"Hey Zane, how many times do I have to tell you to clean your room?"
"Uhh… okay, Mom, I'll do it. Just stop nagging."
Zane slowly pushed himself up from his bed, stretching lazily as he did. With an annoyed sigh, he walked toward the door and shut it behind him, the soft click echoing faintly inside the room.
For a moment, he simply stood there.
His eyes wandered across the chaotic battlefield that was his room.
Clothes were scattered across the floor like abandoned flags after a lost war. A pile of shirts lay crumpled near the corner, while a pair of jeans hung halfway off the edge of a chair. The desk was no better—several empty food containers rested there, some of them from days ago, their faint smell lingering in the air.
Zane rubbed the back of his neck and let out a long breath.
"Sigh… well, she isn't wrong," he muttered quietly to himself. "But at least give me some quiet time."
The words faded into the stillness of the room.
Reluctantly, he began the tedious task.
He picked up the scattered clothes first, grabbing shirts, hoodies, and socks from the floor before tossing them into a laundry basket. The soft rustling of fabric filled the room as the pile slowly disappeared.
Once the clothes were taken care of, he reached under his desk and pulled out an empty trash bag.
One by one, the food containers were tossed inside.
Plastic crinkled as the bag gradually filled. Some of the containers still had small leftovers stuck to them, making Zane wrinkle his nose slightly as he sealed the bag.
Ten minutes passed.
By the time he finished, the room looked significantly less like a disaster zone.
Zane stepped back, placing his hands on his hips as he inspected his work.
"That took quite a long time… haha," he murmured tiredly. "I'm actually worked out… and thirsty."
His throat did feel dry.
Without wasting another moment, he turned toward the door and twisted the doorknob.
Click.
The hallway outside was quiet.
Zane walked a couple of meters down the hall before reaching the kitchen. The familiar scent of home lingered faintly in the air.
He opened the refrigerator,Cold air brushed against his face as the light inside flickered on.
Inside sat a pack of soda, On top of it was a small sticky note written in thick black marker.
"Don't touch."
Zane stared at it for a moment before chuckling softly.
"Lili really doesn't stop with these notes," he said with amusement. "I'm your older brother—you should share it with me."
Ignoring the warning entirely, he reached inside the fridge and grabbed one of the bottles.
The cold plastic felt refreshing against his palm, With a quick twist, he opened it.
Psst.
Without hesitation, Zane lifted the bottle to his lips.
Gulp. Gulp. Gulp.
He drank nearly half the bottle in one go before lowering it, letting out a satisfied breath.
"That's really refreshing."
He closed the fridge, and just as he turned away, a sharp knock echoed through the house.
Zane paused, puzzled. "Who could it be this time?" he wondered, his brow furrowing. Slowly, he made his way to the door and twisted the knob.
Outside stood a man in his twenties, clad in a neat blue vest and matching trousers. A small label on the vest read: "Delivery Post."
Zane blinked. "Uh… how can I help you?" he asked, his voice tinged with confusion.
The man's tone was low and deliberate. "Good afternoon. I have a package for Mr. Zane Morocroft. Please sign on the designated spot to receive it." He extended a clipboard with a sheet of paper neatly attached.
Zane frowned. "But I didn't order anything… I think you've got the wrong person, sir," he said, his eyes narrowing slightly.
The man tilted his head. "Isn't this Fifth Avenue?"
"Yes, it is," Zane replied cautiously.
"Then the address is correct. Please, just sign here and take your package. I have many more deliveries to make," the man said, his expression tired, almost impatient.
Reluctantly, Zane took the paper and signed it. The delivery man handed over a small cardboard package, roughly the shape of a book.
After taking back the clipboard, the man turned and walked briskly to his delivery car, leaving the quiet hum of the city behind.
Zane lingered at the doorstep, staring at the package in his hands. "Did I order something? But I don't remember…" he thought, racking his brain. Then, shaking his head, he decided it was best to just open it and see.
He closed the door and carried the box to his room. Just as he reached the stairs, he heard footsteps above him.
"Who was at the door just now?" his mother's voice called from the second floor, tinged with curiosity.
"It was a delivery," Zane replied, trying to sound casual.
"What did you order?" she asked.
"I didn't… but the man said it was for me. Probably someone I know sent it," Zane answered, shrugging slightly.
His mother didn't press further and turned toward the kitchen to prepare dinner.
"I'm going to be in my room. Don't disturb me, Mom," Zane said, his tone firm.
"All you ever do is sit in that filthy room playing with your phone. Go do something useful!" she snapped back.
Zane said nothing. He simply gave her a look heavy with shame and regret, then made his way to his room, closing the door firmly behind him.
He set the box on the floor and knelt down, fingers trembling slightly as he peeled back the cardboard flaps.
