Rain lashed against the small, leaded windows of the semi-detached house in Little Whinging, Surrey. Inside, eight-year-old Elen Warmith sat curled in a worn armchair, a battered copy of The Hobbit open on his lap, though his eyes weren't on the page.
Another birthday, he thought, a familiar weariness settling over him, a feeling that had no right to belong to someone so young. It wasn't that he wasn't grateful for the small celebration – the slightly lopsided cake his mum, Mary, had baked, the carefully wrapped book from his dad, David. It was just...it was all so small. So ordinary.
And he, Elen Warmith, was anything but.
He wasn't really Elen Warmith. Not entirely. He remembered another life, a life lived in the bustling, vibrant streets of 21st-century Chengdu. He had been Lin Wei then, a software engineer with a promising career, a loving family, and a comfortable existence. He remembered the taste of spicy Sichuan food, the hum of the city, the glow of a computer screen under his fingers. He remembered...dying. A sudden, sharp pain, a blinding light, and then...nothing.
Until he was here.
Born again, inexplicably, into this quiet, unassuming English life. To Mary, with her kind smile and perpetually flour-dusted apron, a stay-at-home mum who filled their small home with the scent of baking and the sound of gentle humming. To David, a hardworking, red-faced man with a passion for cooking, who poured his heart and soul (and most of their savings) into his little restaurant, "The Golden Ladle," just a few towns over. They were good people, his parents. Loving, supportive, if a bit...overwhelmed. Money was always tight, the restaurant a constant struggle, but they never let Elen feel unloved.
He loved them, he truly did. But sometimes, especially on days like this, the dissonance was almost unbearable. He was trapped in a life that wasn't his, with memories that felt both vivid and distant, like a dream half-remembered.
He glanced around the small living room. It was cozy, in its own way. A bit cluttered, with mismatched furniture and stacks of books threatening to topple over, but warm. His mum had tried to make it festive with a few balloons and a "Happy Birthday" banner that had seen better days.
His dad was probably in the kitchen right now, preparing a special dinner. David was a fantastic chef, his food a little piece of home, even if that home was...this place. Elen sometimes helped out at the restaurant, washing dishes or peeling vegetables, the organized chaos of the kitchen a stark contrast to the quiet order he remembered from his past life.
A sudden, sharp pain lanced through his head. Not like the pain of dying, but a different kind of...pressure. It felt like something was...waking up.
Images flooded his mind, not memories this time, but...data. Complex equations, swirling patterns, the intricate workings of...something. It was overwhelming, terrifying, and exhilarating all at once.
He gasped, clutching his head. The book fell to the floor.
"Elen? Are you alright, love?" His mum was suddenly beside him, her brow furrowed with concern.
He couldn't explain. He didn't understand it himself. "I...I'm fine, Mum. Just a headache."
The pressure subsided, leaving behind a strange sense of...clarity. It was as if a thousand voices had suddenly fallen silent, leaving a single, clear thought in their wake.
System online.
He knew, instinctively, what it was. The chip. It had activated. The...thing from his past life, the impossible technology that had somehow come with him, was now a part of him.
And everything, he suspected, was about to change.