When I opened my eyes, I expected the ceiling of my apartment.What I found instead was brass. Gears. Pipes. And the faint smell of burning coal.
A rhythmic hiss-click-hiss echoed through the narrow room. My vision focused on a machine beside me—a contraption of valves and glass tubes filled with glowing liquid. Someone had carved runes along the metal rim. They pulsed softly, like a heartbeat.
For a moment, I wondered if I'd wandered into a workshop. Then I noticed my reflection in the glass—someone else's reflection.
The face staring back wasn't mine.
Gone were the black hair and the cheap hoodie. Instead, a pale young man with tired green eyes and a faint scar across his brow looked back. His clothes were half-ragged, half-ceremonial—like a jester stripped of color.
My mind was oddly calm. Panic tried to rise, but reason strangled it.
"Think," I murmured. My voice was hoarse, almost unfamiliar. "This isn't a dream."
Memories surfaced—my last night on Earth. A city drowned in neon and noise, the bitter taste of coffee, and then... nothing.
Now this.
The door creaked. A man entered, tall and thin, wearing a brass-rimmed monocle. His coat shimmered faintly with what looked like circuitry stitched into fabric.
"You're awake," he said, relief threading through his tone. "Good. The transfer held."
"What?!"
He noticed my confusion and smiled faintly. "Don't strain yourself. You'll recall soon enough. You're in the city of Vaelstrom—the heart of steam and sorcery."
"who are you?!, where is this?, what's happening?"
I tried standing, and the world swayed. My body was weak, my mind was a shitstorm looking for answers.
He gestured toward a cracked mirror on the wall. "You should know what you look like before you step outside, Fool."
"Fool?" I repeated.
"That's what they call you now. The King's Fool. Or what's left of him."
A jester's mask lay on the nearby table, its smile broken down the middle. I picked it up, feeling the faint chill of metal against my skin.
So that was it. my new role—The Fool.