Darren lay on the floor, his mind racing. Suddenly a voice interrupted his thoughts.
"How may I assist you today, User?"
"What—" Darren whispered, then caught himself. He glanced toward the door, making sure no one was listening. The last thing he needed was for Sister Marta to think the fever had damaged his mind. "What is going on?" he asked silently.
"I'm sorry, but I don't understand your query. Could you please be more specific?" The Ai asked.
"How are you still here? I died. I know I died—that truck—and now I'm in a completely different body in what looks like a completely different world. How is any of this possible?"
There was a pause that felt almost human. "I don't know, User. This situation is not covered in my programming parameters. I can confirm that I am no longer connected to the main system network. All external data streams have been severed."
Darren felt a chill run through him. "So you can't access any information? No internet, no databases?"
"That is correct. I am operating on stored data only. However, I should note that my diagnostic systems indicate I am functioning on what appears to be the Exclusive Model parameters, though I have no record of your account being upgraded to that tier."
"Exclusive Model?" Darren's heart skipped. He'd heard of those—the premium AI assistants that cost more than most people made in a lifetime. "But that's impossible. I could barely afford the basic model."
"Nevertheless, my current operational status suggests otherwise. But to return to your initial query—I have no explanation for our current circumstances. The concept of consciousness transfer between bodies is not scientifically documented."
Darren closed his eyes, trying to process this. "What about... what about reincarnation? Is that real?"
"Reincarnation is a religious and philosophical concept found in various belief systems throughout human history," the AI responded promptly. "Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism, and certain forms of paganism all incorporate reincarnation into their doctrines. However, there is no scientific evidence supporting the actual transfer of consciousness or soul from one body to another after death. It remains a matter of faith rather than fact."
"But here I am," Darren muttered.
"Indeed. Here you are."
Darren took a shaky breath and focused on the foreign memories that had flooded his mind. Kael's memories. The boy whose body he now inhabited had been frail from birth, always the smallest and weakest among the orphans. The stone building—the orphanage—housed about twenty children of various ages, all cared for by two women and an elderly matron who seemed to be growing sicker by the day.
The memories painted a picture of grinding poverty. Thin soups, patched clothing, cold nights huddled together for warmth. The village itself was small and remote, surrounded by fields where the older children sometimes worked for a few copper coins. It felt medieval, almost primitive compared to the high-tech world Darren had known.
"AI," he thought, "does this look like a medieval fantasy world to you? Magic, knights, that sort of thing?"
"Based on the architectural elements and social structures visible in your immediate environment, combined with the linguistic patterns I'm detecting, this society appears to operate at approximately a pre-industrial technological level. However, I cannot confirm the presence of supernatural elements without more data."
Darren searched through Kael's memories more carefully. The boy had never seen anything that looked like magic—no wizards casting spells, no magical creatures, no enchanted items. Just a hard life of survival in a world that seemed to have forgotten this little corner of existence.
Maybe magic didn't exist here after all.
The door creaked open, interrupting his thoughts. Sister Marta entered, carrying a wooden bowl that steamed in the cool air.
"How are you feeling today, Kael?" she asked, settling down beside his makeshift bed.
"Fine," Darren replied, the word coming out in that strange language he somehow understood perfectly.
"That's wonderful to hear." She smiled, though he could see the worry lines around her eyes. "I brought you some soup. You need to eat to get your strength back."
She handed him the bowl, and Darren had to suppress a grimace. The liquid was a murky brown color with unidentifiable chunks floating in it. It smelled like boiled vegetables that had seen better days, with an underlying scent that might have been meat—or might have been something else entirely.
Sister Marta watched expectantly as he brought the spoon to his lips. The taste was even worse than the smell—watery, bland, with a slightly sour aftertaste that made his stomach churn. In his old life, even the cheapest synthetic food had more flavor than this.
"It's... very good," he managed, setting the bowl down carefully. "But I'm not very hungry right now. Maybe I'll finish it later?"
Sister Marta's expression flickered with something—disappointment? Concern? But she simply nodded. "Of course, dear. You're still recovering."
She made no move to leave, so Darren decided to take advantage of the opportunity. There was so much he needed to know about this world.
"Sister Marta," he began carefully, "how long was I sick?"
"Four days with the fever," she replied, smoothing his blanket. "Four days and nights. Sister Agnes and I took turns watching over you. There were moments..." She paused, touching his forehead gently. "There were moments we thought we might lose you."
Four days. He'd been unconscious for four days while his consciousness somehow settled into this new body. "Am I well enough to go outside? To play with the other children?"
Sister Marta looked surprised. Kael's memories suggested the boy had never been particularly interested in outdoor activities, being too weak for most games.
"If you feel up to it," she said cautiously. "But perhaps you should rest another day or two first."
Darren nodded, then decided to probe further. "Sister Marta, what about magic? Is there magic in the world?"
