Waking up was hard—especially after a nightmare.
"What is that noise…?"
A low groan escaped his lips. "Just… let me sleep…"
That would have made sense if he were in a bed.
He wasn't.
His face was pressed against something cold and hard. The faint smell of dust filled his nose. One leg was twisted awkwardly behind him, the other stretched out toward the edge of a staircase. A thin line of saliva clung between his lips and the floor.
"Ahh…"
Pain hit him all at once.
"My neck… my head…"
He forced his eyes open, blinking against the light. Every movement sent a dull ache through his body. Slowly, carefully, he pushed himself up onto his elbows.
The world tilted.
He froze, breathing heavily, waiting for it to steady.
When it did, he looked around.
A hallway. Stairs leading up behind him. A living space nearby—plain furniture, a sofa, a table. A large window let in daylight, casting pale shadows across the floor.
Daytime.
"I… fell?"
His gaze drifted to the stairs. The distance wasn't far—but it was enough.
"That explains it…"
But it didn't explain anything else.
"Why am I here?"
The question slipped out before he could stop it.
He frowned.
That wasn't right.
A strange unease settled in his chest. He tried again.
"What was I doing…?"
Nothing.
No answer. No memory. Just a hollow silence in his mind.
"…Who am I?"
The words felt heavier this time.
He pushed himself to his feet, unsteady but determined. His legs trembled slightly as he stood, one hand gripping the wall for support. Each step was slow, cautious, as if the ground might give way beneath him.
Something on the wall caught his attention.
A photograph.
He moved toward it, drawn by something he couldn't explain. The frame was simple, hanging slightly crooked. Inside, three people stood close together—a man, a woman, and a teenage boy. A family.
He leaned in.
"Is this… my house?"
The question lingered as his eyes studied the faces.
The man. The woman.
Then the boy.
"No…"
He shook his head.
"No, no… that's not me."
His voice was firm—but something about it felt uncertain.
He stared harder.
Not at the boy.
At the reflection in the glass.
A face stared back at him.
His face.
He stepped back abruptly, heart pounding.
"That's… me?"
It didn't feel like him.
"Think… think…"
He pressed his fingers against his temple, squeezing his eyes shut.
"What happened to me…?"
A name surfaced.
Faint at first. Then clearer.
"…Veer."
He froze.
"Veer…"
The name echoed in his mind, repeating, insisting.
"Veer… that's my name…"
But something felt wrong.
"No."
He shook his head, more forcefully this time.
"No… that's not my name."
Pain exploded behind his eyes.
"Ahh—!"
He staggered, gripping his head as if he could hold his thoughts together.
"Stop… stop…"
The name kept coming.
Veer.
Veer.
Veer.
"I said stop!"
His vision blurred. The hallway spun.
His knees gave out.
And everything went dark.
Time passed.
He didn't know how long.
Seconds. Minutes. Maybe more.
The darkness didn't last forever.
When he opened his eyes again, the pain was still there—but his mind was not the same.
Clarity settled in, slow but certain.
"…I remember."
He lay still, staring at the ceiling.
"Ahh… I never thought it would happen like this."
A faint, almost disbelieving laugh escaped him.
"Reincarnation? No… not exactly."
He closed his eyes briefly, correcting himself.
"This is… transmigration."
The word felt right.
Memories—two sets—sat uneasily within him.
One belonged to this body.
The other… did not.
"I was just created… and now I'm here."
He lifted a hand, studying it as if it belonged to someone else.
"This is the real world. Everything here… all these memories…"
A pause.
"…they belong to him."
The name surfaced effortlessly this time.
"Jack."
He sat up slowly, ignoring the lingering ache in his body.
"This body's name is Jack Donovan."
The room felt quieter now, heavier.
"And I…"
He hesitated.
"…I am Veer."
No—something about that wasn't entirely true.
"Not Veer."
His expression tightened.
"One of his avatars."
Fragments of memory aligned in his mind.
Five existences. Five fragments.
Four unnamed.
One… Shadow.
"And I'm the first."
A faint smirk touched his lips.
"Jack."
The name felt both foreign and convenient.
"Guess that makes things easier."
But the ease didn't last long.
Images—memories—rose uninvited.
A car.
Rain.
A sharp turn.
Then—
Impact.
His expression darkened.
"…So that's how it happened."
Jack Donovan had been in that car.
His parents had died instantly.
Jack had survived.
Barely.
Three months in the hospital.
Two months back in this house.
Alone.
"Nineteen years old…"
He exhaled slowly.
"No relatives nearby. No one close enough to interfere."
Silence filled the hallway again.
"…Convenient."
But his tone softened after a moment.
He placed a hand over his chest.
"Still…"
His voice lowered.
"Jack… thank you."
For a brief second, the arrogance faded—replaced by something almost sincere.
"You were a good son."
A pause.
"…And a good friend."
The silence lingered, as if acknowledging the life that had ended.
Then—
It shifted.
Something colder replaced it.
"An empty shell…"
He looked down at his hands again, flexing his fingers.
"…and I took it."
No guilt.
Just acceptance.
"So…"
He stood up, steadier this time.
"What now?"
His gaze drifted toward the window, where daylight still poured in.
A new world.
A new life.
A borrowed name.
A faint smile formed.
"Let's see what I can do with it."