The morning sun stung Daeho's face. Slowly, he opened his eyes, blinking as he tried to adjust his blurred vision. As his sight began to clear, a reality hit him.
I can move!
With a jolt, he sat up. His breath came in gasps, his chest pounding with relief that the shackles of paralysis were gone. His hand reflexively went to the source of irritation on his face.
A bandage?
"Ouch!" A sharp, throbbing pain shot through his temple again. No wonder my head hurts so much. I must have had an accident.
But then, fragments of memories from last night assaulted him. The darkness, the scent of incense and blood, and... a woman. Her cold lips, the smell of alcohol, and the salt of her tears.
His chest tightened with questions. Where did that woman go?
Daeho jumped from the bed, his body still weak but forcing it to move. His eyes widened, searching for answers. Across the room, a gold-framed mirror reflected a strange figure.
He approached it, his steps unsteady.
The reflection was of a young man he didn't recognize. His blond hair was disheveled, his body looked thin beneath a simple white t-shirt. His cheeks were hollow, accentuating his cheekbones.
"Did I... transmigrate?" he whispered hoarsely to the image in the mirror, his voice raspy and foreign to his own ears.
He moved closer, the tip of his finger touching the cold glass.
A wave of alien sensations immediately crashed over him-not just a headache, but a feeling of something stabbing into his mind. He no longer saw the mirror's reflection; what sprawled before his eyes was...
...a field of purple nightshade flowers. He could almost feel the warmth of the sun and the texture of the petals at his fingertips. A woman in a wide-brimmed hat smiled warmly-his mother.
So that's how I knew the scent of Nightshade and ebony wood?
But that warmth quickly crumbled, replaced by a piercing emptiness. The memory twisted, dragging him to a bleak day.
Now he saw a simple gravestone. The wind felt colder. His hand-Nova's hand-trembling as it placed one last sprig of nightshade for his mother.
That frozen explosion of grief then heated up, turning into a thick, potent anger. Then it shifted again, faster and more chaotic, as if he was being pulled by something, watching flashes of memory.
Until it finally arrived-A room. A man-his father-standing stiffly. And those words were finally spoken, turning sorrow into poison: "I was the one who poisoned her."
…
"You... killed Mom?" Daeho hissed. The voice that came out was his own, but the crushing devastation that accompanied it belonged entirely to Nova.
Chaos ran rampant in his mind. What the hell is this? No one told me transmigrating also meant inheriting someone else's inner torment. Now I can feel this body's anger.
Daeho stared at the unfamiliar shadow in the mirror. He touched his own face, yet it felt like touching someone else-it felt utterly strange and new!
His gaze shifted to his surroundings. This room was too opulent for the poor youth he remembered-solid stone walls, luxurious carpets, and carved furniture. A stark contrast to the bitter memories of the Inklings District.
Daeho walked to the stained-glass window. As his eyes looked out, his breath nearly caught. Stretching before him was an endless expanse of dense forest, with no trace of settlements or any other signs of civilization.
Then, what's my status now?
His mind circled back to Nova's last memories. A poor kid who... was sold by his own father.
So, am I a slave now? Or what? Why did that woman kiss me?
"Damn it," he cursed inwardly. This was nothing like the transmigration stories he had imagined.
Yet the most torturous thing was the invisible legacy Nova left behind-waves of sadness, despair, and depression that kept assaulting his soul, making his chest feel tight.
"You are not Nova, okay? You are Daeho. Yes, I am Kim Daeho!"
He bit his lip, forcing that foreign identity into every fiber of his consciousness, trying to build a fortress amidst the storm of emotions that weren't his.
Alright. Now, what should I do? He tried to shift his focus.
His eyes swept every corner of the opulent room, hunting for clues, until they finally fixed on an old book lying on the writing desk.
Information. I need to understand this new world!
With measured steps, he approached the desk and picked up the book.
...Daeho frowned. The book's cover was adorned with writing in an alphabet he didn't recognize. But strangely, as soon as his eyes focused on it, the meaning appeared in his head: "Veridia: A Brief History & Governance."
How can I read this?
Curious, he opened the book. The same thing happened. Lines of text that should have been meaningless scribbles were instead read perfectly in his mind. An understanding crystallized…
Is it because of Nova's innate knowledge? he thought, a small, unstoppable smile spreading on his lips. Well, at least there's an upside. I don't need to bother with language lessons.
Taking a deep breath, Daeho focused his attention on the first page of the book, ready to delve into the secrets of his new world.
Daeho forced his eyes to stay open, absorbing line after line. The basic information began to form a picture of his new world, and the picture was... grim.
I have to read it quickly, before someone comes!
Geography & Astronomy: The Kingdom of Veridia - one of five empires on the continent of Avalon. Daeho frowned. Empire? Not just an ordinary kingdom? From the context, it seemed to refer to a large state ruling over vast territories with an absolute monarchical system, backed by formidable military and magical power. This Veridia Empire was apparently an island nation, geographically isolated.
Then his eyes fell on the section about the moons. The Silver Moon (Luna) brought stability and clarity... The Purple Moon (Mora) was associated with nightmares and emotional turmoil. The scientific explanations were vague, more laden with superstition and religious belief.
He froze. Ji-hun. The old book. The candle with an unnatural flame. The ritual they performed right under the moonlight... It can't be. His heart raced. Did they accidentally summon something from Mora? Is that what brought me here? A shiver ran down his spine.
Social Structure: A strictly hierarchical society, led by nobles with Luna magic affinity. The caste system was clear: at the top were the imperial family and high nobility who mastered Luna magic, below them the lower nobility, then commoners, and at the very bottom...
He reached the part that made his blood run cold.
"The Tainted."
The term itself was piercing. The explanation was worse: those influenced by Mora, branded physically and socially, exiled to slum districts... Inklings? The district Nova remembered so clearly-narrow alleys, the stench of rotting garbage, and a life constantly filled with hunger and fear. This "Tainted" status was hereditary, dooming entire lineages to live on the margins.
"Why does something like this exist in a book on state governance? Do they mandate the oppression of the Tainted?" Daeho murmured softly, and a bitter memory of Nova immediately seized his thoughts. His chest felt tight. So, not just poor. Nova was an outcast. One of the "Tainted" in the eyes of the world.
Dark History: The Melodian War of Liberation... the eradication of treacherous clans who plotted a coup and practiced forbidden magic. The book read as if written by the victors, its words smooth and full of justification. But a terrible foreboding, driven by the remnants of Nova's instincts, screamed in his head.
Cassius. Our clan.
Was his family among those "traitors"? Were they one of the clans massacred in the great purge?
In Nova's memories, he saw a lush, green place. Daeho tapped his temple, hoping to trigger more of Nova's memories…
But nothing came-After seeing the green expanse from age ten, the memory instantly jumped forward several years, immediately showing the squalor of Inklings and the depression, the despair belonging to Nova that began attacking him again.
Ugh… How can anyone live with feelings this devastating?! he grumbled, feeling the constriction in his chest.
This basic knowledge was no longer mere information. It was a hard slap confirming one thing: this was not a transmigration into the body of a hero or a prince.
This was a rebirth in the body of a victim-an outcast who came from a despised bloodline.
"Damn it," he hissed, the book feeling heavy in his hands.
Just as he was engrossed in digesting how terrible his position was, the rough creak of the door shattered the silence.
His reflexes were quick. Daeho slammed the book shut and moved away from the desk, his heart pounding wildly.
"What are you doing?"