I opened my eyes and blinked several times, my vision slowly adjusting to the dim light. An old wooden ceiling loomed above me. In the background, I heard a raspy voice laughing with unrestrained glee, accompanied by the rhythmic sound of clapping hands.
Groggily, I pushed myself up and turned toward the laughter.
"Hahaha! I can't believe it! I finally succeeded!"
An elderly man stood before me, wearing a navy blue pointed hat and a matching robe adorned with intricate silver embroidery. His face was deeply wrinkled with age, framed by long silver-white hair and a flowing beard that reached his chest. He was the very image of a classic sage.
"Hahaha! I, the great sage Izohr von Trumwin, have finally succeeded in creating a homunculus!"
Huh? A homunculus?
The words echoed in my mind. I looked down at my chest and froze. A glowing red crystal was embedded at its center, pulsing faintly with life. Hesitantly, I reached up and touched it.
The old man stroked his long beard thoughtfully, his bushy eyebrows furrowing slightly. "Hmmm… what shall I name you?" A spark of inspiration lit up his face. "Ah! I know. Your name is now A."
A? Is that really my name? Not even a proper name—just a letter?
Suddenly, a sharp pain lanced through my head. A torrent of images and memories flooded my mind, flashing by so rapidly I could barely grasp any of them. I clutched my temples, grimacing as the pain intensified.
"Are you okay?" Izohr asked, his voice laced with curiosity. He extended a hand, and a thick book rose from the wooden floor, flying smoothly into his grasp. He began flipping through its pages, studying me with keen interest.
As the throbbing headache finally subsided, I began to take proper notice of my field of vision.
Huh?
For some reason, everything felt… shorter. My perspective was lower, like that of a child.
I began to take in my surroundings. The room was a chaotic mess—books, papers, and what appeared to be spell scrolls were scattered everywhere, covering the floor, piled high on the wooden desk, and even plastered haphazardly across the walls.
My gaze dropped to the floor beneath me. I had been lying in the center of an enormous ritual circle etched with intricate, glowing patterns. It looked like some kind of complex magic spell.
What the hell is this?
As I stared at the circle in confusion, Izohr began murmuring to himself. "Maybe you're a defective product…?"
What? A defective product? What is this old geezer going on about?
I tried to snap back at him, but the words wouldn't come. "Ah—! Ah—! Ah?" Only strange, broken sounds escaped my throat. I tried again, concentrating harder. "Ah… ah— ah…" Still nothing coherent. For some reason, I couldn't form proper words.
Izohr burst into laughter once more. "A homunculus is like a newborn toddler. That's why 'A' is the perfect name for something like you!"
The comment stung. It felt like the old geezer was openly mocking me.
"Experiment number 3,547, named 'A', has been a success," Izohr declared proudly as he scribbled the note into the thick book in his hands.
After a moment, I pushed myself to my feet. My body felt stiff and unfamiliar, but I took a few cautious steps. I nearly tripped over my own legs and quickly steadied myself before I could fall.
Suddenly, Izohr tossed a bundle of clothes toward me. They were thick, rough, and a dull, dirty brown.
"Put them on and follow me," he commanded.
I clumsily dressed in the ill-fitting garments and trailed after the elderly mage as he strode out of the room. The moment I crossed the threshold, the door swung shut behind me on its own with a soft click. Izohr continued walking as though nothing unusual had happened. I glanced back, startled, then hurried to catch up.
The stone floor was cold beneath my bare feet as we walked what felt like an endless corridor. Eventually, we stopped before another door. Izohr opened it and declared with grand flourish:
"Welcome to the study of the greatest archmage to ever exist—I, Izohr von Trumwin!"
He stepped inside, and I followed. The study was vast, at least three times larger than the chamber where I had awakened. On the far left stood several easels with painting canvases—some finished, others blank, and a few still in progress. To the far right, towering bookshelves brimmed with ancient tomes, while a grand marble desk dominated the center of the room.
Izohr settled into a high-backed chair behind the desk and studied me thoughtfully, stroking his long silver beard.
"Hmmm… what should I do with you?" he muttered. "You look like a seven-year-old boy. Tricky… very tricky…"
His eyes suddenly brightened. "Ah! I know! You will be my servant. Yes! That's it! Hahaha! I need someone to clean up after my research and prepare meals." He paused, eyeing my current attire. "But you'll need better clothes. Wait here and don't wander off."
He vanished for a few hours. When he returned, he carried a fresh set of garments.
"Here, change into these."
I obeyed. The new clothes felt far superior—soft, smooth, and finely made. They resembled a butler's uniform: a crisp black suit with a white dress shirt, a neat black tie, and elegant silver embroidery that matched Izohr's own robes.
"Very well," he said with satisfaction. "From this moment onward, you are the personal servant of the great archmage Izohr von Trumwin."
And so began my life in this strange new world.