Chapter 1
[Embercrown 6th (6/8), Year 1356 of the Arcane Calendar]
| 12:01 AM |
-
-
[ Varae barony, Lunthaler family manor, West Wing Servants' Corridor]
Anna tugged at Rose's sleeve, her other hand clutching a half-polished pair of riding boots. "Rose, please help me! I'll get you those honey cakes from town on Sunday, I swear!"
Rose rubbed her tired eyes, the candle in her holder dripping wax onto her already stained apron. "Anna, you know I have my own duties. The young master kept you this late again?"
"He had me mending his riding boot until midnight," Anna whispered urgently.
A metallic clank echoed from the voice pipe in the wall—the direct line from the young master's chambers. Then came the scream, distorted but unmistakable as it traveled through the copper tubing: "ARGHH! HELP ME! SOMETH "
Anna's blood ran cold. That voice pipe was only used for emergencies.
Rose's candle clattered to the floor as Anna dropped the boots, their polished surfaces reflecting the guttering flame. Both girls ran toward the terrible sound, Anna's unfinished work forgotten in the face of true emergency.
Immediately, Anna rushed to the bedroom and knocked urgently. "Young Master, it's me!"
When no response came, she opened the door.
✧ ────────────────────✧
| A few minutes before Anna arrived |
✧ ────────────────────✧
The bed sheets tangled around my legs as I shoved them aside, my palms pressing into the carved bed panel for support. My hands—wrong, too slender—trembled as they rose to touch my face. A choked gasp escaped me. This isn't my face. These aren't my hands.
Frantic fingers fumbled at the waistband of my pants. Still male. Oh, thank God, at least I'm still a guy. Even with this body's memories swirling in my skull, I had to be sure.
I tried to remember what happened 5 minutes before I transmigrated into the body-
The room tilted as I took in the velvet drapes, the too-high ceiling. A dream. This has to be a dream. But the sweat cooling on my neck, the ache in muscles I didn't recognize—the details pressed in with cruel clarity.
Fragments surfaced: Stonehenge. The sky is splitting open. Wind is howling like a living thing. Goosebumps rippled across borrowed skin. Something happened. Something— but I couldn't remember it.
Then silence. The new memories settled like sediment in water—the true horror.
Nothing unusual. No warning. Just the whisper of heavy curtains swaying in a nonexistent breeze. The rhythmic tick-tick-tick of a pocket watch left carelessly on the desk, its rich silver-and-glass casing catching moonlight. The second hand lurched forward—
Click.
Midnight.
A guttural scream tore through the chamber. The boy—me?—jerked upright, fingers clawing at his chest like something writhed beneath his skin, the sheets the only barrier between his body and whatever horror gripped him. His thrashing legs tangled in fabric as he lunged for the voice pipe, his scream distorting through copper: "HELP ME! SOMETHING'S WRONG!" The words tore from a throat raw with terror he didn't understand.
Then, as suddenly as it began, silence again. The pocket watch ticked on, undisturbed.
-
-
-
What the hell fuck fuck fuckkkk. What is happening?
I heard someone knocking on the door.
A familiar voice called out, "Anna? The personal maid?"
The door crashed open.
"Are you okay, Master?" Anna's fingers were already tracing a half-crescent and kissing the back of her hand—praying. To Noctis. The realization slithered down my spine.
When Anna burst in, my borrowed tongue moved before I could think. The words spilled out in perfect Keth - this world's liquid, melodic language - my vocal cords shaping the rounded vowels and soft consonants with inherited ease.
"Are you okay, Master?" Her fingers traced that crescent moon gesture.
The response came automatically: "Ikh bin vehrt, nur ein nachtmahr." (I'm fine, just a nightmare.) My mouth formed the words with Kyzen's natural aristocratic lilt, the guttural 'ikh' and rolling 'vehrt' flowing like I'd spoken them a thousand times. Because he had.
For one terrifying second, I'd expected to stammer. But Kyzen's muscle memory gripped my speech like puppet strings. The relief was undercut by unease - how much of this fluency was me versus his lingering ghost in this body's reflexes?
Anna showed no suspicion. Of course not. To her ears, her master sounded exactly as he always had.
The words came automatically. " I don't know what I've done to upset Lord Noctis."
Her slightly disappointed yet nevertheless worried gaze lingered. "Do you need anything?" Her lips moved silently, praying, always praying.
The request left my lips before I could stop it.
"Warm milk would be nice."
Anna shook her head as she closed the door. "I'll notify Charles immediately. Master Kyzen, get some rest."
