In a shadow-choked alleyway, beneath the dying light of dusk, a boy no older than fifteen stood still. His black hair clung to his face, matted with sweat and grime. His eyes—deep and hollow like an abyss—reflected neither fear nor mercy, only silence.
He wore tattered clothes stained with dust and blood, barely hanging onto his thin frame. In his hand, a chipped dagger trembled—not from fear, but from exhaustion. Before him, a half-starved beast snarled, its ribs pressing against its fur, its eyes wild and desperate.
The boy didn't flinch. His gaze remained fixed, sharp as the blade in his grasp. This was not the first time he'd fought for survival… and it wouldn't be the last.
The beast lunged toward him, but he evaded it and drove his dagger into its side. The beast howled in pain, a deep gash tearing across its abdomen.
It glared at its prey with furious eyes and rushed again, slashing at him with its paw. Blood splattered from the boy's chest, but he didn't move an inch. Instead, he dragged his dagger toward the beast's face. The beast tried to evade, but froze—its body refusing to move.
Astrid smiled and plunged the blade into its neck. Blood poured out as both collapsed: the beast, lifeless, and Astrid, drained from exhaustion.
He tried to stand again but couldn't, the pain in his chest overwhelming. Reaching to his waist, he pulled out a small pouch of water and drank deeply.
After that, he retrieved a green paste and smeared it across his wound. To his relief, the bleeding stopped almost instantly.
Forcing himself up, he staggered to the wolf-like beast's corpse and pulled his dagger free, the blade smeared with blood. He had coated it with poison beforehand—that was why the beast had frozen mid-attack.
Today, that poison had saved his life. Astrid stared silently at the corpse, then picked it up and began dragging it toward his home.
---
His "home" was nothing more than the ruins of an abandoned castle in which he woked up. He slipped inside, the stone walls cracked and half-swallowed by creeping vines. Within, he set the beast's corpse upon a battered table and began cutting its flesh into several large pieces.
Soon, he built a bonfire and roasted the meat. The smell of cooked flesh filled the ruined hall, but Astrid sat in silence, lost in thought.
I still can't remember it.
Who am I? Where am I? How did I come here? Who brought me?
The questions clawed at his mind, but no answers came. He could only remember fragments—memories from another life.
Just two weeks ago, he had been fighting with a thief who had stolen his wallet. But the bastard had a gun… and he shot me. I died.
And yet, here I am.
Astrid clenched his fists. Did I… transmigrate?
Back then, he had been nothing more than an introverted shut-in. He rarely left his home, spending most of his days buried in web novels. He had no job, living off his parents' care, and the guilt of it weighed on him constantly.
But now, he was in another body. Whose body, he didn't know. Whenever he tried to recall its memories, his head burned with unbearable pain, forcing him to stop.
And so he sat in the ruins, gnawing on roasted beast flesh, haunted by both past and present.