Millet's stomach growled as he walked through the wide stone path veined through the heart of the university.
He winced slightly at the sound.
He hadn't eaten.
The realization struck him not just as hunger, but as a kind of oversight — a detail forgotten in the whirlwind of waking up in a world that wasn't his. The early morning confusion had swept him along, and now it was catching up to him with the steady ache in his belly.
He changed direction.
The cafeteria was somewhere ahead, through the west corridor. From the memories, it wasn't far — just a short walk past the lecture halls and administration dome. The crowd of students had thinned out now, scattered to their respective departments.
The clack of shoes echoed behind him.
Then a hand touched his shoulder.
Millet froze.
A jolt shot through his spine, instinct gripping him. His breath caught — just for a moment — and his body tensed like prey caught in the open.
Did someone notice? Did I get caught?
He turned around slowly.
What met his eyes wasn't suspicion. Just a familiar smile.
"Yoh, Mill! Where you headed to?"
The voice was casual, warm, and real.
A young man stood before him — tall, broad-shouldered, and confidently dressed. His hair was blond, neatly combed to the side in a style that suggested time and care. A brown jacket hung over his frame, almost identical to Millet's, though newer. His pants were pressed. A briefcase hung from his left hand, heavy with the kind of weight that didn't belong to the poor.
Kael.
From the memories, he was in the history department. A friend
Millet blinked once, forcing his voice to sound natural — steady and low, as if nothing inside him had shifted at all.
"Yo… hey, Kael. I'm going to get some breakfast."
Kael raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You didn't eat at home?"
Millet forced a faint chuckle. "Nah. Forgot."
Kael nodded. "Good. I haven't either. I left early. Had to finish that report i got yesterday, Thought I'd get it over with before class."
Millet nodded, the conversation anchoring him.
Kael turned slightly. "Come on then. I'll tag along. Still got time before my lecture."
They started walking side by side, footsteps echoing off the walls as they entered a wide corridor that led toward the cafeteria. It wasn't crowded. A few students walked in twos and threes, some lost in conversation, others with their eyes buried in notes.
The hall was lit with soft daylight, spilling in from tall, narrow windows that stretched up the walls like vertical slits. Pipes ran along the ceiling, hissing occasionally with the flow of steam.
As they walked, Kael kept talking.
He had that kind of voice — smooth, unbothered by silence. It filled space without trying to.
The cafeteria came into view — a broad hall with a few tables and benches, a coffee stall set up near the back. There was a short line in front of it, just enough students to make them pause.
Millet slipped a hand into his jacket pocket.
Cold metal touched his fingers — rough edges, well-worn.
Coins.
Bronze.
He counted silently: One, two… five bronze coins.
Not much.
In this world, the coins formed a clear hierarchy — bronze at the bottom, then copper, silver, gold… and perhaps something rarer above, though Millet's memories didn't reach that far. What he did know was simple: ten bronze made one copper, and right now, five bronze was barely enough for a hot drink.
As they reached the front of the line, he read the menu printed above the stall.
Black Coffee – 2 Bronze.
He could afford one.
The woman behind the stall handed him a small ceramic cup once he placed the coins on the counter. It was light brown, steaming slightly, with a bitter scent.
Kael bought the same.
They moved to a nearby bench and sat down, elbows on the table, cups resting between them.
Kael took a sip first and exhaled sharply.
"Yo Mill," he said, "you know what they're teaching us in the history lectures lately?"
Millet shook his head. "No."
"They're talking about the continents," Kael continued, spinning the cup slightly between his fingers. "How they were formed. North, East, South… and this one, the West."
He glanced up. "You know how they keep saying our Empire's the strongest?"
Millet looked at him. "Yeah?"
Kael snorted. "I mean, sure. That's what they say. That the United Sovereign Empire leads in power, order, and structure. That we're the beacon of the world. But…"
He leaned back slightly, resting his arm across the backrest.
"Sometimes I think it's just pride, you know? Like… imperial arrogance. Every empire thinks it's the strongest. Until it falls."
Millet looked into his cup.
Steam rose like mist.
"Maybe," he said slowly. "Maybe it's not pride. Maybe it's the truth. Maybe they really are strong."
Kael studied him for a moment, then shrugged. "Yeah. Could be."
They drank in silence for a while, the faint murmurs of other students drifting through the hall like background noise. The coffee was bitter, but it warmed Millet from the inside, calming the dull ache in his stomach.
He listened as Kael spoke again, this time more softly — about the lecture halls, about the old myths they were being taught, about how most of the knowledge came from what was left after the last age ended. That history, in this world, was half-memory, half-control. That the victors wrote it… and the Empire had written a lot.
Millet didn't say much. He let the words wash over him.
The name of this world returned in fragments.
Mythborn.
That's what they called it. A land of stories — not fairy tales, but stories etched in blood, war, and time. A world with four continents and a shifting balance of power. This one, the Western Continent, was the domain of the United Sovereign Empire.
And Millet… was a student in its grandest city.
When they finished the coffee, both of them stood up.
Kael stretched his arms behind his head. "Welp, time to head to the history wing."
Millet nodded. "Yeah. I've got class too."
Their paths split after a few more steps. Kael turned left, waving lazily over his shoulder.
"Later, Mill."
"Later."
And just like that, he was alone again.
Millet stood still for a moment, then turned toward the commerce wing. His steps were slow, thoughtful.
Which kind of world is this?
He didn't know the answer.
But as he walked, surrounded by stone, steam, and the quiet thunder of a world built on forgotten myths, he understood this much — he would have to keep pretending. Keep moving. Keep acting.
At least for today… he would be Millet.
And tomorrow?
That would depend on what this world chose to reveal.