My eyes are closed.
The bed is warm. Nothing luxurious, just old and reliable. Reliable enough to comfort my sore body. My breathing is slow and heavy, and for a moment I let myself sink into it.
With my eyes still closed, I picture my room.
The ceiling with its usual marks. The faint discoloration near the corner. The way the morning light fades into the room. I can almost see the outline of my desk and its familiar mess.
I don't want to open my eyes, I just want to sleep a little longer. Sleep until the alarm clock wakes me up.
But I have to wake up at one point, so I open my eyes.
I flinch.
The ceiling is wrong.
Not in a dramatic way, just enough for my brain to lag. The marks don't match. The light fixture is in the wrong place. Everything is, but familiar.
My stomach tightens a little.
I sit up fast, the bed creaking beneath me, and a chill runs up my spine. Goosebumps spread along my arms as I take in the room properly.
An unfamiliar sight.
"…Right," I say quietly.
The room is small and clean. A wooden desk cluttered with books and metal parts. A mirror on the desk, leaning against the wall. And a closet on the opposite side of the room.
Or what's left of it.
Broken planks scattered everywhere, snapped and bent. I stare at it for a long second.
I shiver as cold enters my body. Then I feel a sudden pull in my head, mind losing its balance.
Fragments of memory get pieced together and my mind turns clear.
I recall the old man.
My throat feels dry. Swallowing stings.
"…Okay," I mutter, slapping my face with both hands, rubbing my cheeks.
"Not a dream."
I stay sitting for a moment, letting my body catch up. Everything aches in a dull, spread-out way. Hunger presses low in my stomach as thirst follows.
I must've slept through at least one night.
I stand, testing my balance. The floor is cold under my feet, solid and unremarkable. Nothing too out of the ordinary.
I walk to the desk and I take a quick glance at the mirror.
A fragile teenager is all I see. Did I really transmigrate? On top of that I became a child, are we serious?
I take a look at the books. The books look old, but not ancient. Worn covers, bent corners. I pick one up and flip through it. I understand the words, but I can't understand the sentences they form. Diagrams interrupting sentences, lists with no explanation. Yellow marked notes that seem to explain themselves.
Vague king level tutorial. The kind where the author clearly knows the world, but expects the main character to just figure it out. This is NOT the most ideal transmigration scenario.
I open another book. Same problem.
"So no tutorial?" I scold the room. "Or am I just too dumb?"
My eyes drift to the note lying flat on the desk.
the world ended. there was not enough aura.
I read it again, slower this time.
What could this possibly mean? Has the world already ended? Wait, which world? And aura..
"Aura, huh?"
I repeat the sentence numerous times and think about it for a while, but I decide to not pry further. I don't want to draw conclusions based on nothing but transmigration stories.
"System.", I try, half-expecting something to respond.
"Status"
"Aura"
Nothing happens.
I snort softly.
"Yeah. Of course." ;(
If this were 90% of the stories I'd read, there'd be a glowing window, a voice, or at least an epic notification. Instead, I get one sentence, a pile of useless books and a boss fight with some hobo.
I put the book down and glance at the shutter above the bed. Light leaks through at a different angle than before. Brighter. Daytime.
Overmorrow, the old man said.
I don't know what time it is, but my body feels like it got tortured by sleep, and then just decided to keep sleeping anyways.
?
Next, I go to the broken closet. Nothing more than some scattered planks at this point. Nothing inside the closet, which is really strange. Perhaps we're moving out soon?
I turn to the only door in the room and open it.
Another door appears in front of me. I see one open doorway to the left leading to descending stairs, with railing on the right and nothing but a wall on its left.
The layout feels familiar in a way that tells me I've already walked this path before, my mind not being able to pinpoint an exact reason. I open the door straight ahead first.
Inside is a simple room. A bed. A baby crib.
No dust. No clutter.
I step inside, checking corners, looking under the bed, expecting something to pull me in. Nothing. The emptiness feels deliberate like someone cleared it out, but abandoned it.
"...Weird," I decide, then leave.
I look at the stairs to my left. I hesitate for a second, my brain tugging at me. I'm still in an unfamiliar place, so I should move with more care. I stare down the stairs for a second or two, then slowly take a few steps down. Railing on my right, wall on my left. Gravity behaves. The steps stay where they are.
Halfway down, the floor opens into view.
At the end of the staircase is a painting on the left wall. An open door in front of the stairs leads into what looks like a bathroom. I spot a fireplace, without fire or wood, stone jutting out slightly.I reach the bottom and stop, getting a better look.
The entire floor is one large rectangular space. Straight ahead, opposite the stairs railing, is the entrance to the house. To the left of it lies a mattress on the floor with toys on top, surrounded by random items like a ruler and a wooden cube. Further left and closer to me, the fireplace area forms a living space with two couches around a low table, one facing the fireplace, the other facing the stairs.
To the far right, the kitchen fills the corner. Cabinets, counters, even a fridge, everything laid out neatly. Beside it is a kitchen table with four chairs. Past that, closer to the wall, an empty space with an old-school glass window.
It takes me over an hour to go through everything properly.
The bathroom has running water, which I slurped up without a second thought. Wait, is it even clean?
In the bathroom is a door to the storage room that holds a few tools, and I take note of a few useful things: a chipped cup, a dull knife and a small backpack.
By the time I'm done, the house feels… manageable. Not safe, just less unknown.
I take some canned beans from the kitchen, swiftly run to the nearest couch and jump on it, back first. Canned beans have never looked this delicious before, so without hesitation I try to open the lid.
*pop*
and to my surprise it opens. The beans bathe in orange liquid, perhaps tomato sauce. I gobble it all without any hesitiation, leaving sauce and crumbles around my mouth. Feeling better I look towards the entrance door.
If I want to maximize my chances of not dying or being poor, I'd probably need to take a look at the world.
I rise up and walk to the entrance door.
A deep breath and I open the front door.
I take my first step in the outside world.