"...Where am I?"
The words slipped from William's lips in a daze, his voice dry and uncertain. He pushed himself up on trembling arms, his vision still blurred, his thoughts scattered like torn pages in the wind.
"This isn't… my workbench," he muttered, scanning his surroundings. "Where I used to write my novels…"
The air was damp—thick with the scent of earth and something ancient. Rough stone walls enclosed him, dimly lit by a flickering, uneven glow. It took him a moment to realize he was inside a cave.
And then he saw him.
A figure cloaked in worn robes sat silently across from him, unmoving, as though he had been waiting. The man's long beard fell over his chest, his sharp eyes glinting faintly in the low light.
A wizard.
William blinked.
The old man spoke, his voice calm, almost indifferent. "Kid… you are somewhere else."
A pause.
"Or should I say… in another world."
William stared at him, disbelief crashing over him like a wave.
"Huh?" he scoffed, forcing a laugh that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Are you joking? And is your brain even working?"
The absurdity of the situation clung to him. This had to be some kind of elaborate prank—some strange dream his exhausted mind had conjured. That had to be it.
But the wizard did not laugh.
Instead, he tilted his head slightly, studying William as though he were an open book.
"That man never said he was joking," the wizard replied evenly. "You agreed to his offer. You performed the ritual with him."
His gaze sharpened.
"And now… here you are."
The words struck something deep inside William.
For a moment, everything stilled.
Then—
"Wait… wait, wait, wait—" William's voice cracked as realization crept in, slow and suffocating. "Are you saying… that was real? That transmigration thing?"
He ran a hand through his hair, pacing slightly despite his unsteady legs.
"I thought he was just messing around!" he exclaimed. "Lighting a paper on fire, scribbling some random spell—it was April 1st! How was I supposed to take that seriously? Bro, I thought it was a joke!"
The wizard's expression remained unchanged.
"Yes," he said simply. "It was real."
Silence fell heavily between them.
"You are now in another world," the wizard continued. "And in your place… a body double lives your life. No one will know you are gone."
William froze.
A strange emptiness hollowed out his chest.
Before he could process the weight of those words—before panic, fear, or denial could fully take hold—his body gave out.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
—
Memories stirred.
Faint at first, like echoes drifting through a fog, then clearer—sharper , he fell unconscious due to him being exhausted , and in his mind , he started to see his past , when he still was in his own world.
"…Finally."
William leaned back in his chair, exhaustion and satisfaction mixing in his voice. "The first volume of my sci-fi novel is done."
A small smile tugged at his lips. "I hope people like it."
Across from him, Michael stretched lazily, glancing at the manuscript. "Yeah, it's really good," he said. "But bro… first we need a publisher."
He sighed. "And we don't even have money for a proper cover. No artist, nothing."
William waved a hand dismissively. "We'll figure something out."
Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, his expression shifted.
"Wait… did you do today's homework?" he asked.
Michael's face froze.
"Miss Christy is going to kill us if we don't submit it," William continued casually. "It's been days since we—"
"BRO!"
Michael shot upright, his jaw dropping in horror. "You should've told me earlier!"
He scrambled for his books. "Let me do it now!"
William chuckled, shaking his head. "Relax. I'm not coming to school tomorrow anyway."
Michael paused mid-motion. "What?"
"I'm going to find a publisher," William said, already reaching for his phone. "I'll call Christine and Tracy. They might know someone."
Michael stared at him for a moment before sighing. "Good luck with that."
—
The memory shifted.
William walked down the street, phone pressed to his ear as the evening breeze brushed past him.
"Hey, what's up, William?" Tracy's voice came through, light and familiar.
"Yo, Tracy. I'm good," he replied quickly. "Listen, I don't have time to waste, so I'll get straight to it."
"Oh? Alright, go ahead."
"Do you know anyone who writes novels and publishes them?" William asked. "Me and Michael just finished Volume 1, and we want to get it out there."
There was a brief pause.
"Well… yeah," Tracy said slowly. "My cousin does that kind of stuff. But his novel isn't that popular."
"That's fine," William said immediately. "If he publishes his work, that's all that matters. Can you give me his number?"
Another pause—this one hesitant.
"I can," Tracy replied, "but he's… extremely introverted. Like, really. It'd be better if you just came over. I'll call him here, and you two can talk."
William didn't hesitate.
"Do it," he said. "Call him ASAP. I'm coming."
He ended the call before she could respond, already picking up his pace.
—
On the other side, Tracy sighed, staring at her phone before dialing another number.
"Come on, Jake… just this once…"
—
Meanwhile, William took a small detour.
A quiet, nearly forgotten shop stood along the roadside. Its wooden sign creaked softly in the wind, its dim interior barely visible through dusty glass.
William stepped inside.
"Hello? Is anyone here?" he called out.
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then, from the back room, an elderly man emerged—his movements slow but steady.
"Yes, sir," he said kindly. "I'm here. What would you like?"
William smiled faintly. "Some chocolates."
The old man nodded and began packing them carefully.
William had been here many times before. The shop rarely saw customers, and the old man struggled to make a living. Yet despite that, he was always warm, always generous—often slipping in extra sweets without asking for anything in return.
"Here you go, William," the man said, handing over the packet. "How was your day?"
William took it, shrugging lightly. "Pretty good, I guess. What about you?"
The old man chuckled softly. "Boring, as always."
Then, with a knowing look, he added, "You might be getting late."
William shook his head. "Nah, I've got time. Anyway… here's your money. Almost forgot."
The old man accepted it with a nod.
"Take care," he said gently.
William waved as he turned to leave. "See you later."
The bell above the door chimed faintly as he stepped out.
—
The shop fell silent again.
For a while, the old man stood still, watching the empty doorway.
Then, slowly, he turned and walked back inside.
He picked up a piece of paper.
His hand, though aged, moved with surprising precision as he began to write.
"I have a child in mind… one who can do it."
The ink flowed steadily, each word deliberate.
"Soon, I will send him to you. It is your duty to guide him…"
He paused.
"…and make sure that—"
The pen stopped.
The ink had run dry.
A faint frown crossed his face, but he said nothing. Instead, he folded the incomplete letter carefully, as though its unfinished state held meaning of its own.
Then, stepping outside, he raised his hand.
A raven descended from the darkening sky, landing silently before him.
He tied the letter to its leg.
"For now… this will suffice," he murmured.
With a small motion, he released it.
The raven took flight, its wings cutting through the fading light as it disappeared into the horizon—carrying with it a message… and the beginning of something far greater , but why did he sent the message with a raven when he could have sent it with phones or mails , no one knows.