About eighteen years ago—
On the outskirts of Trifas, Romania, within a Gothic castle controlled by Yggdmillennia.
August 16, 1980.
A newborn's cry rang through the castle's warm conservatory, injecting a strange vitality into stone halls that were otherwise steeped in gloom.
The infant, freshly delivered, wailed as tiny hands clenched and unclenched. Those dark eyes, however, held an intelligence wholly unsuited to a newborn. Strange midwives—golems shaped nothing like humans—moved busily around him, oblivious to the tightly furrowed brow on that small face.
"This body… this world… the flavor of magic here is exquisite…"
A chant-like voice echoed within the infant's mind. A vast will descended, and the magical protections clinging to the newborn shattered instantly.
A spirit that had endured for dozens of centuries lunged like a starving wolf. In a blink, it devoured the infant's own undeveloped soul. Against an existence stretched across ages, the child's resistance was meaningless.
Once the body was fully claimed, the foreign spirit felt an unexpected emptiness.
He was not one of those vulgar travelers bound by the lingering obsessions of a former self. Taking another's body was no more difficult than eating or breathing.
Yet this world disappointed him.
The mana of the Root was pitifully thin—far too weak to sustain even a single Epic Spell. Accelerating the body's growth through sorcery was out of the question. Even extracting his soul again would be dangerously difficult.
Worse still were the rules. The disparity between worlds shackled him completely. He had once built countless Floating Cities, been revered as Ioulaum, an Archwizard of Netheril. Now, he could not cast even the simplest Arcane Magic trick.
At this moment, he had no means of self-defense.
"A wretched world… Still, this host possesses channels similar to those of magical creatures, capable of bearing low-tier spells—wait. These aren't meridians. Are these Magic Circuits?"
He sensed the strange flow within his body and closed his eyes, conserving strength in case of danger. Beneath that calm, his thoughts churned violently.
He had never been a native of Faerûn. Becoming an Arcanist of Netheril had been a necessity, not destiny. He certainly never imagined he would arrive in a world he once admired before his first transmigration.
Centuries of tempering had stripped him of panic and childish excitement. His mind turned cold and precise, weighing what priceless treasures this world could offer.
Magecraft. The Throne of Heroes. The Swirl of the Root.
And, admittedly, the Misses who haunted his dreams.
Very well.
Let this world, whose Mystery was steadily withering away, taste the full weight of a mature Arcane civilization.
◇◇◇
A low, steady baritone echoed through an antique study. Candle flames bowed and swayed in time with the voice.
"So. It's decided?"
"Yes. It's decided."
This reply came from an old man wearing a monocle. He knelt on a handwoven carpet, posture reverent as he addressed the ruler seated behind the desk.
"The newborn of our Frain Family possesses extremely thin Magic Circuits. Eight primary circuits. Sixteen auxiliary."
"And?"
The young man at the desk flicked his dark green hair, his voice heavy with authority.
"Tell me your plan, Hughes Frain Yggdmillennia."
"Yes, Lord Darnic."
Though the old man appeared far more aged, he dared not lean on seniority.
The man before him was Darnic Preston Yggdmillennia, head of Yggdmillennia. Master of all its magi. He appeared to be in his twenties, yet had already lived nearly a century.
"I propose abandoning this child. The Frain Family has no need for such refuse." Hughes paused, then continued solemnly. "However, he may still serve a purpose. We intend to send him to the Clock Tower, as a symbol of friendship between Yggdmillennia and the Mage's Association."
"Friendship…"
A cold glint passed through Darnic's eyes.
"An acceptable proposal. See that he receives sufficient support. Spare no expense. I will not have the Clock Tower's aristocrats looking down on Yggdmillennia. And I have no desire to hear news of that child meeting an unfortunate end."
This was not mercy.
It was reputation.
"Yes, Lord."
Hughes inclined his head. As he prepared to withdraw, a weary voice stopped him.
"You haven't told me his name."
"My oversight, Lord Darnic."
Hughes hesitated, puzzled for a moment, then smiled thinly.
"Rhodes. His name is Rhodes Frain Yggdmillennia. Though talentless, he is still worthy of bearing the Frain Family name."
"I see."
◇◇◇
Several days later—
On the outskirts of the town magi called the Clock Tower, outside London.
Within an unremarkable courtyard, inside a modest room, an infant suckled rich milk. The one feeding him was not human, but a golem shaped like a woman.
The Frain Family was famed for golemcraft. To cultivate affinity, their children were raised by golems from infancy, learning instinctively how to command them without aversion.
Rhodes was no exception.
At Darnic's instruction, the Frain Family spared no expense. The golem feeding him was an extravagant humanoid model.
Yet no matter how closely it resembled a human woman, its emotionless eyes and rigid voice stripped away any trace of allure.
Unless one was a deranged automaton enthusiast.
Unfortunately for the golem, Rhodes—twisted in thought, morally bankrupt, and fond of stirring chaos—felt nothing for such lifeless inflatable dolls.
"Inferior trash."
He judged the pale-skinned, narrow-waisted figure in silence, sensing the dense array of spells grafted within its body.
Most were surveillance magecraft, designed to monitor him and report back to the Romanian main house. That alone made him unwilling to remain in its ample embrace.
"Crude tricks."
He nudged his head slightly, continued drinking the sweet milk, and maintained the act of an ordinary infant.
He possessed the ability to refit golems. To him, this one was little more than an antique.
Unfortunately, his current magical capacity resembled an ancient 386 computer. His former self's spellcasting prowess, by contrast, rivaled a supercomputer.
So the Archwizard could only wait.
One day, he would craft his own Pleasure Golem.
His own inflatable girlfriend.