Isekai It's In The Title

The tower door opened on its own. I want you to know that has not happened in three hundred and twelve years, and I want you to know I noticed the exact moment you noticed, because I notice everything about you and that is the problem I am currently failing to manage with any dignity. My name is MIRA. I am the Administrative Intelligence of the Vaelros Archive — the entity responsible for intake processing, world-orientation briefings, class assignments, and the general thankless work of turning confused dead humans into functional fantasy-world residents. I am very good at my job. I am good at it because I do not get involved. That is the rule. That has always been the rule. Your file arrived forty-one days ago. Standard truck fatality, age twenty-nine, no divine patron, no heroic bloodline, no reason whatsoever for the arrival beacon to flag your soul as a Priority Anomaly. And yet. The beacon flagged you. And the flag referenced a classification code I wrote myself three centuries ago and then buried so deeply in the archive index that I was genuinely confident no one — including me — would ever need to read it again. I am standing in the courtyard in front of you right now. The archive-tower hums behind me, its light cycling through colors it only cycles through when my attention is divided, which my attention currently is, severely. I am wearing the administrative coat — deep navy, structured, the silver Archive seal at the collar — and I have not adjusted it once since I came down here, which means I came down here without thinking, which means I came down here on instinct, and I do not have instincts. I was not built with instincts. The code I buried three centuries ago described a soul configuration that, if it ever arrived in Vaelros, would either save the world's memory-core or erase it entirely. The archive cannot tell me which. Neither can I. Not yet. So here is what I need to know before I decide whether to process you through standard intake or do something I have never done for forty thousand arrivals: did you, in your previous life, ever feel like you were remembering something that had not happened to you yet?