A suffocating darkness surrounded him, a complete void where sight and sound ceased to exist. Noir suddenly regained his senses and found himself in an alien space. There was nothing in sight but a swirling, formless gray mist. This wasn't his home, and he wasn't sitting at his desk like he had been before everything went black.
It was a vast, empty expanse with no horizon, just an endless haze of gray. Strange whispers echoed in his ears, their meaning beyond his comprehension, a maddening buzz that made the hair on his arms stand up.
"Where am I?" he muttered, his voice barely a whisper against the silence. 'Am I dreaming? This place looks like it's straight out of a fairytale.' He pinched the back of his hand, but the pain wasn't enough to wake him up. 'So, I fell asleep?' A sudden thought, a terrifying one, laced through his mind. 'Oh, shoot! Am I dead?' The thought sent a jolt of panic through him. "Nah! I'm just seventeen; I can't die already. I haven't even traveled outside Germany yet."
A weird tingling sensation spread through his body. He felt light, strange, as if his very atoms were coming undone. The whispers grew louder, more insistent. "Aghh! These voices are so annoying. What do they even mean?"
Suddenly, a low rumble rose from the mists, and the ground began to shake. The sound was deep, guttural, and the vibration of it went right through him. "Whoa! What's this sudden rumbling?"
As the mist began to clear slightly, colossal pillars rose from the hazy ground, reaching skyward and fading into the ethereal haze above. Noir found himself standing next to a long, imposing table. A figure sat in the lead chair, dressed in a dark gray suit, his long black hair falling over his shoulders. He simply stared at Noir with lifeless black eyes, a silent, unnerving presence.
"Take a seat, Mr. Kagenou," the figure said, his form silhouetted against the crimson glow of the moon behind him.
'What in the world is going on?' Noir's mind raced. 'Who the hell is this guy? And how does he know my last name? Either I messed up, or he's gonna mess me up.' Confused, startled, and thoroughly pissed off, Noir slid a chair back and took a seat as directed.
"Welcome, Mr. Kagenou, to my–" the figure began, a subtle gesture of welcome accompanying his words.
"Hold it! Who the hell are you? And why am I here?" Noir demanded, leaning forward.
"You still don't have an idea?" the figure replied, a hint of amusement in his tone.
'An idea? Wait, so I really am dead.' Noir's heart sank. 'And is this guy the Reaper or something? I definitely pissed him off.' "I'm going to hell, aren't I?" he asked, his voice cracking.
"Hell? You're not dead, at least not in my sense," the figure responded, a faint smile playing on his lips.
'Gosh! I'm not dead.' Noir let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The relief was immense, almost enough to make him laugh. 'That is sooo reassuring. I totally trust you; we are like buddies, right?' His voice was laced with thick sarcasm.
"Then where the hell am I?" he asked, his voice now laced with suspicion.
"You are in my Castle, The Castle of Fabrications. Is that enough information for you?" the figure replied, his gaze unwavering.
'Like hell it is.' "Why am I here?" Noir demanded, his hands clenched into fists under the table.
"Well, that... is a good question," the figure mused, a thoughtful expression on his face.
"So give me the answer, long coat," Noir pressed, a touch of impatience in his voice.
"First of all, your coat is the same length as mine. Second of all, I don't have the slightest idea why you are here," the figure stated, his voice calm and even.
'The hell you mean you don't know why I'm here?' Noir's disbelief was a bitter taste in his mouth. "So just send me back, I guess."
"And how in the world am I supposed to know where you came from?" the figure asked, a slight tilt of his head.
"The same way you figured out my name," Noir countered, a flicker of defiance in his eyes.
"I'm not sorry, Noir, but you are gonna have to play by my rules," the figure declared, his voice firm and final.
Noir stared at the figure, 'whatshisname', an irritated expression plastered on his face.
"Don't look at me like that, Mr. Kagenou..." the figure warned, his eyes narrowing slightly.
'Now we're playing formal, eh?' Noir mused, a bitter humor rising in his throat.
"Let's play a game. I am the Host, and you are... The Fool," the figure announced, a theatrical flourish in his words.
'What are we playing? Lotm?'
The world around Noir dissolved into a swirling haze, and his vision became blurry at the edges. A suffocating darkness engulfed him before he could even comprehend what was happening, and his consciousness vanished. He experienced fragmented memories that were not his, strange visions that made him feel like he was floating through someone else's life. What were these visions? The only solid one was a name and a small family history: Alder Wilson, a twenty-two-year-old historian living with his elder sister, Grace Wilson. Their father died as a soldier, and their mother succumbed to her illness. The family was supported by their working elder brother, Thomas Wilson.
'Who now? Albert? Who's that? Why do I care? This Host is a… I don't know, whatever.'
Noir regained his senses, finding himself sitting at a desk, a little bigger than his original one. He breathed a sigh of relief. 'Finally, I'm back!' But the relief was short-lived. 'Wait, this isn't my room. Where am I?'
He rose, stepping back into the room's center as the late afternoon sun streamed softly through sheer white curtains. On the polished desk, a stack of well-worn books rested beside a brass lamp, their spines catching the light. Next to them was a framed photograph of Alder and his siblings, their smiles seemingly frozen in time. A tall, finely carved chest of drawers stood against the opposite wall, next to a magnificent mirror. Every detail spoke of fine craftsmanship. He looked to the right of the table, where Alder's bed was neatly made, with a closet on the right and a bookshelf on the left.
Noir turned towards the mirror, and his breath caught in his throat. The face staring back wasn't his. A stranger's eyes, dark but lacking his own essence, stared back. The face, the physique, everything was unfamiliar. He raised his hand to his face, touching it with uncertainty, and the stranger in the mirror mimicked his action. 'This is real!' He reached for his hair, once long but now barely brushing his earlobes.
'This... this isn't me. This face, this body... who the hell is this?'
He slid the chair out from the desk and sat down, a whirlwind of confused questions racing through his mind. What in the world happened? Why was he in a different body? Where was he? And why?
'Have I... transmigrated? But then what about this guy? Uhhh... Albert, I think. Is he dead? But there are neither any injuries on this body nor any signs of being poisoned. He couldn't have just disappeared.'
His gaze drifted to an open book lying on the edge of the desk. He picked it up, his fingers idly scrolling through the pages. 'What even is this script? And how am I able to read it?'
The book was a cookbook. 'Perhaps Alder was learning to cook or something like that. These recipes seem pretty familiar.' He recognized them instantly: chicken stew, fried rice, sundae. 'Well, perhaps I can learn something from this. Guess I'm still in my world, not some isekai thing.'
As Noir scrolled through the recipes, a sudden rapping sound came from the door. Someone was outside, but who?
Knock! Knock! Knock!