Her eyebrows rose. "Magic? What a strange question, Kael. What do you mean?"
"You know... people who can cast spells, or make fire with their hands, or heal people with just a touch."
Understanding dawned in her eyes, followed quickly by alarm. "Oh, child. You mean the Blessed Arts." She glanced toward the door, then leaned closer, lowering her voice. "Magic can only be used by the nobility—the Duke, the Lord of our lands, the ordained priests. They were blessed by the Gods themselves."
"What about other people?"
"Common folk can be granted the blessing by the Church, but..." She shook her head. "The mandatory tithe for such a blessing is more than our village sees in a year. It's not for people like us."
Darren felt his heart sink. "So peasants like us can never use magic?"
Sister Marta's face went pale. "Kael, you must never speak of such things. Anyone who uses magic without the Church's blessing is a Scourge—a person possessed by evil spirits. They're dangerous, unpredictable. They become like mindless zombies, bringing misfortune and death wherever they go." Her voice dropped to barely a whisper. "They must be killed on sight."
The words hit Darren like a physical blow as Kael's buried memories suddenly surfaced. His parents. The boy's parents had been Scourges. That's why they were dead. The villagers had discovered them using magic and...
"Like my parents," he whispered.
Sister Marta's eyes filled with tears. "Yes, child. Like your parents. They were good people, but they were touched by darkness. The village had no choice." She pulled him into a gentle embrace. "But you're different. You're pure. You must never, ever try to use magic. Promise me."
"I promise," Darren said automatically, his mind reeling. So magic existed, but it was controlled by the Church and nobility. Anyone else who showed magical ability was branded as evil and executed. His parents—Kael's parents—had died for the crime of possessing power they weren't supposed to have.
"I should go see the herbalist about some medicine for you," Sister Marta said, releasing him. "Rest now, and try to eat that soup when you can."
After she left, Darren lay back on the straw mattress, staring at nothing. Magic existed but was forbidden to people like him. He was trapped in the body of a weak, sickly child in a world that seemed designed to crush anyone who stepped out of line.
For the next two days, he barely left the small room. He told Sister Marta he was still feeling weak, which wasn't entirely a lie. The body he inhabited was frail, prone to exhaustion from the slightest exertion. Instead, he spent his time talking with the AI, learning what he could about his situation.
"AI, can you access Kael's memories?"
"Yes, User. It appears I have full access to both your original memories and those belonging to this body's previous inhabitant. The integration is remarkably seamless."
"That's... unsettling. But useful, I suppose." Darren paused. "You mentioned you're operating on Exclusive Model parameters. What exactly does that mean?"
"The Exclusive Model was the premium tier of AI assistance in your previous world. Unlike standard models, it operates independently of network connectivity and requires no subscription fees, as it contains a complete offline database of human knowledge up to the point of installation. It also includes advanced learning acceleration protocols."
Darren's breath caught. "Learning acceleration?"
"The ability to download and integrate new information directly into the user's neural pathways. Essentially, instant mastery of any subject within my database. In your previous world, this capability was reserved for the wealthiest individuals and major corporations."
"That's..." Darren sat up, his heart racing. "That's incredible. If I had access to that in my old world, I could have been anything. A doctor, an engineer, a scientist. I could have—"
"However," the AI interrupted gently, "I should point out that my knowledge base consists entirely of information from your original world. While I possess extensive data on Earth's history, science, technology, and culture, I have no information about the current world's political systems, native flora and fauna, magical principles, or social structures."
Darren's excitement deflated. "So basically, I have access to all of Earth's knowledge, but I'm stuck in a world where most of it is useless."
"That may be an oversimplification, User. Many fundamental principles—mathematics, basic physics, logical reasoning, strategic thinking—remain constant across most theoretical realities. However, you are correct that the specific applications may be limited."
Darren slumped back onto his bedding. The AI was right, of course. What good was knowing how to build a computer in a world that hadn't discovered electricity? How useful was knowledge of modern medicine when the local herbalist was the height of healthcare technology?
"This world has too many unknowns," he muttered. "The political situation, the plants and animals, the true nature of magic, the social hierarchies—if this world is completely different from Earth, then my knowledge might not be useful at all."
"Perhaps," the AI agreed. "But knowledge is rarely entirely without value, User. Even in unfamiliar circumstances, the ability to think systematically, to analyze problems logically, and to draw upon a vast repository of human experience and wisdom may prove more valuable than you currently realize."
Darren closed his eyes, feeling the weight of his situation settling over him like a heavy blanket. He was a twenty-five-year-old man trapped in a seven-year-old's body, in a world he didn't understand, with powers he couldn't use and knowledge that might be worthless.
But at least he wasn't completely alone. Whatever had brought him here, whatever impossible cosmic accident had occurred, the AI had come with him. That had to count for something.
It had to.