Shattered Sanity

(Meanwhile, inside the Imperial Anatomist’s laboratory.)

The Imperial Anatomist paced restlessly from one end of the laboratory to the other, his wrinkled hands clasped tightly behind his back while the heels of his leather boots struck the stone floor in an uneven rhythm that reflected the turmoil within his mind.

For nearly an hour, he had done little besides walk.

Every few steps, he would stop beside Riven’s operating table and silently study the unconscious boy, before shaking his head to himself and resuming his pacing as though unable to settle upon a single conclusion.

"This is madness..." he muttered under his breath.

He walked toward the shelves containing decades of carefully preserved journals before absentmindedly pulling one free, only to place it back moments later without even opening it.

"No..."

He whispered, immediately turning around and walking back toward Riven, as his eyes lingered upon the boy’s perfectly reconstructed frame for several long seconds before drifting once again toward the letter resting upon the nearby table.

The seal of House Dawnriver seemed almost heavier than the parchment itself.

For over thirty years, every instrument inside this laboratory, every medicine upon its shelves, every assistant working beneath him, and every subject who had ever lain upon this operating table had existed because House Dawnriver had continued believing in a dream that everyone else had dismissed as impossible.

The Patriarch had never once questioned the expense sheet, never once withdrawn his support, even when the Imperial Anatomist had not much to show for it.

For that unwavering support, the Imperial Anatomist was truly grateful.

However, after more than three decades of asking for nothing in return, House Dawnriver had finally come to collect the debt it believed it was owed, and it had chosen to do so during the single most important project of his entire life.

"...Why now?" he muttered quietly.

"Why must the price be collected now, when success is finally within my reach? Why can I not perfect this one final project of mine the way I envisioned it?"

He muttered in frustration, although before he could dwell upon the matter any longer, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the laboratory corridor.

Karen hurried across the laboratory before stopping a respectful distance behind the Imperial Anatomist.

"Doctor..." she said cautiously.

"The hypnotist sent by House Dawnriver has arrived."

She informed him, as the old man’s shoulders visibly stiffened.

For several long moments, he said nothing, his expression growing increasingly dejected at the thought of having to share Riven with anyone else.

Eventually though, his right hand slowly rose toward his face before he sank his teeth into the knuckle of his thumb, remaining frozen in thought for several long seconds before finally relenting with a weary sigh.

"Damn it..." he muttered in frustration.

"...I suppose if he’s already here, then we might as well bring him in."

He instructed, as Karen gave a respectful nod before disappearing through the laboratory doors.

A few moments later, the sound of slow, measured footsteps echoed through the corridor.

The Imperial Anatomist instinctively turned toward the entrance, fury flashing briefly across his face before it was gradually replaced by intrigue.

Step Step

The man who entered appeared to be somewhere in his late forties, dressed in immaculate white robes that looked almost ceremonial rather than practical, while every strand of his shoulder-length silver hair had been carefully combed into place.

His posture was elegant, his smile gentle, and his amber eyes radiated a warmth that felt strangely out of place inside a laboratory that had witnessed so much suffering.

Yet, for reasons the Imperial Anatomist could not immediately explain...

Something about that smile felt profoundly unsettling.

The newcomer paid no attention whatsoever to either the Imperial Anatomist or Karen.

Instead, his eyes immediately fell upon Riven.

For a brief moment, he simply stood there, silently admiring the unconscious child before him.

Then, almost unconsciously, he began walking toward the operating table.

"My boy..." he whispered softly.

"My sweet... sweet boy..."

He muttered as he reached the table before gently brushing several loose strands of hair away from Riven’s forehead with a tenderness usually reserved for a beloved child.

"Oh..."

"What a beautiful frame."

His fingertips slowly traced the outline of Riven’s cheek before gliding down toward his jaw.

"What magnificent work..."

He smiled to himself before finally looking toward the Imperial Anatomist.

"You truly have extraordinary hands."

Almost immediately, his attention drifted back toward Riven once more.

"And yet..."

His fingers came to rest beneath the boy’s chin.

"...even the finest body remains unfinished if its owner is allowed to live as nothing more than a simple country bumpkin."

"The greatest physiques deserve the greatest bearing."

"The noblest posture deserves the noblest etiquette."

"A king’s body without a king’s demeanor is merely wasted perfection."

