The familiar ceiling had vanished, replaced by an endless stretch of night sky, vast and infinite. Above him, a moon; no, not just a moon, a massive pink moon, hung in the sky. It was thrice the size of any moon he had ever known.
Silas found himself suspended in the moment, as if time itself had slowed around him. His eyes remained fixed on the vast expanse above, mesmerized by a night sky unlike any he had ever known.
As he searched for something familiar, he realized there were no known constellations—no Orion, no Ursa Major, no North Star. These stars formed strange, unrecognizable patterns. It was an alien sky. He was no longer on Earth at all.
"Caleric?" he heard a soft voice from beside him, but he was too lost in the moment to pay it any mind.
"Caleric? Can you hear me?" The voice grew more worried, carrying a gentle, audible tremble.
Silas, still captivated by the unfamiliar sky, turned towards the voice. Standing beside him was a girl wearing a long, coat-like jacket that flowed all the way down to her ankles. She wore tall black boots and gloves. A black top hat rested on her head with a single crimson rose that stood out against the monochrome.
A black muffler was wrapped around her neck which extended upward, covering the lower half of her face. From beneath the fabric came the soft voice that grew more worried with every passing second.
It looks like I have transmigrated to another world. Silas had already grasped the situation.
This girl called me Caleric. Is that my name? Also, don't transmigrators inherit the memories of the former owner of the body? Why don't I have any such memories?
Silas was not a fan of web novels, but the concept of transmigration was not foreign to him. The only web novel he had read was about the same.
Even in his current situation, the first thing he did was scan his surroundings. Fortunately, he didn't have to do it consciously. Years of exposure to psychology had fine-tuned the soon-to-be-eighteen prodigy's mind to work like an AI, constantly taking in input from the world around him. Of course, it was the result of relentless practice and unwavering determination, both fueled by his love for psychology.
In addition to his sharp spatial awareness, Silas possessed another invaluable skill—pattern recognition. The combination of the two made him a formidable presence when it came to observation and deduction.
They stood on what appeared to be the rooftop of a building. The setting vaguely reminded Silas of the rooftop restaurants he had heard about back on Earth. Moreover, they weren't alone. Scattered around were other individuals, men and women, each dressed in formal attire.
The dresses worn by the women had caught his eye. Each of them wore long, full skirts of bright colors and intricate embroidered patterns, paired with high-necked blouses. The overall style faintly resembled the typical Victorian outfits for women, something Silas had once read in his history book.
That was a problem. The girl in the monochrome attire, now standing right in front of him with a half-confused, half-worried expression on her face, stood out like a sore thumb. Her outfit was nowhere near similar to that of the other women. Silas quickly noticed this, which made him cautious of the girl.
She could be a detective or a member of the law enforcement. In any case, she didn't appear to be a civilian. He couldn't afford to make any rash decisions, as it could be equivalent to revealing that he wasn't the same person. As for why he had to hide this fact, it was because of the single web novel he had once read.
Also he had just realized that the girl wasn't speaking in English. Although he had no idea what language she was using, Silas was still able to understand her. It was as if the words were being auto-translated directly in his mind.
Even though he could understand the girl, there was no guarantee that the words leaving his mouth would also be auto-translated into the same language. If he spoke and it turned out to be the language of his homeland, the girl might assume he had gone mad.
He couldn't run, and speaking was out of the question. He was cornered with no options left.
"Caleric," the girl called out once more, gently tapping his left arm. It was the fourth time. Silas knew he had to act fast.
He lowered his head, brought his right hand to his forehead, then followed with his left. A soft moan escaped his lips, as if he were in pain. Then he collapsed onto the stone-tiled rooftop, clutching his head with both hands. A cry burst from his lips, loud enough to draw the attention of everyone present.
He was pretending.
I may not know their language, but pain speaks in a voice all its own. A child learns to talk by listening to others, yet no one teaches him how to cry, and still, he wails with perfect instinct. Whether it's Earth, this world, or any other, the sounds of suffering need no translation. Groans, whimpers, and cries of pain are understood everywhere.
Silas thought to himself. He had acted purely on instinct, and now needed to rationalize his actions. Most people think before they act, but for the young genius Silas, thinking was often too slow. He had trained himself to respond perfectly to situations by making the process of thought nearly reflexive.
The girl calling out his name, or at least the name of the former owner of the body, wore a look of fear. She quickly crouched beside him.
"Caleric, what's happening to you? Are you alright? You look like you're in so much pain! what's going on?" Her words were frantic, filled with concern, as she desperately tried to understand why he was acting this way.
Silas said nothing because he couldn't.
I am verysorry. He made an inward apology to her.
"Wait, I'll call for help," she said, now scared out of her wits. She quickly stood up and went to the stone railing of the roof.
Call? Do cell phones exist in this world? Silas thought, turning his gaze toward her while still maintaining his act. He had to do so because he could feel many eyes watching him—those of the other people who were present there.
All they do is watch. Nobody tries to help. Tsk. Silas clicked his tongue as he focused on the girl, who was now standing very close to the stone railing. He was mesmerized by what he saw.
The girl removed her right glove and tucked it neatly into her left pocket. Then she pulled down the muffler that had been concealing her mouth. Her lips were crimson red, matching the red rose on her hat. They moved faintly, as though speaking something.
She raised her now bare right hand to her mouth, partially covering it as she continued to speak. Then shimmering specks of light began to gather around her like multicolored fireflies. The glowing dots swirled and converged at her hand. In a single swift motion, she flicked her hand forward. Silas couldn't see the particles in flight, but he inferred their direction from her stance which resembled someone flinging a frisbee and from the luminous trail left behind in the air.
She then raised her hand. Soon, the glowing specks of light returned. Again, Silas couldn't see them; he could only tell based on the trail they had made on their way back and the glow on her right hand.
She then placed her hand on her ear, as if listening to something, before returning to Silas, who was still pretending to have a headache.
"Mr. Vincent said it will take five minutes," she said, crouching near him.
Silas did not reply. He closed his eyes as if the pain was unbearable. He had planned on pretending to fall unconscious next, but seeing the girl so worried over a simple headache changed his mind.
There are two possibilities: first, the girl is very easily worried, and second, the former owner of the body has a medical condition. Either way, pretending to be knocked out isn't the best course of action. Silas thought as he moved slightly.
Five minutes later, a carriage appeared, gliding gracefully towards them. It hovered in midair, settling beside the stone railing. The carriage seemed to defy gravity, suspended in the air. Its design resembled a single compartment of a train with a driver's cabin at the front. Long, sleek windows were present on both sides, offering a glimpse into its interior.
A man dressed in the attire of a typical butler emerged from the driver's cabin. The girl stood up at once and gently helped Silas stand. With the assistance of both the butler and the girl, he was carefully guided aboard the single-compartment carriage, which seemed to defy gravity.
The carriage had six seats on either side, each spaced generously apart to allow for a comfortable amount of room. The layout was very similar to the trains Silas had seen back on Earth.
The girl helped him sit, then sat beside him.
"How long will it take?" she asked the butler in an impatient tone. "Five minutes", the butler replied before turning front and starting the carriage.
Silas was unable to comprehend all the things that were happening. His brain had a sensory overload. It was not because the things he had witnessed were too fantastical, but because a slight headache had actually started to form in his head.
Silas was overwhelmed with confusion. It was as though his feigned headache had transformed into something real. The pain escalated, deepening into a relentless throb that surpassed anything he had ever endured. It was as if an iron rod were being hammered against his head, and the sensation only intensified. Some invisible force was piercing through his mind. His thoughts became clouded, and before he could gather himself, everything faded to black.
He had lost consciousness.