On a night, in a city named 'Heynxia', capital of the fourth kingdom of Erynxia, Hazerforth; a man woke up from a very bad dream.
AGGHHH! He woke up. What… in the world… is this place…?!
He wasn't a belonger of here, or so he conjectured.
His dreams said a very fierce adieu. His weary eyes could make anyone very discreet around him.
Why am I here…? His voice trembled inside as he stood up in an intense hurry.
He inheared a sodaine stroke in his heart. He could barely resist it; and so he fell down on his bed.
He soon felt some liquid-ish and wet thing in his chest. As he stood up again. His eyes lingered on the broken, shattered and despicable mirror hanging on the wall on his left. He took the decision to reach there.
He had multiple problems while walking, even a centimetre felt like a severe torment. His legs were stuffed with agony.
Each step felt like walking through the script of the cosmos that never was.
Each step had him weeping underneath. He was a fool, a fool destined to be a fool.
The candles around him flickered twice, then thrice. Then it went silent, silent as the peak of humanity.
A wind came outside the only window in that room, couvert with a dark red cloth – it had tiny stains in it, though, none could see them from even a little far.
The sky outside wasn't blank, it was stuffed with chaos and intensity. Stars bloomed with dignity, the moon looked terrifyingly real to even be called 'fake.'
A heavy-cold breeze came bestart from the window, now the candles were dim.
As he marched towards the mirror, the wind got heavier. Heavier, colder, pressing against him restlessly. Even in this, the candles regained their light and spark.
He looked at the shattered but aligned pieces of mirror.
WHAT?!
He closed his eyes and shook his head in shock. Taking heavy breaths. He could still see his smoke-y breath in this cruel frost.
He didn't look as he did before. He was now wearing the skin of another. He couldn't agree less that he wasn't what he was before.
He wore a plain white shirt with a black waistcoat, he had simple black hair and black eyes; with an injury to the left of his chin, right below his lips. He wore plain black pants, plain black shoes and plain black socks.
It was tremendously scandalous for him to digest this abomination.
He recoiled when he saw a black figure right before him. And when he looked back. Nothing. He was vague about this world.
Was he even alive? Or…
He noticed a flat book laying down on the floor, he feared it may kill him once more. But he didn't care; he had already lost everything.
He took the book and flipped the page:
Did you know…
A man dies twice: once, when he dies; twice, when he's forgotten.
"What does this… has to do with me…?" He asked frivolously.
…
Be aware of the presentials. Especially… the audience.
Wait!...?! He soon realised knowing both: less, and more; would cause him trouble greater than the history. But… How did I die…?
…!
There was a door knock.
WHAT?!...
He ran droit to the door, unaware of what to do. He opened the door in utter confusion.
"Uhm… brother?"
Wait! Is she… no… no… no…!!!
"Brother…? Brother! BROTHER!!!" She roared.
"OH! Sorry…" he acted clumsily. "I was lost in thoughts. What do thesis want?"
As if he knew better, his brain would've never caused one's brain to shatter.
"En graduate high-school tomorrow! Em completed all my examinations, even got the results."
"Oh! Great news to hear! What rank did thesis get?" He asked.
"Second…" her smile faded away. Like the hope's ray, under one's dismay.
"That is not terrible… either!"
"Not for thesis! But for er…"
"Aha…"
"Anyway, will thesis come to see me at school tomorrow? No, thesis must!"
"Yeah… sure."
And when she was about to go off, her eyes lingered onto something. "What is that black cloth doing on your study table?"
Morganael was confused. "What black cloth?"
"Are thesis blind?" She questioned him.
"Theoretically." He jested.
"El serious." She proclaimed.
"El not." He jested bestart.
"AGGHHH!!! Leave it!" She roared in anger and left.
Morganael slumped on his chair, firmly closing his eyes.
