened: Echo Balm

Can be applied to your memory wounds, or someone else’s. When you choose to soothe, you do not attack. But you also do not forget.

Elian pressed a hand to his chest and breathed out.

He whispered aloud: "I don’t need to retaliate."

I just need to make sure someone remembers me... the right way.

Just like that, his pulse slowed and the tension faded.

+

When he was safely out of town, he checked his belongings, because his satchel felt heavier. He opened it and discovered another book beside the Shadowrite Grimoire.

It was small, wax-sealed, and bound in pale cloth. There was no name on the cover, and no title on the spine. Its first page was empty, save for two lines:

Name your ledger.

Or roam unnamed.

He didn’t write in it yet. Elian wasn’t ready. He just disappeared from Court and abandoned the Crown, after all.

But for the first time, he wanted to be.

+

The Library Annex Beneath Staesis

"Hold them side by side," Gethra said. "Let the Loom compare the threads."

Lucian laid out the two scrolls on the redwood desk in Gethra’s private study. The Loom sat between them, active and listening. She had gotten a copy of the official Crown history: signed by the Royal Scribe’s wax mark and sealed with the Queen’s crimson thread.

The other one in Gethra’s possession was hand-stitched in a thread Lucian recognized: it was the Spinnermaid’s signature weave.

"That’s the truth?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. "And this—" she tapped the official record "—is the approved truth."

The Queen’s scroll read:

"The Spinnermaid died with her final apprentice, the 12th Mortician, in the Great Vale Collapse. She was unable to choose a successor, and the Loom was shattered. The pieces have been sealed for safekeeping.

The Crown has reestablished rites through Elian, who proved himself faithful."

Gethra snorted softly.

"Elian didn’t reestablish any rites until you went on your journey. The Loom was never shattered--it’s right here. She gave it to you."

Lucian frowned. "She wants to erase me from the story."

"She doesn’t want a story," Gethra corrected. "She wants a legend. Clean and controlled. Written without any living witnesses. Her truth will be the only truth."

Lucian opened the Loom.

Elian’s thread trembled slightly—now threaded with wax.

The Loom recorded a new note:

Historical Echo Imbalance Detected

An identity is being erased. Correction advised.

Lucian looked up. "What happens when someone is completely rewritten?"

Gethra’s mouth was grim.

"They become whatever the Queen needs them to be. Sometimes that’s a ghost. Sometimes it’s a weapon."

Lucian stared at the false history scroll again.

"She’s turned Elian into both. And now he’s on the run. The Queen can put all the blame on me...and Gabriel can finish the job. She really is trying to get rid of us."

He remembered what Elian said during their last encounter at Chateau Magnifique.

"That’s one perk of being Queen, Merry. She makes the rules."

And just like with Mayor Gray, she wanted to publish the only truth that mattered: Hers.

+

Alice, in the Garden Above Ground

Lucian had returned to Gethra’s study in the great library. Cadrel wandered off momentarily to ask the ghost staff if they carried bard songs about salt. He needed it for Prince Alexander’s revolution.

Merry had gone to check for ways to seal wormholes. So Alice stayed in the atrium, sketchbook on her lap. She didn’t want to draw on the rock table unless one of the other morticians were present.

With a piece of soft coal, she redrew her glyphs. All of them came easier now. Still imperfect, but more fluid. Less hesitant. When she finished the practice glyphs, her thoughts drifted toward the Loom.

Lucian advised against drawing from others’ threads--unless invited. The grief had to allow itself to be read.

But what if the grief was willing...but buried?

Absently, she drew lines and loops, letting her hand lead.

What if someone wanted to be remembered...but just couldn’t say it?

She turned the page and drew another glyph. One that called strongly to her. The first line curved like a tear, frozen mid-fall. The second line trembled, like a silent sob as one’s shoulders shook uncontrollably.

And then she finished it.

+

From inside Gethra’s private study, Lucian stared at the Loom as it reacted violently. Not to what they were doing, but to Alice’s traces of pale thread. 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖

An unfamiliar one snapped forward.

It wasn’t Alice’s, or Rosa’s. It wasn’t even Elian’s or his own. This thread was from a memory buried far under the ground. It was woven in a thread Alice didn’t know she had just yet.

In the garden, Alice stared at her sketchbook as the glyph blazed with white-hot fire.

And from the air around her, a whisper echoed—voice broken, female, and raw:

"She wasn’t supposed to see this."

The thread jerked backward and tried desperately to seal itself back into the spool. Lucian stared helplessly as Alice reached out toward her sketchbook--and as her hand brushed the page, a lock seemed to drop from her psyche.

It wasn’t fully hers, and yet it was.

+

There was a room completely covered in velvet. Above her was a masked figure holding a beautiful silver scalpel. She heard the Queen’s voice in her left ear:

"She’s not a girl. She’s a vessel. And she’ll obey as long as you don’t tell her what she really is."

Alice’s hand shook and she lost her balance. She fell to the ground just as the glyph in her sketchbook shattered, and a cry escaped her lips.

Lucian came running when he heard her.

But Alice was already trying to get back up again.

The page had burned.

And her eyes were wide, unfocused, whispering to herself.

"She lied... she cut me open..."

Lucian reached for her shoulders.

But the Grimoire stood between them.

[AURA WARNING: THREAD INTERFERENCE]

[INTERNAL MEMORY LOCK ATTEMPTED]

[SUBJECT STABILITY: DECLINING (50%)]

Merry burst into the garden. "What did she see?"

Lucian whispered, "I don’t think she saw it. I think it was taken from her."

Gethra, still in her study, observed the Loom. It flickered. A brand-new thread unwound itself from the spool.

It didn’t belong to Alice, but to--

"The Marionette," the former angel whispered, scared by what that meant for everyone. Nobody had seen her in years, but she and her six daughters used to rule a kingdom of thread. Each one was far more detailed and precise than the Loom, and she could see further than Gethra ever could.

"She must be looking for a daughter."

That was part of the legend in the Celestial Realm.

If the Marionette of Fate lost a child, she would move universes to find her.

+

Somewhere far away, the woman with a thousand threads turned her head sharply.

Someone had just touched a memory she buried with blood.

The Loom was alive and well, despite what Queen Marguerite had said.

And it had shown her where to look.