The sky over London was a mocking, brilliant blue—the kind of clear weather that usually promised a peaceful walk home from school. Kevin Black, sixteen and currently debating the structural integrity of a fictional airship in his head, never saw it coming. There was no thunder, no buildup. Just a sudden, blinding white crack that split the world in two.
A lightning strike in perfectly clear weather. It defied every law of meteorology Kevin knew, but as the electricity vaporized his physical form, the "why" didn't seem to matter much.
One moment, his sneakers were hitting the pavement; the next, he was falling through a silent, infinite charcoal void.
"Ah. Right. That was... uncharacteristic of the local climate," a voice boomed, sounding remarkably like a sheepish librarian.
Kevin blinked, or tried to. He had no body, just a consciousness floating in the dark. Before him, a shimmering entity that looked like a kaleidoscope of soft light materialized.
"My apologies, Kevin," the entity sighed. "A clerical error. That bolt was meant for a particularly stubborn oak in Surrey. I've effectively ended your timeline sixty years too early. Since this was entirely my blunder, I'm offering you a transfer to another world. I shall provide you with a new body, and I will allow you to choose your race and grant you one wish to ensure you survive."
Kevin didn't panic. His mind, seasoned by years of steampunk novels and tabletop games, went into overdrive. If he was going to be dropped into a new reality, he wasn't going as a commoner.
"I want to be an Elf," Kevin replied instantly. If he was going to a fantasy world, he wanted the lifespan to actually see his projects through. "And for my wish... I want each and every scientific knowledge and expertise from my world. Physics, chemistry, engineering, medicine, metallurgy—all of it. Integrated into my mind."
The light-being paused. "A peculiar choice. Most ask for infinite mana or a legendary sword. You want to bring thermodynamics and industrialization to a world of monsters?"
"Knowledge is the only lever long enough to move a world," Kevin said firmly.
"Very well. Granted."
The void didn't just fade; it shattered.
Kevin gasped as air—cold, crisp, and smelling of pine and damp earth—filled lungs he hadn't possessed a moment ago. He hit the ground on his knees, his hands brushing against long, silky grass. He felt... different. His vision was unnervingly sharp, his hearing picking up the scuttle of a beetle twenty yards away.
He looked down. He wasn't in his school uniform. He was wearing a charcoal-grey Victorian frock coat, pinstriped trousers, and polished leather boots. Beside him lay a silk top hat.
Checking his gear, his heart hammered. He had a leather satchel containing a fine brass revolver, its cylinder gleaming with the promise of precision engineering. Two pouches sat beside it: one labeled 'Lead', the other 'Silver'.
He pulled a gold pocket watch from his vest. It ticked with a rhythmic, comforting mechanical heart. Finally, he unfolded a parchment map of 'The Continent', its edges inked with names like Novigrad, Vizima, and Nilfgaard.
Kevin stood up, dusting off his coat and placing the top hat firmly on his head. His ears were long and pointed, catching the wind. He felt the weight of a billion formulas and blueprints settling into his brain like a well-oiled machine.
"Right then," Kevin whispered, his British accent sounding crisp in the wild silence. "Let's see where 'here' actually is."
He looked at the map, then at the horizon. He was an Elf in a world that hated them, armed only with a six-shooter and the secrets of the Industrial Revolution.
******
Kevin adjusted his top hat, finding that his new elven body moved with a fluid, uncanny grace. The forest didn't feel like an obstacle; it felt like a well-paved road. Every twig he stepped on seemed to move with him rather than snap under him.
Suddenly, his sharp ears caught it: whispers.
The language was melodic, ancient, and entirely foreign, yet the knowledge gifted by the god translated it in his mind like a ticker tape. Elder Speech.
Kevin didn't hesitate. He crouched low, slipping into a thicket of ferns. He reached into his frock coat and drew the brass revolver. With a practiced flick of his thumb, he checked the cylinder—six heavy lead bullets sat nestled in the chambers. He kept his finger off the trigger, his heart thumping in a rhythmic, mechanical beat that matched his pocket watch.
He scanned the clearing. Nothing. The voices had gone silent.
"You have the grace of a foal on ice, stranger," a voice drifted from directly behind him.
Kevin spun around, his coat tail snapping, but he kept the revolver lowered—a calculated move of diplomatic restraint. Standing on the thick branches of an ancient oak were three elves. They were dressed in mottled greens and browns, their bows drawn with terrifying precision.
The leader, an elf with a jagged scar across his cheek, hopped down lightly, landing without a sound. He eyed Kevin's charcoal-grey frock coat and silk top hat with deep suspicion.
"You have the ears of the Aen Seidhe," the elf said, his voice dripping with dry amusement, "but you need much practice if you wish to move like the folk of the forests. You smell of the city and... strange minerals."
The elf gestured with his chin toward the revolver in Kevin's hand. "And that is a peculiar outfit for a brother. Tell me, what is that strange small pipe you hold? A toy for a nobleman, or a very small, very useless club?"
Kevin stood tall, straightening his lapels despite the arrows pointed at his chest. He realized he had stumbled right into a pack of Scoia'tael—the Squirrels.
"This?" Kevin said, his British accent unfazed as he glanced at the revolver. "This is a masterpiece of ballistics and chemical combustion. And I suspect it's far more 'useful' than it looks."