When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was an unfamiliar ceiling. It was carved wood with silver inlays that shimmered faintly in the light. For a moment, I didn't understand where I was. Then the memories came rushing back—pain, blood, the fight, and the girl. A sudden shock tore through my body. I wanted to scream, but no sound came out. Then, a cool sensation spread across my chest, numbing the pain.
Turning my head slowly, I saw an old man beside the bed, his hand hovering just above me, glowing with faint green-white light. His long silver beard moved with his steady breathing, and his eyes were sharp yet calm. When he noticed me looking at him, he said in a gravelly voice, "Don't move yet, boy. I'm not that good with healing magic."
Hearing that, I stayed still, staring up at the ceiling again. The bed beneath me was soft—too soft for someone like me. The sheets smelled faintly of lavender and smoke. I realized this place had to belong to someone wealthy. But where exactly was I? And what happened to the little girl? Did she make it home safely?
After a long silence, when my body stopped trembling, I managed to whisper, "Who… are you?"
The old man turned his head slightly and replied, "I am Archmage Voltraen Stormsong—a friend to the Marquis. You're in his estate."
My eyes widened. An Archmage? Those were figures out of legend, I hear in movies.He looked back at me, frowning slightly. "Tell me, kid—how did you use mana like that?"
His question caught me off guard. I had no reason to lie; maybe telling the truth would help me understand. "I… I fused and infused the mana particles together, over and over," I said weakly.
Voltraen's brow furrowed. He sat back in thought for a moment, muttering under his breath. Then he looked at me again. "I've never heard of anyone doing that before. It's reckless. If I hadn't found you, your body would've collapsed completely. You were burning yourself from the inside out—your mana had nowhere to go."
He leaned closer, his eyes glowing faintly. "Your mana veins were fried, your bones cracked, your muscles strained to their limits."
I was shocked by how much damage he described. I looked down at my body. My right arm was heavily bandaged, and there were small scars scattered across my chest and shoulders. The exhaustion that clung to me was deeper than anything I'd ever felt.
"Mana veins?" I asked quietly.
He chuckled softly, stroking his beard. "It's how a mage channels mana through the body. Think of them as pathways—streams that let mana flow smoothly. Yours were bursting like overfilled pipes. You forced too much energy at once. That's why your body nearly tore itself apart."
I thought back to how it felt when I used mana—wild, uncontrolled, spreading everywhere at once. So that was why it hurt so much. I had no proper control, no path to guide it.
I studied the old man again. Despite his age, there was a strange vigor about him. His eyes gleamed with knowledge and power, and his aura felt heavy, like the air itself bent slightly around him. The green-white glow on his hand pulsed steadily as he continued healing me.
After what felt like hours, I gathered enough strength to sit up on the bed. My arm still ached, but I could move.
Voltraen stood, brushing off his robe. "I've done the best I can to repair your mana veins and core," he said. "But don't use any magic for a while. Your body needs to adjust to your new abilities. Force it again, and I won't be able to save you a second time."
I bowed my head slightly. "Thank you for helping me."
He waved a hand. "Don't thank me. Thank the little girl—you'd be dead if she hadn't begged me to heal you."
"The girl?" I whispered. Relief washed through me at the thought she was alive.
Without another word, Voltraen left the room.
When the door closed, silence filled the air. I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling again, and memories of that night returned like a storm. The blood. The screaming. The knife.
"I killed someone," I said aloud. The words sounded foreign, hollow.
Vomit rose in my throat, and I pressed a hand against my mouth, forcing it back down. "I killed a man," I repeated, quieter this time.
Even if it was self-defense, it didn't change what I'd done. The man I killed had been a monster, but that didn't erase the image of his blood splattering across my hands, the resistance of flesh as the knife plunged again and again.
Will I ever be the same when I go home?
I told myself I had no choice, that it was survival. But deep down, I knew this wasn't the end. This world—whatever it was—didn't forgive weakness. Here, the strong lived, and the weak were crushed. It was a kill-or-be-killed world.
Tears welled up and slipped down my cheeks. I didn't fight them. Maybe they were my last tears—the final ones I'd shed as my old self. When they stopped, I felt… empty, but clear. The person I had been—Henry Richard, twenty-five years old—was gone. All that was left was Lurthar, a boy who had to survive.
The first step was clear: I needed to learn how to use magic properly. And maybe, just maybe, find a way home.
I'd ask the old man for guidance. He seemed distant but not unkind. During the brief time we spoke, he answered honestly, though his silence held weight—like he was hiding something or perhaps testing me.
The exhaustion returned before I could think further. My body gave out, and I drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.
When I awoke again, I was drenched in cold sweat. My dream—whatever it was—vanished the moment I opened my eyes. Sunlight poured through the window, painting the room gold.
"I wonder how long I was out," I murmured. My voice sounded stronger now.
Getting out of bed, my body still ached, but I could move without collapsing. The room was enormous, far larger than my entire old apartment. Polished marble floors, ornate curtains, and a massive mirror stood in the corner.
I walked toward the mirror and froze. The reflection staring back wasn't the boy I remembered—I was, clean and pale, with washed hair and unblemished skin. The dirt and blood were gone, replaced by a plain but finely made outfit.
Seeing that unfamiliar face made my chest tighten. That's me now.
As I was still lost in thought, a sudden knock echoed from the door.