(POV - Seth)
"...Urgh!"
A groan escaped my lips. Pain pierced my temples.
I opened my eyes only to close them immediately. A blinding light welcomed my sight.
"Ahhh…!"
I tried to move, but every single movement was a torment. I brought a hand to my forehead, feeling it burning hot. My heart was beating at a considerable speed, I smelled the scent of iron and pungent sweat in my nose. What had happened the previous night? Memories were blurred fragments, drowned in a thick, gray fog, just like the weight that now oppressed my thoughts.
"Where am I?" my voice sounded like a whisper.
In front of me there was no longer the view of my bedroom, but a large mirror with a silver frame.
"A bathroom?" The thought flashed instinctively in my mind, yet the bewilderment of finding myself in a place completely foreign to me was not my priority at this moment. There was another question, much more distressing, that tormented me.
"...Who is this? Am I really me?" The stranger's voice that had just broken the silence belonged to me, but it sounded distorted, alien to my own ears. But what truly curdled my blood was the image reflected in the mirror.
A cascade of black hair fell onto my shoulders, framing a face similar to my own, but at the same time foreign. The eyes, half-hidden by rebellious strands, were black, deep, furrowed with light shades that I couldn't decipher.
I remained stunned at the vision of the figure reflected in the mirror.
"Really?!" As a big fan of online novels, I was almost one hundred percent sure of what my current situation was.
Have I transmigrated? Have I really transmigrated? An unknown place, a foreign body, but how did I end up here?
Why?
The only possible reason why I find myself in this situation... Him? The President of the Writers' Club?
The questions seemed to have no end.
As clarity brightened my thoughts, I noticed the red-colored liquid, now dried, coloring the arms of that figure—or should I speak in the first person now?
Blood.
It wasn't just a stain; the blood extended all along the left arm. Cold and visceral panic squeezed my throat in an iron grip.
I felt the metallic, iron, and nauseating scent force its way into my lungs with every labored breath.
"The pain, the smells, the sensations... Everything is real." I said, inspecting the fragile body of the boy who now belonged to me.
My gaze focused on the countless imprecise cuts on my wrist.
"Did he kill himself?" I couldn't think of any other scenarios besides that one; I mean, anyone would think the same thing.
The cut seemed to have already healed, just as the blood had already dried.
I began to clean the blood from my arms while continuing to examine my new body. It wasn't very different in build from my previous body; I was roughly 1.82 meters tall and had a slender, though not too thin, build.
Aside from the scar on my wrist, there were no signs of any kind on the body; I'd say that now my pale skin looked smoother than a baby's.
However, my eyes were gaunt and had lost the light of a healthy person, with large dark circles under them outlining my face.
"Probably the original owner of this body neither ate nor slept for several days. But why? What happened to him?"
After continuing to observe the bathroom, I opened the door to step out and found myself in a large bedroom.
The ceiling was high, and the walls were decorated with silver ornaments.
Large surfaces of white marble veined with gray alternated with brushed metal finishes and deep blue fabrics. An atmosphere of impeccable luxury reigned. The air smelled clean, of freshly ironed sheets and an expensive, vaguely citrusy perfume. I took a few uncertain steps on the soft carpet, approaching a transparent glass table situated right in front of the large window. The table was flanked by two contemporary-designed sofas inviting rest. Resting on the transparent surface, a book caught my attention: its cover had something deeply familiar about it.
"This symbol..." the drawing on the cover was fascinating; white wings embracing what looked like a cloud? I couldn't understand the meaning of the symbol, but the more I looked at it, the more a sense of familiarity grew within me.
"Now I remember... this is the symbol I caught a glimpse of on the object Dwine was holding," I thought with a start, as my fingers brushed the precious binding.
Wait, then considering the absurd situation I find myself in... is he really the famous and mysterious Dwine?
With my heart starting to beat hard with excitement, I let myself fall onto the white leather sofa, enjoying the sensation of absolute comfort. With a mix of expectation and burning curiosity, I reached out my hand and began to slowly open the book.
As my fingers opened the first page, a blinding beam of light made me half-close my eyes while shielding my sight with my right hand; it seemed to have ended there, but then suddenly a red thread emerged from nowhere.
"...Eh? What is that?" I said in surprise at the sight of the red thread.
That thread, however fragile it might seem, was not. The red color of the thread began to shine more and more, it seemed to be coming to life, the color fading and turning on every instant, I could almost hear the sound of a heart pulsing...
Swoosh!
Then with a rapid movement, it headed toward my chest and pierced me with ease.
"Ahh..." a scream escaped my lips, but the pain didn't arrive.
My hands remained suspended in the air above my face.
"How embarrassing... Good thing no one saw me," I thought with no little embarrassment, while my pale cheeks tinged with red.
But the thread didn't disappear.
"...What the hell is this thing!" I cursed, seeing the thread that was now inside my body.
My wide-open eyes could not comprehend the surreality of this situation.
And when the worst seemed to have passed, a piercing pain, like an incandescent blade, pierced my head with ferocity.
"AAAGH!"
The cry tore through my throat as the book slipped from my trembling hands. I collapsed to the floor in pain, sprawled out on the carpet.
My heart exploded into violent tachycardia, a crazed drum trying to break my ribs. I felt palpitations all the way up my neck, while a sudden dizziness made the opulent room spin in a vortex of marble and silver.
Confusion clouded my senses, but my muscles were taut with spasm. I was in the grip of a primordial terror.
"This place... NO! I don't want to believe it...!" My eyes widened with fear and understanding. No sound came out of my mouth; I was in total shock.
I remained in a state of shock for several minutes, perhaps hours?
I could no longer even perceive the cognition of time.
