"Who the fuck am I?"
Arin's voice came out hoarse, the words echoing faintly in the dim room.
For a moment, the silence felt heavy.
Then a sleepy groan came from above him.
"Did you see a weird dream again?" a voice muttered from the upper bunk.
The wooden frame creaked as the boy above shifted slightly.
"Go back to sleep, Arin," the boy murmured lazily. "You always shout when you dream."
Arin froze.
The name echoed in his mind.
Arin.
Suddenly—
Images exploded across his mind.
Not one memory.
Hundreds.
Thousands.
They crashed into his consciousness like violent ocean waves.
A grand hall filled with candles.
A woman leaning down toward him.
Soft brown eyes.
Warm hands touching his cheeks.
"Here," the woman said gently, fastening something around his neck. "This belongs to you now, Arin."
He remembered the necklace.
The silver crest.
The shield.
The same one now hanging against his chest.
The memory shifted again.
The woman smiled.
She wore a deep crimson gown, elegant and noble. Golden bracelets shimmered around her wrist as she pulled the young boy into a gentle embrace.
"My little Arin," she whispered.
Another memory struck.
A tall man.
Broad shoulders.
A sword hanging at his side.
The man's expression was proud, strong… and distant.
His father.
The memories came faster now.
Faces.
Rooms.
Voices.
Moments of a life that wasn't Dev Sharma's.
Arin staggered back toward the bed, breathing heavily.
"Stop… stop…"
His head throbbed.
His mind felt like it was splitting apart.
Desperate for air, he rushed toward the window and threw both shutters open.
Sunlight flooded the room instantly.
The sudden brightness forced him to squint.
Outside, the world stretched before him.
Stone-paved roads ran between rows of wooden houses. The roofs were steep and dark, their wooden beams aged but sturdy.
A horse carriage rattled past slowly, its wheels clattering across the stone road.
Further down the street, merchants were opening their shops while early travelers walked through the town.
Above them, birds glided across the pale blue sky.
Beyond the city, vast green mountains rose quietly in the distance.
Arin stared.
This was not Bangalore.
This was not Earth.
The realization settled slowly in his chest.
"I'm… not home anymore," Arin whispered.
He stepped away from the window and returned to the bed.
Above him, Tomas had already rolled over and fallen asleep again, his quiet breathing steady and slow.
Arin sat down silently.
Time passed.
Minutes blurred into an hour.
During that hour, the memories finally settled.
Arin Valcrest.
That was his name now.
His parents had once been nobles.
His father, a swordsman who fought for the kingdom.
His mother, a noblewoman who loved crafting intricate wooden mechanisms.
They had both died in war.
After their deaths, the estate had collapsed under debt.
The lands were sold.
The servants dismissed.
And the boy who once belonged to House Valcrest was sent to an orphanage.
Arin closed his eyes slowly.
"So that's… my life now."
He let out a quiet breath.
Then another memory surfaced.
The book.
His mother's gift.
Arin stood up and walked toward the wooden cupboard built into the wall.
Inside, beneath folded clothes, sat a large wooden box.
He lifted it carefully and placed it on the bed.
The lid creaked softly as he opened it.
Inside lay a massive book.
Its cover was aged but beautiful, bound in thick leather stitched with golden thread.
Across the front were engraved words.
Mechanical Dolls — Beginner to Advanced
The book was enormous.
Thousands of pages thick.
Next to it rested a dagger.
The blade was sheathed, but the handle was finely crafted.
Arin touched it.
The moment his fingers brushed the weapon, another memory surfaced.
A younger version of himself.
Seven years old.
Standing in a large hall.
Two armored guards stood near the door while an official knelt in front of him.
"We regret to inform you," the official said carefully, "that your parents have fallen in battle."
The young boy stared blankly.
The official presented the dagger.
"This was recovered from the battlefield. It belonged to your father."
The memory faded.
Arin exhaled slowly.
"So that's all that remained…"
Suddenly—
The door burst open.
"How much longer do you boys plan to sleep?"
The sharp voice cut through the room.
Marta Dovelyn, the orphanage caretaker, stood at the doorway with her hands on her hips.
Her stern eyes scanned the room.
