The streets of Eirfrost were cold; the Sun Furnace's radiation was dimmer here.
Night swept through the district, covering them in the darkness of mysteries.
A woman's voice quietly echoed, the sound of sparks flying.
The buzzing of broken street lamps, their glow grown dim.
"So, this is going to be the receptacle?"
The woman's voice was sweet like the honey of a fly trap.
The sound of paper turning at intense speed.
"Denebola marked him, yes, I prepared the conduit, just have to place it in."
The second, younger woman's voice is more childish and uncaring.
"How much will he remember?"
"Hmm… I'd say both? The vessel's experiences will invade the soul's mind."
"Without losing himself? Truly?"
"Yes, they're perfect for each other."
A soft, accidentally seductive chuckle escaped the lips of the older woman.
"How wonderful."
Her hand pressed against the chest of the corpse.
"Time to wake up!"
…
The boy's mind began to stir.
His ears rang, tympants blocked by pressure.
The ringing was louder, a constant, high-pitched reverberation through his mind.
Groaning, awakening.
Ngh.. It hurts, it hurts so much!
What's going on? My stomach is burning!
Why am I so cold?
Charles Armstrong's strongest yet most basic wish was to move right now; his limbs, however, were in perfect slumber.
His strongest will could make them budge, not even so much as a twitch.
I don't get it! I can feel this stomach ache just fine… But when it comes to getting out of bed and dealing with it, I'm stuck?!
By the time he finished complaining, he felt his limbs again.
Snow melted against his nape and cheeks, chilling him to the bone.
His stomach, on the other hand, was of a painful warmth.
It was like a pointy, sharp, cold metallic object had been lodged inside his belly.
He groaned in what was a mixture of frustration and pain; his fingers finally twitched.
He felt an uncomfortable, wet warmth enveloping his palms and interdigital folds.
A pair of leather gloves protected them; the wool lining inside was wet from the heat and humidity his hands produced.
Cold, salty water ran down his lips; the horrid taste made him spit it out a few times.
As he began breathing properly again, he coughed, forcing his abs to contract.
This caused him a great deal of pain, as if his muscles had been ripped apart.
Argh!! Seriously, what the hell is happening?!
He mustered the small strength required to open his eyes; his vision still a blur, but he could at last see where he was.
There, he was facing familiar-looking red bricks, and the usual grey mortar that held them together, now solidified with that nostalgic sand texture.
Am I outside?
He questioned, the drowsiness taking over; his head felt lighter, almost hungover, with a slight pain forming in the back of his neck, spreading up to the back of his cranium.
Without a pillow to support his neck correctly, he developed some neck pain. Indeed, bending it to the right would stretch his sore muscles and cause sharp, significant pain.
This makes no sense; I paid my rent. I have no loans! Nobody has issues with me, so no one would have any kind of grudge… So why am I sleeping outside?
He felt his limbs regaining function. Slowly placing his hands on the ground, as if to do a push-up, and…
OWW!!! NOPE NOPE NOPE!!
The flexion of his abs caused so much pain that he thought he was going to pass out and die on the spot.
Abandoning the thought of using his arms for support, he turned around on his back, his head rolling against the soft layer of silver white snow.
Snow? Here? I live in the South… No, no, wait… I…
Confusion took hold of him; two conflicting memories were fighting for his attention now.
One was a flood of new memories — those of a stranger — but the one to take hold first was his original memories.
Looking up at the sky, he saw a different night sky from what he was used to. Waves of clouds blocked parts of the starry sky; from them, snow would fall.
Little snowflakes landed on his nose, melting and becoming drops of water that leaked down to his chin.
I'm not home… This isn't even what my apartment looks like. I'm wearing clothes I never even owned —I mean, a scarf? Really?
Now, considering the pain in his abdomen, which is probably food poisoning in all honesty.
He clearly remembered eating leftovers for dinner yesterday; perhaps it was a tad too leftover for his digestive system…
He propped himself up by flexing his legs and arms together, using the bare minimum for his abdomen to spare himself the pain.
Even then, the sharp, stinging pain of flexion still haunts him with every effort.
Now that he was leaning against the red brick wall, he was free to observe the surroundings.
He found himself in a long alleyway with stairs to his right.
There were a few stairs leading to an extension of the alleyway, and many doors and windows were barred with planks of wood nailed in place.
A few paces from him was a red, worn-out barrel, its top removed, with a blaze. The flames provided him with enough light to investigate his surroundings.
The large stone walls barely let him breathe; it was a narrow alleyway, alright.
The buildings were tightly packed, decorated with wooden beams forming Xs, stone arches above the windows, and wrought-iron railings.
It was clearly Victorian or steampunk, now that would be a believable dream…
Unfortunately, it wasn't one…
Looking further to the right, he could finally see a pale moon looming over the steep rooftops, and chimneys exhaling faint smoke, indicating that people were most likely still awake.
Fixing his eyes upon the warm, orange glow of the flame within the barrel, a few steps away, he slowly began to step toward it, the fire's warmth inviting him.
The comfort they provided allowed his mind to rest for a bit, and the suppressed memories of the stranger resurfaced, taking hold.
I'm… Erwin Thalos…
His heart became a drum. Anxiety surfaced and forced him to stop this meditation exercise.
His mind was a spiral now, pondering and reflecting on why he'd even believe he was a different man now!
However, these memories were genuine; he truly felt these experiences and believed them to be the absolute truth.
He closed his eyes, bit his lip, took a deep breath, and his mind returned to a state of ease and calm, ready to investigate this new identity further.
Okay, 21 years old. That adds up, same age as me…
I studied literature and arts for three years at Fehu College. Bloody hell, is this some kind of transmigration?
His recollection was briefly interrupted by disbelief, but the evidence was all around him; he was definitely in a different country, a different world.
The moon, for instance, was far too big and pale.
These memories, as well, did not help in the slightest; he had been sent to a different body.
Erwin Thalos, 21 years old, graduated from Fehu University in the Frostmare Valleys in the north. It's December 24th, 1189, Saint Helyra City.
He lives with his mother, his father and his sister.
Owen Thalos was a respected hunter in Brennhold Town; he was stoic and iron-willed, but, with age, he had to retire.
Fortunately, Seline Thalos, his wife, was still a well-known songstress who could support the family; however, with age, she also retired.
His younger sister, Elira Thalos, was playful and reckless, but also cared for him the most.
It was a warm feeling, to be cared for, knowing someone would be concerned if you fell sick or hurt yourself.
But then why was Erwin sleeping on the ground?
Charles pondered the matter: first, how did he get here? He looked around, noticing a red stain on the wall he was leaning against.
Looking down, he saw some sort of strawberry honey flowing down his abdomen.
Wait a minute… that's not honey, that's blood!
He placed a hand on his abdomen and jerked forward in pain; the feeling of his leather gloves brushing against the open wound felt like needles stabbing every pore of his skin.
A wound? Wait, why did I wake up in a dying body?!