Slowly, like pieces of a puzzle snapping together with brutal force, the memories began to reorganize in my mind. They weren't my memories, but I felt them equally vivid. I realized with pure horror the truth.
"It's not a joke. It's not a dream."
Everything confirmed what I feared: Kami Dwine. He knew, he had orchestrated all this. Anger began to force its way through the pain and nausea. But just as I was trying to piece together the fragments of my new identity, a dry, sudden sound made me jump.
Knock, knock, knock.
Someone was knocking on the door.
"Who is it?" I asked in an interrogative tone.
In response, a hoarse and heavy male voice sounded from the other side of the door.
"Young master, it's Fales."
"Fales..." The memories that previously seemed confused in my head began to settle, as if filling the gaps that had been created in my mind.
Fales Gravio, one of the oldest servants of the ….. family.
"What is it, Fales?" I replied, remaining seated on the sofa.
"Nothing, sir, I was told noises were heard from the bedroom and so I came to check that there were no problems."
Hearing his response, I wasn't all that surprised.
The situation was becoming clearer and clearer.
"I see." I got up slowly and then with a resolute movement opened the door, showing myself.
In front of me was a man in his fifties, his black eyes were highlighted by his elegant black hairstyle.
He was roughly my same height, so I found myself looking straight into his eyes naturally.
"A book simply slipped to the floor." I said with indifference while trying to maintain a neutral and disinterested tone, masking the anxiety and nervousness inside me.
From my memories, I had pretty much figured out this man's character.
If he had noticed even the slightest mistake, it could have created serious problems.
So I tried to tell a false truth.
I noticed Fales's eyes move from my face to the room behind me until noticing the book on the floor.
"I'm glad it was just a mistake " he said in a respectful tone, bowing his head slightly.
"Yes, absolutely. I'm totally believing it." I thought, understanding the sarcasm hidden in Fales's words.
I nodded distractedly at Fales's words.
"If there's nothing else, you can go, Fales." I told him, dismissing him with a wave of my hand.
"If you'll excuse me."
In response, Fales took a few steps back and bowed again before turning right and walking away.
I closed the door after seeing Fales walk away. The room returned to a suffocating silence. I headed to the balcony outside where two windows already revealed the nighttime landscape outside.
I gently pushed the window panels and, with a resolute step, approached the balcony railing, gripping it in my hands.
Below me extended an immense garden, whose paths were illuminated by the soft glow of elegant streetlights. Beyond that green boundary, the city revealed itself in all its beauty: the silvery light of the moon caressed the roofs of hundreds of houses and made the night streets shine. In the distance, a large deep blue lake could be seen and, next to it, a forest that emanated a sense of detachment even from afar. The sky above me was full of bright stars, a truly wonderful spectacle.
Despite the slight distance from the city, I could hear the voices of some servants who, having finished their shift, had stopped to chat in the garden. They looked tired and cold, their dark silhouettes standing out against the illuminated bushes.
"Did you hear that uproar a few hours ago?" began a young maid, her hair gathered in a messy bun. "And that smell? A nauseating stench coming from the young master's room, it turned my stomach."
"Yeah," replied a middle-aged man with a rumpled uniform. "that kid is a disaster. Everyone in the house calls him the failure of the Sanguis family now."
"Poor delusional fool." added an older woman.
"He thinks he can get away with it by locking himself in his room. After what he did, guilt will devour him. His family has been far too lenient: exiling him here to Nevel at only sixteen to manage a territory completely on his own is a gift, not a punishment. He tried to kill his cousin Ivan Estral, the firstborn of the Duke of the East! If it hadn't been for the guards, he'd be headless now."
I watched them from above, motionless. Their faces were marked only by contempt.
Family failure.
Those words hit me like stones.
Seth. The fourth son of a marquise, sent to Nevel to manage the territory at just sixteen years old.
I felt the weight of everyone's indifference: his mother, looking at him with fury, his father, the cruel smiles of his brothers and Ivan, down to the disgust in his ex-fiancée's eyes. The fragile chain inside his heart snapped. He had spent days deciding whether life was worth living, and the answer had arrived: it wasn't worth it.
And now I have become him.
Starting today, I am Seth Sanguis.
Uttering that name wrung a pang of nostalgia for my real family, in my world.
My heart tightened, but I didn't let myself give in to despair.
I turned around and re-entered, leaving the chatter and the cold behind. I picked up the book from the floor and turned on the light of an old, almost medieval lamp next to the glass table. I sat on the sofa with the volume in my hands, opening it with a slight fear, remembering the events from earlier. With a slow movement, I turned the page, trying to peek sideways to make sure I was truly alone.
The content seemed to pulse with a light of its own, dim and bluish. In the center of the page, a detailed illustration depicted an eye enclosed in a triangle whose edges seemed to melt and flow like fresh ink. Around it, dense lines of a never-before-seen alphabet, angular and swirling characters reminiscent of constellations, began to vibrate under my gaze. I rubbed my eyes, incredulous, but the images kept shifting: a small ink stain turned into a silhouette walking along the margin of the page, then vanishing into thin air. It was as if the book didn't just contain information, but was a living organism trying to communicate directly with my soul.
[Writers' Club]
Welcome to your new reality. This world that you have been used to reading from a different perspective has actually always been a real world; all of you have been sent here to rewrite the ending of this world, this is your sole mission.
Why did I choose you? It's not important to think about it for now, it's not like knowing it would do you any good. I chose you only because I liked your stories. If you turn the first page you will find additional information about your world. Furthermore, the writer's book will update multiple times, so you might sometimes find yourselves with additional features. Remember that this is not fiction, but reality; it's not a bad taste joke, everything here is true. If by chance you found yourselves in danger and died, you wouldn't return home afterwards, but would simply be dead.
May Your Pen Trace the Boundaries of a New World.