"Morning chores don't wait for lazy bones!"
Tomas shot upright instantly.
"I'm awake!" Tomas blurted.
Marta narrowed her eyes.
"You were snoring."
"I was meditating," Tomas said quickly.
Arin blinked.
Marta folded her arms.
"Meditating?"
"Yes," Tomas said confidently. "I was practicing advanced breathing magic."
Marta stared at him for three seconds.
Then sighed.
"Get downstairs."
Tomas grinned sheepishly.
"Yes, ma'am."
The orphanage kitchen was already warm when they arrived.
Four older boys stood around a large iron pot hanging over the fire.
Two of them kneaded dough, preparing bread.
Arin and Tomas joined the cooking.
The stew simmered slowly inside the pot.
Small pieces of meat floated among green peas and chopped vegetables while fragrant herbs filled the air with a comforting aroma.
Tomas stirred the pot lazily.
"If I ever become a famous adventurer," Tomas said, "I'm hiring someone else to cook."
"You can barely stir a pot," Arin replied.
"I stir with passion," Tomas said proudly.
Arin snorted.
Soon the dining hall filled with children.
Around thirty of them.
Some as young as five years old.
Others closer to Arin's age.
They sat at long wooden tables as bowls of stew and fresh bread were passed around.
The bread carried a slight sweetness while the warm broth filled the room with comforting steam.
At the far end of the hall, Marta stood quietly, watching the children eat.
She didn't take a bowl for herself.
After a few minutes, she simply turned and walked back toward her office.
Arin noticed.
But said nothing.
Across the table, a small girl with messy hair and bright eyes stared at his bowl.
"Arin," she said softly.
"Yes, Mira?" Arin asked.
"Are you going to eat that meat?"
Tomas leaned closer.
"She has excellent negotiation skills," Tomas whispered.
Mira nodded proudly.
Arin chuckled and slid the small piece of meat into her bowl.
"Deal."
Classes began shortly after breakfast.
The older children gathered around a blackboard while Marta stood at the front.
Lessons included reading, numbers, and writing.
But the most interesting part came after lunch.
Magic practice.
The children stood in the courtyard behind the orphanage.
"Focus on your breathing," Marta instructed.
Several children began reciting incantations.
Small flames flickered above their palms.
Others created tiny gusts of wind that rustled the grass.
One boy lifted droplets of water that floated briefly before falling again.
Tomas stepped forward confidently.
"Ventara."
A swirl of wind spun gently in his palm.
Then he stomped his foot.
The ground trembled slightly.
Earth magic.
Arin blinked.
"You're showing off," Arin said.
Tomas grinned.
"Obviously."
Arin attempted the same fire spell he remembered.
A small spark appeared above his fingers.
Then fizzled.
"Still terrible," Tomas said helpfully.
"Thank you," Arin replied flatly.
By evening, exhaustion settled over the orphanage.
Dinner was simple.
Mashed potatoes with a bit of salt.
Bread.
And another bowl of thin soup.
After eating, Arin and Tomas returned to their room.
Tomas sat at the small table and lit the oil lamp.
"What are you going to do when you leave?" Tomas asked.
Arin looked up.
"Leave?"
"You know," Tomas said. "When you become an adult next month."
Arin fell silent.
Thirty-three days.
"That day is called Departure Day," Tomas added casually.
Arin nodded slowly.
"I'm… still thinking."
Tomas shrugged.
"I'll probably become an adventurer."
"That sounds dangerous."
"That sounds fun," Tomas replied.
Arin didn't answer.
Instead, he pulled the wooden box onto his bed and lit a candle beside him.
He opened the large mechanical book.
The first page showed a detailed diagram.
A wooden doll.
But inside its body…
Gears.
Springs.
Moving joints.
Arin leaned closer.
"This is…"
His heart began to race.
If something like this could be built…
It would almost be like creating a machine.
A mechanical being.
Dev Sharma's mind stirred within Arin's body.
"If I can build this…" he whispered softly.
"…I might survive."
Outside, the wind brushed softly against the wooden walls of the orphanage.
And for the first time since waking in this strange world…
Arin Valcrest began to plan.