Chapter 1 — Transmigration
I grew up alone. No friends, no family, no one waiting for me when I came home. The silence in my small apartment pressed on my chest like a weight. To escape it, I wrote. Writing gave me control — a place where loneliness couldn't reach me. In my stories, people fought for what mattered, flames burned with purpose, and every word carried power.
My latest novel, Legendary Fire Mage, was my proudest creation. It told the story of Azarion, a sorcerer who could command the essence of fire itself — a man so powerful that even gods feared his flames. The manuscript had a small but loyal following online; a few hundred readers praised my worldbuilding and begged for more. For me, that was enough.
It was past midnight when I finished another chapter. My eyes burned from the screen's pale glow, but I smiled anyway. The scene had ended perfectly — a cliffhanger, an explosion, a promise of vengeance. I leaned back, cracked my knuckles, and saved the file.
Then a notification flashed across my screen.
A message box appeared — no sender, no icon.
> Anonymous: Your novel is good... Do you want to experience it?
I blinked. Probably a scam, or one of those dumb immersive-game ads. Still, something about it tugged at me. "Experience it," huh? The idea of actually living in the world I'd created — seeing my characters, my cities, my flames — made my pulse quicken.
Without thinking, I clicked OK.
The screen flickered, the cursor froze, and a faint red glow seeped from the monitor. I leaned closer, confused. Then the room began to warp. The air shimmered, as if heat waves rolled off the walls.
"...What the hell?"
A rush of heat swallowed me whole. For a moment, I couldn't breathe. I tried to stand, but my body felt weightless — dissolving, breaking apart like ash in the wind. Everything turned white.
Then black.
When I opened my eyes again, the scent of smoke filled my lungs. The ground beneath me was warm — scorched earth. I pushed myself up, dazed, and saw a sky painted crimson by drifting embers.
Charred trees surrounded me. The air rippled with heat.
I stumbled toward a nearby stream to drink — and froze.
The reflection staring back wasn't mine.
A man's face — sharp, unfamiliar, fierce — gazed up from the water. Red hair streaked with gold. Eyes like molten glass.
My heart slammed in my chest.
I knew that face.
It was Azarion — the Legendary Fire Mage.