He woke up on cold stone. His back hurt. His head hurt. Everything hurt.
Not his bed. His bed was soft. Warm. This place smelled bad. Mold. Old blood. And something sweet underneath. Too sweet. Like someone burned a whole church of incense to hide something gross.
He sat up. Room spun. Okay. Don't throw up.
New body. Weird proportions. His arms were thin. Really thin. His fingers were too long. Soft. Like baby hands. Pathetic.
He touched his face. High cheekbones. Sharp jaw. Hair in his eyes. Dark. Tangled. Seventeen maybe. But his eyes felt older. Tired. Like he'd been awake for days.
"Where am I?"
His voice cracked on the last word. Great. Teenager voice. Soft. Weak.
He looked around. Dormitory. Rows of beds. Moonlight through a high window. Black stone walls. No names. No decorations. Just that incense smell. It was everywhere. In his nose. In his throat. In his clothes.
Someone else was there.
Breathing. Slow. Like they were waiting for him to notice.
A figure by the window. Tall. Dark uniform. Fit perfectly. Broad shoulders. Narrow waist. Silver pin on the collar. Fancy.
The figure stepped closer. Boy, maybe eighteen. Sharp face. Too sharp. Like someone carved him with a knife. High cheekbones. Colder than his. Eyes pale gray. Almost no color. Hair black, pulled back tight.
He smiled. Perfect teeth. Symmetrical. The smile didn't go anywhere near his eyes.
"You're in my bed."
His voice was smooth. Too smooth. Like he practiced in a mirror.
Riven looked down. Sheets were fine. Clean. But he saw a small insignia on the pillow. Silver spire.
"Sorry," he said. "I'll move."
He stood. Floor cold under his bare feet. No shoes. No jacket. Just thin sleeping clothes. He felt small. The other boy was taller by a head. Maybe more.
The boy watched him. Didn't blink. Those pale eyes followed every move. Creepy.
"What's your name?" the boy asked.
Riven opened his mouth.
Nothing.
He didn't know. He couldn't remember. His own name. Gone. Like someone reached into his head and took it.
His chest felt tight. Not fear. He didn't do fear. But something. A hole. A missing piece.
I should know this, he thought. Everyone knows their own name. Right?
The boy's smile widened a little. Just a little. Like he was enjoying this.
"That's interesting," he said. "Most people know their name."
Riven said nothing. His mind was racing. He'd read about this. Transmigration. Waking up in another world. Fiction. It was supposed to be fiction. But here he was. Cold floor. Incense in his throat. A boy with dead eyes smiling at him.
"I'm Theron," the boy said. "Welcome to Blackspire."
The incense got thicker. The walls seemed darker. And somewhere deep in the stone, a low hum started. Not a sound exactly. More like a pressure. Like something was pushing against his ears from the inside.
Blackspire. He knew that name.
A book. He'd read a book. A webnovel. He used to read it before falling asleep. Stupid habit.
He was inside the story.
His stomach dropped. Like when you miss a step on the stairs.
The door opened behind him. A woman in gray robes. No face. Just smooth cloth where her face should be. Her hands were pale. Almost see-through. She made no sound when she walked. Nothing. Like a ghost.
"Follow me," she said.
Her voice came from everywhere. The walls. The floor. Inside his own head. Weird.
Riven looked at Theron. Theron tilted his head. Waiting. Watching. That perfect smile still there.
If I follow quietly, I learn nothing. If I run, I die.
He took one step toward the woman. Then stopped.
His heart was beating too fast. He didn't like that. He didn't like not knowing things. He didn't like being scared. But he was scared. Fine. Whatever.
So he lied.
"I don't remember my name," he said. "But I remember yours, Theron. You die in chapter forty-seven."
Theron's smile didn't move.
But his eyes flickered.
Just once. A crack.
Got you.
"That's a good lie," Theron said. His voice was still smooth. But there was something underneath. A tiny edge. Annoyance? Fear? "Keep practicing."
The woman grabbed Riven's arm. Her grip was cold. Not like flesh. Like stone. Like something that had never been alive.
He let her pull him. He had what he needed. Theron was afraid. Not much. Just a crack.
But cracks spread. That's how it worked.
The door closed behind him. The incense followed.
I don't know my name, he thought. But I know I've lost it before. That empty space. That hole. It feels old. Familiar. Like a scar I don't remember getting.
The woman dragged him down a dark corridor.
He didn't resist.
But he was already thinking about his next lie.