Kael was nineteen. He was neither extraordinary nor weak, but he carried a quiet intelligence that made others notice him in fleeting moments. Life, however, had been unkind. University studies were uninspiring, part-time jobs barely covered his expenses, and friends were scattered like autumn leaves, leaving him with only faint memories of laughter and companionship. Nights were his solace, when he could wander the streets and think freely without judgment. Yet even in these moments, his thoughts turned toward the impossible—a life where he could be someone important, someone who mattered.
One night, while walking the dimly lit streets, Kael felt a strange pull. The air thickened around him, and an unnatural brightness seeped into his vision. It was as though the world had torn a small slit into something beyond his understanding. He fell to his knees, gripping the cold stone, as the sensation swallowed him entirely. Darkness claimed him briefly, and when he opened his eyes again, the world was different.
He had awakened in another place entirely. Brick and stone structures lined the streets, but magic shimmered faintly in the air, almost like heat haze. People dressed in garments that felt both familiar and strange walked hurriedly, some muttering incantations that caused sparks to flicker in their hands. He realized immediately: he had been transmigrated into a new world. Perhaps, he thought, he was the protagonist here, destined for greatness. A system, magic, some extraordinary power—anything could await him.
But reality was cruel. Hunger gnawed at his stomach within hours. He had no money, no knowledge of the city, and his assumptions about power were just that—assumptions. Nights were spent huddled in empty alleys, behind crates, and under bridges, scavenging scraps, hiding from the watchful eyes of the city guards, and shivering in the biting cold.
By his fourth night, Kael was frail, his stomach a hollow knot of pain, his body shivering uncontrollably. Then, a voice cut through the darkness.
"You look like you could use a meal, boy," said an old man, leaning on a gnarled cane, a wide-brimmed hat casting a shadow over his face. His eyes twinkled faintly, almost kindly.
Kael's mind raced. He hesitated, instincts screaming danger, but hunger was louder than reason. He followed the man into a narrow doorway, into a room dimly lit by a flickering fire. Steam rose from a thick, savory stew. Kael's stomach clenched with relief and disbelief. He could barely believe it was real.
"Thank… you," Kael whispered, voice hoarse from exhaustion.
The man's smile widened. "It's rare to see someone survive this long, boy. You have resilience, I'll give you that."
Kael felt warmth creep into his chest, a fragile hope. Perhaps this world was kinder than he had feared.
Then came shadows from the corners. Two figures stepped forward silently, broad-shouldered and menacing. Fear clenched Kael's heart. He froze, instinctively trying to retreat, but the old man's voice sliced through the room.
"You should have stayed hungry."
Pain exploded through Kael's chest as knives struck him in sudden, precise movements. He tried to scream, but no sound came. His vision tunneled, narrowing until the room blurred and dissolved. The warmth of the fire, the smell of the stew, the comfort of being offered food—all disappeared, replaced by cold, implacable death.
As darkness claimed him, he had only one fleeting thought: Why now? Why me?