I offered her a grateful smile. The moment the latch clicked.
Sigh...
This was no dream.
I'm Oliver—from Earth. The thought clawed at my skull. No way this transmigration bullshit actually happens. But the cold sweat soaking my shirt, the unfamiliar weight of this body—too real.
My fingers brushed through the long, pure milky-white hair, tied in a ponytail. Thick strands escaped to frame a face carved with the sharp elegance of a noble blade. The mirror showed a stranger ripped from a fantasy novel: piercing dark eyes (cold as shadowed steel) set against the white mane, with a jawline that could cut stone. At 5'10", my lean but broad-shouldered build spoke of both noble breeding and hard training. This was the face of a man who turned heads—on Earth, it would've had agencies fighting to sign me. Not that Oliver had been lacking, but Kyzen's body was built like a storybook hero crossed with a panther.
Kyzen's muscle memory guided my movements—too fluid, too natural—as I tested the body. When I sat on the bed's edge, the ponytail slithered over my shoulder like a living thing.
Kyzen Lunthaler Varae.
The pocket watch on the nightstand ticked relentlessly, its silver casing engraved with the Lunthaler crest. Outside, an owl's cry pierced the night.
Two lives worth of memory. One body.
Had I erased him?
The thought coiled in my gut like poison. I wasn't a killer - but if my arrival had obliterated Kyzen's soul without a trace, did that distinction matter?
Or worse - had we merged?
Fragments of his life bled into my mind: half-remembered faces, reflexes I'd never learned, instincts that weren't mine. Was he still in here, drowning beneath my consciousness? A voice muffled by the weight of my own thoughts?
Then the third possibility - the one that iced my veins.
What if Kyzen had been ripped out of his own body? A spirit severed, forced to haunt the edges of his stolen life, screaming as I wore his skin. Was he watching now, fists pounding some ethereal prison I couldn't see?
The silence in the chamber was absolute. No phantom whispers, no ghostly chills. Just the suffocating dark and the echo of my own guilt.
"I never wanted this."
True - but did intent absolve me? I was here. He wasn't. That fact sat heavy as a tombstone.
What if he couldn't answer?
A sad laugh escaped me. Everything I'd said... none of it could be right. I didn't know anything. My hand pressed against my face, fingers trembling against unfamiliar features.
The doubt slithered closer. What if only scraps remained - memories dissolving into mine like ink in water? Would I wake one day and find Oliver fading, replaced by Kyzen's shadow?
I clenched my fists. No. I'm still me.
But the fear lingered, darker still: What if neither of us could go back?
The bed groaned as I turned toward the ceiling
"Kyzen... if you're out there... I'm sorry."
Only silence answered.
After a few minutes of sorting through the flood of new memories, I began to understand my current situation.'
The body I now possessed belonged to Kyzen, a 17-year-old boy. The name slotted into my mind, sharp as a blade, Kyzen Lunthaler Varae. Second child to the Baron of Varae. A life not mine clicking into place with terrible clarity.
If I were to compare this world's level of development to Earth's history, it would fall somewhere between the Medieval and Renaissance periods.
This world seemed far larger than Earth, judging by Kyzen's knowledge. The calendar alone proved strange - three extra months stretched the year significantly longer, though each month still held thirty-one days, making the passage of time feel deceptively familiar.
Except nothing here was that simple. Kings ruled but bowed to the Church's influence - at least until recent generations, when royal power had grown considerably stronger. Most citizens never questioned the church, mostly because of their faith and how the.
Knock knock.
"Young Master, it's me, Charles. May I enter?"
"Enter."
The door opened, revealing a man in formal butler's attire. Standing a full six feet tall with rich chocolate-brown hair, his concerned expression seemed genuinely caring.
"Are you faring well now, Young Master?"
I gave a simple nod. "I'm fine. It was just a small nightmare, nothing to be afraid of."
Looking relieved, he handed me a cup of warm milk. Steam curled from the surface in delicate spirals, carrying a rich, creamy scent that somehow smelled like comfort itself. "Anna informed me of what happened. Do you require anything else, Master?"
After taking a sip—damn, this milk is incredible, what kind of cow did this come from?—I waved my hand dismissively. The sweetness lingered on my tongue, almost too perfect, a stark contrast to the bitterness coiled in my chest.
Charles stood at attention in his impeccable butler's uniform—a black tailcoat over a silver-stitched waistcoat, every button fastened with military precision. His white gloves, pristine as fresh snow, contrasted sharply against the onyx cufflinks bearing the Varae crest. At his hip, a worn silver pocket watch caught the candlelight, its rhythmic ticking the only sound in the heavy silence.
