A sudden ache gripped his skull as he sat stiffly on the worn bench by the road. His hands clamped hard at the sides of his face, fingers digging near his forehead. Dizziness blurred his thoughts until nothing made sense anymore.
"Now then - where on earth could I be?" His voice cracked, giving away how fed up he felt.
Into his lungs went air, filling the silence around him. That rush of fear? It wouldn't untangle what just happened. The moment before darkness returns - flickering now at the edge of thought. A sound. Then footsteps fading. Memory stitching itself backward, piece by quiet piece.
Last night, he found himself back in what passed for his room - a cramped, broken-down corner of a building that hardly counted as shelter. A hollow ache stayed in his gut while weariness dragged at every limb. Cooking felt impossible. Thinking? Even harder. So instead, he dropped onto the bed, counting on sleep to quiet the gnawing emptiness.
Then it stopped. Every time he reached back, the past just vanished before anything else could come.
He whispered the words quietly, unsure what to make of it. His gaze shifted as his eyelids lifted slowly. Nothing seemed off at first sight.
Streets filled with folks going about their usual business. Conversations flowed between them while steps carried bodies forward. Life unfolded like any other day, without pause or sign of change.
At first it seemed normal, yet over time small details started to stand out. The way things moved caught his eye differently. Slowly a feeling grew inside him. Something about the scene did not fit together right. Minutes passed while he stayed focused. Patterns emerged that felt off. His attention tightened with each passing moment. It became harder to ignore what was happening. A quiet unease settled in place of curiosity.
A shape drifted by, just above the pavement, like weight had lost interest in holding it down. Close by, fingers lifted - and fire sparked into life, dancing briefly before vanishing without ceremony. A blur cut across the road, too fast for normal steps, leaving only stillness behind.
A hush fell over him as the young man watched, eyes fixed on the unfolding moment. What lay before his gaze refused to make sense right away.
He exhaled softly, voice barely above a whisper. "Not this once more.".
"I thought I was just dreaming earlier… but now there are more people doing the same thing?"
Frozen silence replaced the usual rush of fear, just a quiet shock settling into his words. Not until then did he glance down, eyes tracing each hand like they might hold answers. Ordinary skin, ordinary shape - nothing stood out at all. Flipping palms upward, then downward again, he bent every finger one by one, waiting for a sign that never came.
A noise split the air just as the idea started forming. Head splitting open without warning. Thoughts scattering like birds. This ache arriving out of nowhere. Silence crumbling under its weight.
"Argh!"
His hands flew to his skull when the world turned fuzzy, every muscle locking up under the weight of sharp agony. Something slammed into his thoughts like an intruder breaking through a door. Unfamiliar flashes poured in fast - faces without histories, names with no owners, locations he'd never visited - one after another until nothing made sense anymore.
A whisper slipped out - "Lucas… Ironhart…" - half-formed, caught in the drift of thought. The sound lingered, repeating without intent, like a record skipping in silence. Inside his head, it rang again, softer this time, barely more than breath. Name and memory tangled together, pulled forward by something buried deep. Not loud. Just there, pulsing under everything else.
Fragments of the past started rising, smooth and steady, while the ache inside his skull held on without fading. These moments arrived intact now, stitched together like threads always meant to be whole.
This man goes by Lucas Ironhart.
A kid just turned fourteen, part of the Ironhart line - a clan people talk about when they mean power. Strength runs in their blood, so everyone assumes he will too. Most do what's expected without question - yet not every story fits the mold. Lucas never did.
Out of all the brothers and sisters, he stood last - too thin on skill, too light on power. Try as he might, the bar always stayed beyond reach, set by those who carried the Ironhart title like a crown. Silence grew around him at dinners, voices dipping whenever he spoke. What remained was a presence that didn't fit - one the family wished would fade.
Freed from his presence, they walked away - no pause, no backward glance.
Out came the past like a slap - faces stiff with frost, stares that didn't care, then the shove through the gate with boxes tossed behind him, treated less like a person and more like trash left in the rain.
A whisper of air left his mouth when the past clicked into view. The way it returned felt quiet, almost hesitant.
He gripped the fabric at his neck, voice low. Was this really how things stood - inside someone else's skin? The words slipped out like breath through cracked lips.
A heavy feeling crept through his chest. Just as it started to settle, something shifted ahead. His eyes locked onto the blur of motion before he had time to think.
Overhead, a merchant moved forward, hauling stacks of crates through thin air. Much like everyone else around here, his load drifted along without touching ground - nothing made sense anymore.
A huge mirror caught his attention amid the crates. When it came into view, something pulled his stare straight to it. Staring back at him, his own face made his eyes grow wide.
"What!?"
A stranger looked out from the glass. That reflection did not belong to anyone he knew.
A shock of white hair, neat yet bold, surrounded features too precise to be ordinary. Those eyes - piercing, crimson - held a stillness that felt unnatural. Such a presence demanded notice, impossible to pass by without pause.
A stillness took him, just for seconds. Then his eyes stayed fixed ahead.
The glass slipped by his side, vanishing into the distance with the trader. A quiet shift in position, then gone.
Fingers jumped to his cheeks, brushing the surface, combing strands of hair like proof was needed after the vision hit. He stood there, testing texture, tracing shapes, needing the feel because sight alone wasn't enough. Something shifted when touch took over where eyes left off. Each motion slow, deliberate, as though memory could be pulled from skin itself.
A shiver ran through his words. This... it's actually happening, he whispered inside. Reji doesn't exist now. The truth pressed down, making his breath uneven.
A shape formed without warning right where he was looking. It hung there, faint like smoke caught in light.
[System activating]
Silence gripped him as his eyes locked on the message.
'Wait - what did it mean, system? The question slipped out, tangled in disbelief again.'
The words kept showing up.
____________________
[Player successfully Transmigrated]
[Player Lucas Ironhart]
[Level – 1]
[Health – 100]
[Mana – 10]
[Strength – 4]
[Agility – 3]
[Defense – 5]
[Stamina – 7]
[Unallocated Stat – 0]
[Magic - not awakened yet]
[Age - 14]
[Skills - null]
____________________
Quiet now, eyes moving across the page while thoughts clicked into place like scattered tiles forming a picture. His breath slowed as each line settled, building something solid where confusion had been.
He stared blankly. 'Those numbers…' something about them tugged at his thoughts. 'Huh. Could it be - this whole thing a kind of game?' Without thinking,
his fingers pressed into his skin, tracing jawline, forearm, just to make sure it wasn't all slipping through his hands like smoke.
Not a game, he whispered softly to himself. 'What is happening right then?' He had no time to wonder more when fresh words formed across the display.
[Task: Go to Silvas Magic Academy now]