His frivolousness stayed way abrupt. His eyes firmly widened abruptly after. As if 'he' ever joked bestart, perishment would draw nearer than ever.
It was a mysterious beforenight.
And there, it started… the… Astvan Of Myscentries.
He was no longer a normal human. Despair took over him. "What am I now?" His silence was quite brisk. "An even better question would be… who am I now…?"
…!
An idea drew near his mind. He checked the book written by the prior pupil he is now in the body of.
"Arthur… Feyn?" His brain stopped functioning, "I've heard this name before!"
Questions flourished in his mind, wandering the abyss of demise led him to disclose some of the majorical memories he'd not in history have.
Whist he was vague of his attainments of the present, he came across a letter devoured in black ink, coarsely readable.
𝒱𝒶𝓁𝓈𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓂'𝓈 𝐼𝓃𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓉𝓊𝓉𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝑀𝒾𝓃𝒾𝓈𝓉𝓇𝓎
𝒱𝒶𝓁𝓈𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓂'𝓈 𝑀𝒾𝓃𝒾𝓈𝓉𝓇𝓎 𝑜𝒻 𝐸𝒹𝓊𝒸𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃
𝒱𝒶𝓁𝓈𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓂'𝓈 𝑀𝒾𝓃𝒾𝓈𝓉𝓇𝓎 𝑜𝒻 𝒯𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓈𝒸𝑒𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓃𝓉𝑜𝓁𝑜𝓰𝓎 & 𝑀𝓎𝓈𝒸𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓇𝑜𝓁𝑜𝓰𝓎
𝒱𝒶𝓁𝓈𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓂 𝒰𝓃𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒾𝓉𝓎, 𝐸𝓇𝑒𝓃𝓉𝑜𝓃
𝒜𝓇𝓉𝒽𝓊𝓇 𝐹𝑒𝓎𝓃
36 𝒟𝑒𝒸𝑒𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇, 1643
𝐸𝓇𝑒𝓃𝓉𝑜𝓃, 𝒮𝑒𝒸𝓉𝑜𝓇 8
𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝑀𝓇. 𝐹𝑒𝓎𝓃,
𝒪𝓃 𝒷𝑒𝒽𝒶𝓁𝒻 𝑜𝒻 𝒱.𝐼.𝑀., 𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝓅𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝒸𝓁𝒶𝒾𝓂 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒶 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝓉 𝒱𝒶𝓁𝓈𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓂 𝒰𝓃𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒾𝓉𝓎, 𝒶𝓁𝓈𝑜 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝒶𝓈 𝒱𝒶𝓁𝓈𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓂'𝓈 𝑀𝒾𝓃𝒾𝓈𝓉𝓇𝓎 𝑜𝒻 𝒯𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓈𝒸𝑒𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓃𝓉𝑜𝓁𝑜𝓰𝓎 & 𝑀𝓎𝓈𝒸𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓇𝑜𝓁𝑜𝓰𝓎 (𝒱.𝑀.𝒯.𝑀.), 𝒶𝓈 𝓅𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝐿𝒾𝓈𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒫𝓊𝓅𝒾𝓁 𝒞𝒶𝓃𝒹𝒾𝒹𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓈 𝑜𝒻 1644. 𝒰𝓅𝑜𝓃 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝑒𝒻𝓊𝓁 𝓇𝑒𝓋𝒾𝑒𝓌, 𝓌𝑒 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓁𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝒻𝒾𝓇𝓂 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓈𝑒𝓁𝑒𝒸𝓉𝑒𝒹.
𝐼𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉 𝓈𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓈𝒻𝒶𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝒶𝓃𝓉𝒾𝒸𝒾𝓅𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒶𝓇𝓇𝒾𝓋𝒶𝓁 𝒶𝓉 𝒱.𝒰. 𝑜𝓃 18 𝑀𝒶𝓇𝒸𝒽, 1644. 𝒜𝓉 𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝑒𝓃𝓉, 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝑒𝓍𝒾𝓈𝓉 𝒶 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓈𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑜𝓇 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝒸𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓂𝒾𝒸 𝒻𝒾𝑒𝓁𝒹𝓈 𝒶𝓋𝒶𝒾𝓁𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓈𝒾𝒹𝑒𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓅𝓊𝓇𝓈𝓊𝒾𝓉.
𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝓂𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒻𝒾𝓇𝓈𝓉 𝓎𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝒶𝓈 𝒶 𝒷𝑒𝑔𝒾𝓃𝓃𝑒𝓇, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓌𝑒 𝓉𝓇𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓅𝑜𝓈𝓈𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓈𝓊𝒻𝒻𝒾𝒸𝒾𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝒻𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝒶𝓁 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌𝓁𝑒𝒹𝑔𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒯𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓈𝒸𝑒𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓃𝓉𝑜𝓁𝑜𝓰𝓎, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝒾𝓈𝒸𝒾𝓅𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝓅𝓁𝑒𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓈𝒸𝒽𝑜𝓁𝒶𝓈𝓉𝒾𝒸 𝑒𝒹𝓊𝒸𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃.
𝒲𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝑒𝓍𝓉𝑒𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶 𝓂𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝒸𝑜𝓇𝒹𝒾𝒶𝓁 𝓌𝑒𝓁𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒, 𝒶𝒸𝒸𝑜𝓂𝓅𝒶𝓃𝒾𝑒𝒹 𝒷𝓎 𝒶 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝑒𝓁𝑒𝒷𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒 𝒽𝑒𝓁𝒹 𝒾𝓂𝓂𝑒𝒹𝒾𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓎 𝓅𝓇𝒾𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝑔𝒾𝓃𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒶𝒸𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓂𝒾𝒸 𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓊𝓇𝑒.
𝒦𝒾𝓃𝒹𝓁𝓎 𝑒𝓃𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑀𝑒𝓁𝓋𝒾𝓃 𝒯𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓈𝓅𝑜𝓇𝓉𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝒟𝑒𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉, 𝒮𝑒𝒸𝓉𝑜𝓇 18, 𝓃𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝐹𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈𝑜𝓃'𝓈 𝒫𝒽𝒶𝓇𝓂𝒶𝒸𝓎, 𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝓅𝓅𝑜𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒.
𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒽𝒾𝑔𝒽𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝓇𝑒𝑔𝒶𝓇𝒹𝓈,
𝒱.𝐼.𝑀. 𝒜𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓉,
𝒜𝓇𝒾𝒶𝓃𝓃𝒶 𝒞𝑜𝓃𝓌𝑒𝒹𝑔𝑒
As he perused the letter, his hands trembled and a shiver went down his spine. Here dawns his attainments' test and dexterous him being assigned a certainly-not-an-abrupt-undertaking.
His eyes were dilated so substantial that it would compel one to flee from hither. The weather outside was frigid, flaunting your wealth wouldn't embrace you a second more.
The letter tumbled from his hands; surrendering to the floor, in the eyes of others; this was indeed a misgiving.
Howbeit, there was a spectator.
"Another transmigrator? Huh?" It said in a deep-whisper. It halted astern Morganael.
Morganael, nonetheless, dwelt as he was ere 'it'; the monster drew near to him.
"Why aren't you panicking…?" It uttered as he fixated and abided astern Morganael.
"No fright at all….? Such valiant actions astound me – divulge me; human – what is thy name?"
It whispered in his ears, Morganael now fretted tremendously, it was a scandalous sight.
He tried to make himself tranquil. "Arthur Feyn."
"Dost NOT –" it bellowed, "lie to me…"
It halted just behind his ears, it was a shadow-y figure. "Now, tell me – who ARE you?"
It was saying it very gradually.
He closed his eyes firmly, and said: "Morganael Astvan."
"Astvan, huh? – how dare you… bring me – my DEATH."
His eyes dilated, until he looked back. There was absolutely nothing.