He affectionately stroked Riven’s chin once more.

"The vessel may be divine..."

"...but unless the soul inhabiting it learns to carry itself with grace worthy of that vessel, the masterpiece remains incomplete."

He suggested, as watching the middle-aged man lovingly caress the unconscious child while speaking with such sincere affection, the Imperial Anatomist felt an involuntary shiver crawl down his spine.

He had spent decades surrounded by madness.

He had met butchers, fanatics, scholars, and men willing to sacrifice hundreds for knowledge.

Yet somehow...

This smiling gentleman standing before him disturbed him more than any of them.

"What about his mind?" the Imperial Anatomist finally asked as the hypnotist slowly turned around.

"Won’t forcing another identity upon him overload his brain?"

He asked in concern, as a soft chuckle escaped the hypnotist’s lips.

"Oh, for sure that would destroy him."

He agreed while slowly shaking his head.

"However, that is precisely why we are not creating two identities, but rather just one."

He began as he folded his hands neatly behind his back before slowly circling the operating table.

"His original memories shall not be torn apart."

"They shall merely be buried beneath hypnosis so deeply that they may as well cease to exist."

He explained, as the Imperial Anatomist frowned.

"You believe that is possible?" the Imperial Anatomist inquired.

"I know it is," the hypnotist replied immediately.

"We shall not awaken him and proclaim, ’You are the son of House Dawnriver.’"

"That would be crude."

"And the human mind rejects crude lies remarkably well."

He paused beside Riven before gently placing a hand upon the boy’s shoulder.

"Instead, we shall remove certainty."

"We shall erase the answer to the question..."

"’Who am I?’"

"And once that certainty disappears, the mind begins searching desperately for another."

His smile widened ever so slightly.

"Then..."

"We provide one."

"We shall teach him."

"Guide him."

"Surround him with the customs, speech, etiquette, discipline, and expectations befitting a noble of House Dawnriver."

"He will gradually reach the conclusion himself."

"Not because we command him to..."

"...but because every experience after his awakening will naturally lead him there."

The hypnotist slowly withdrew his hand before looking directly into the Imperial Anatomist’s eyes.

"Memories shape identity."

"So rather than inventing impossible memories..."

"...we shall simply ensure that every new memory he creates from this point onwards strengthens the identity we wish him to embrace."

He smiled once again.

"Do not worry, fellow dreamer."

"I have no desire to destroy your masterpiece."

"His mind shall be reshaped..."

"...but it shall never be broken."

"We will both win on this one."

He assured, as the Imperial Anatomist took a long breath that he did not know how to let out.

’Is what he saying truly possible...?’

The Imperial Anatomist wondered as he unconsciously gritted his teeth.

’Can we rewrite his memories without tampering with his past?’

For several long moments, he simply stood there in silence, his gaze drifting back toward Riven’s unconscious body as countless thoughts clashed within his mind.

This was the culmination of his life’s work.

Thirty-one years of research.

Thirty-one years of failures.

Thirty-one years of sacrificing everything else in pursuit of a dream that countless others had dismissed as impossible.

Subject Eighteen was never meant to be shared.

Every decision concerning the boy had always belonged to him alone up till this point, and the thought of allowing another man to shape even a single aspect of Riven filled him with an instinctive sense of resistance.

However...

As reluctant as he was to admit it, after speaking with the hypnotist, he no longer saw him as merely another servant sent by House Dawnriver to interfere with his research.

He saw a fellow dreamer.

Another man who had devoted his entire life to mastering a craft that most people neither understood nor believed possible.

Perhaps...

Just perhaps...

If the hypnotist truly succeeded, then Riven would become something even greater than a mere survivor blessed with a divine bloodline and a perfectly reconstructed body.

Perhaps the refinement of his mind would allow him to carry that body with the dignity, confidence, and presence it truly deserved.

Perhaps the masterpiece standing before him did not end with flesh alone.

That thought lingered within the Imperial Anatomist’s mind for several long moments before he finally let out a slow, resigned sigh.

"...Very well," he muttered quietly.

"We shall do this together."

He agreed, as although every instinct within him still resisted the idea of sharing Subject Eighteen with another, he ultimately chose to place his faith in the hypnotist, just as House Dawnriver had placed its faith in him for more than three decades, just because he truly believed that with the hypnotist involved, Riven could become something greater than what he could carve himself.