"I'm fine now. You may take your leave."
As the soothing warmth spread through me, drowsiness crept in. But something felt... missing.
Ah, of course.
My expression darkened as the weight of realization crashed over me. Kyzen's memories had shielded me for a while, but now... now it was unbearable. The walls of the chamber seemed to press closer, the tapestries suddenly suffocating.
Charles took his leave, wishing me a good night. The door clicked shut with finality.
Mom... Dad...
I'd never see them again.
No more of Mom's warm hugs, her laughter like sunlight breaking through clouds. No more of Dad's steady voice, rough with affection as he told me everything would be alright. No more stupid arguments with my little sister, her smug grin when she thought she'd won. No more late-night gaming sessions with my friends, pixelated victories shouted into headsets until our sides ached from laughter.
I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms hard enough to leave crescent moons in the flesh. They were gone.
Not dead—just gone, severed from me by something worse than distance. A chasm not of miles, but of worlds or entire dimention. Would they even know I disappeared? Would they spend years searching, grieving, and wondering what happened to me? Wandering empty streets calling a name that no longer existed?
That's too cruel of a fate for them.
A hollow ache spread through my chest, gnawing at the space behind my ribs. I wanted to scream until my voice shattered. I wanted to collapse into nothingness. But all I could do was stand there, a ghost in another boy's skin, drowning in grief too vast to carve into words.
I didn't even get to say goodbye.
The mental strain from this waking nightmare had drained me completely. Words failed. Thoughts dissolved. I didn't want to analyze, didn't want to exist in this impossible reality.
My hands pulled the embroidered sheets taut, the linen whispering against itself as I lay flat against the mattress. Moonlight bled from the room like a dying ember, shadows pooling in the hollows of the canopy above. The pocket watch's ticking slowed, each sound stretching thinner, as if time itself hesitated.
As exhaustion dragged me under, I whispered a prayer into the suffocating dark:
"Lord Noctis, God of Dreams, bless your wretched believer with one night of peace. Let me forget this borrowed skin. Let me dream of nothing at all."
The plea tasted like ashes. But as consciousness slipped away, I clung to it like a lifeline—the last sane act of a soul unraveling at the seams.
Silence swallowed the whole room.
✧ ─────────────────────✧
The Transmigration Hour - 12:00 AM
✧ ─────────────────────✧
[Spirit Realm, Location-Unknown]
In the heart of an ancient, circular palace, fifteen pairs of towering thrones stood against the walls, their grandeur untouched by time. Most sat empty, but a few bore silent occupants—some frozen in death yet preserved for centuries, others murmuring in hushed tones. The air was thick with the weight of forgotten eras.
Then, a ripple of energy surged through the room. One of the thrones from a pair, occupied by a golden-haired man draped in robes resembling a Greek scholar's attire, simple yet elegant, suddenly glowed with vibrant life. His chest rose with a first breath, fingers twitched with renewed sensation, and when his eyes snapped open, they burned with the brightness of resurrected youth.
The other figures turned their heads, some with amusement, others with indifference. A voice, dry as parchment, echoed from a shadowed throne: "Welcome back, brother. Did you enjoy your sleep?"
The revived man stretched his limbs, a smirk playing on his lips. "The contractor finally woke up; he delayed everything by almost 2 decades," he declared, flexing his revitalized hand. His form began to shimmer, edges dissolving into shadow.
"I've missed all of you... I wish I had more time."
Before the others could respond, his body vaporized completely—a wisp of golden darkness streaking through the palace halls. The shadowy figure moved with unnatural speed, passing through corridors untouched by time until it found what it sought: an ornate mirror, its surface rippling like water. Without hesitation, the shadow plunged through.
On the other side, the mirror in Kyzen's room shuddered. The glass darkened, then erupted as the figure reformed—just for a moment—before dissolving again into the air.
Back in the hall of thrones with its fifteen pairs of thrones, each pair consisting of two thrones, one distinct from its counterpart.
A whisper lingered: "I've missed all of you..." Then, silence. The others exchanged glances. A deep male voice sighed from one of the occupied thrones. "Always in a hurry, that one."
"Brother is so cold," a figure spoke in disappointment, their voice like wind through dead leaves.
From another throne, a feminine figure wrapped in shifting smoke spoke with playful menace: "Don't worry, little brother. When I catch him, this big sister will give him the beating he deserves."