And when he looked straight bestart, 'it' stood there.
Morganael panicked as he could not proceed with anything any further, surrendering to the floor; he fell down. His heart pumped blood more than in history. — "Who – are – you…?!"
His body gradually weakened as his voice softened and declined.
" – What am I?" 'It' said, "I am… INCIOUS."
— "I – am – the… Falsch!"
"You… what do you want?!"
"Your death."
How is he speaking the English I know?!
"Interesting question. Wahr's foe."
"... Huh?" Morganael did NOT understand a thing from the invalid self-proclaim of 'it.'
"Ah! —" 'it' did something to Morganael's mind, 'it' distorted it.
Why am I stupid? — "Wait!!! What was I thinking?"
"See", 'it' said, "We're the same- AGHHHHH! ENOUGH! No more of this non-sense!"
Until Incious could begin any further. Someone hit him (Incious) with a baseball bat. The strike landed so perfectly, it sent him to the edge of the room. — "Come on! We need to flee from hither!"
He was a young, majestic-looking man with no beard or moustache. He had black hair and brown eyes. He wore a brown-ish shirt with folded sleeves. With a plain silver ring on the middle-finger of his right hand.
Morganael halted up as swiftly as he could, it was so peculiar to see him work without being a coward. As he bursted into the window – the shadow-y figure; A.K.A.; Incious, blew the space with the help of some reactive-materials he made. The explosion sent both Morganael and the young man flying in the air until they hit the ground, surrendering to it.
The fog outside was extremely dense, like it had secrets to be held by one; mysterious to be uncovered by none. The weather too was frigid and could make anyone fragile.
But the long, Victorian-ish street-lights every 10 meters made their way a bit clear to be seen. They could see nothing except yellow-ish light from the street-lights on the edge of the wide concrete road. The sky was not to be seen, but the twinkling stars shined extremely bright and a tremendous opportunity for astronomers to sit in peace and do their 'astronomy.'
The explosion shattered the second floor of the building completely and made others awake too. Soon, buildings shined with light, the sign that everyone was awake till now.
"That way!" The young man pointed to a narrow space leading to an empty; old graveyard. It was clearly conducive for hiding while in danger.
Morganael agreed and followed him to the very end of the narrow space, running as swiftly as they could, passing through walls of different buildings: some were black, some were just bricks, some were white.
When they finally reached the end of the narrow space which led to an old-spooky graveyard abandoned for years.
"Hey, are you okay?" The young man asked with a sign of friendliness and no-seriousness-at-all. "It was fun! Wasn't it?" proclaimed with utter joy as he slumped down taking the support of the thick; white-ish wall.
"I haven't told you my name, have I?"
"Well –" before Morganael could continue any further or even ask a thing…
"I'm Finn Sevenstian! What about you?"
"I'm Morga- ah… Arthur Feyn."
"Comrade, do not lie to me. I know you're from Earth and I even know you're a transmigrator."
"No wonder why everyone was speaking normal; modern English. Anyway – it's Morganael Astvan."
"Oh…! Astvan, huh?" He felt even more joy. "Guess, the prophecy is coming true, isn't it?"
"What prophecy?" Morganael asked.
"I didn't knew either, but I'll tell ya' later. So just worry about us getting out from here – I do know the way of getting back to earth, but we can only perform it TONIGHT or wait another year."
"You… actually know the… way to get outta here?"
"Yes, I do. My stupid little shortie friend!"
"I'm six feet tall, even when I was on Earth, I was over six feet."
"Yeah, no wonder why you looked like a pole."
Finn put his hand into his pocket to get the stone they'd need to perform the ritual and escape. But it was empty, only his wallet was there.
He panicked and found nothing, the stone fell out of pocket when they were running. He gave a pale expression, his eyes dilated and fixated to the narrow space they came here from.