Inside lay a book unlike any he had ever seen. The cover looked… almost alive, as if it were made of skin. Its texture was unsettling, uneven, faintly warm to the touch. The title was engraved in deep crimson, the letters sharp and vivid—like dried blood.
"VeilBond"
Goosebumps rose along his arms. His breath caught. The book emanated an aura that was almost palpable, pressing against his mind.
"What the hell… is this?" he whispered, his voice trembling. "It's… it's… scary. Almost real. Is this some kind of prank?"
He tried to open it. Nothing. Not a creak, not a shift. The cover remained stubbornly shut.
"Why isn't it opening?" he muttered, tilting his head. "Is it glued shut or something?"
As he looked closer, a folded piece of paper slipped from inside the box, fluttering to the floor. It was yellowed and worn, corners frayed, as though it had survived centuries. Zane picked it up cautiously.
The letter seemed almost alive, its presence heavy and commanding. The words written within chilled him:
---
"To the one who has been chosen,
- This book is bound not by ordinary means, nor shall it yield to the hands of the unworthy. Only those whose veins carry the spark of the chosen may awaken its contents.
- Know this: the key is not of metal, nor of force. It is of life itself. A single drop of your blood—your essence—will awaken the seal and grant you access.
- Take heed. This act is irreversible. Once the blood touches the binding, the book will recognize you, and the path it reveals cannot be unwalked.
- Proceed with courage… or leave it sealed forever, as countless others have failed to awaken it.
---
Zane's mind spun. "Chosen… awaken… blood… this is insane!" His pulse thundered in his ears. "Is this some kind of cult? What the hell have I gotten myself involved in"
His face turned pale as a cold shiver ran down his spine. The weight of the book, the letter, Something about this felt alive, "This is no ordinary delivery…" he thought.
Zane's hands shook as he stared at the book. The crimson letters seemed to pulse faintly, like a heartbeat just beneath the skin. His mind raced, every rational thought colliding with the growing dread curling in his chest.
"One drop… just one drop…"
He glanced at his arm, the pale skin almost mocking him. The penknife on his desk caught his eye
Swallowing hard, he picked it up. The metallic weight in his hand grounded him for a moment, though the tremor in his fingers remained.
"This… this is insane," he whispered to himself. "I… I don't even know what's waiting for me. But… I can't ignore it either."
He took a deep breath, trying to steady his heartbeat. Then, almost instinctively, he pricked the tip of his finger. A small bead of blood welled up, glistening in the dim light of his room. It felt impossibly alive, as though it pulsed with the rhythm of his own soul.
Holding his hand over the book, he hesitated. The air in the room felt heavier, thicker, as if it resisted the moment. The skin-like cover of the book seemed to shift subtly beneath his gaze, like it was aware of him.
"Here goes nothing," he murmured.
He let the single drop of blood fall onto the center of the cover.
The instant it touched the surface, a shiver shot through his body, cold and sharp as lightning. The book twitched violently as though it were inhaling his essence. The crimson letters burned brighter, glowing as though fed by the very lifeblood that had touched it.
A low, almost imperceptible hum filled the room, vibrating deep within Zane's chest. The sound was unnatural… deliberate… and heavy with intent. He staggered backward, eyes wide, heart hammering as if it would tear through his ribs.
The cover of the book began to shift, peeling back slowly, as if resisting his touch, then finally yielding. Suddenly, a brilliant light erupted from the book, spilling across the entire room. It was blinding. Zane shielded his eyes, but it was too late—the intensity forced him to look away.
Moments passed, and dizziness swept over him like a wave. His legs buckled, and his vision blurred. Trembling, he looked down at his arm—and froze. His flesh appeared to be fading, fragmenting as though it were made of smoke, threads of his body unraveling and fleeing toward the light that poured from the book.
Panic clawed at his mind. "H-Help!" he tried to shout, but no sound emerged. His voice was trapped, swallowed by the overwhelming radiance.
The sensation escalated rapidly. His limbs dissolved, his chest lifted toward the light, and his very essence felt as if it were being drawn into another plane. His body trembled violently, then surrendered completely, vanishing into the luminous void.
And then—the light vanished.
The room returned to its normal darkness, the shadows settling as though nothing had happened. The book lay closed and still, inert on the floor. Zane was gone.
The door creaked open. His mother stepped inside, calling for him. "Where did that brat go? Doesn't he know it's time for dinner?"
She scanned the room, frowning as her gaze settled on the empty floor. Seeing no sign of him, she huffed in frustration, muttering under her breath. "He's probably off doing nothing useful again."
With that, she turned and left the room, closing the door behind her.
..
Somewhere beyond that closed door, beyond the familiar walls and ceiling of his room, Zane's consciousness drifted into a strange and uncharted space—pulled into a realm he could never have imagined.
It was a vast, boundless darkness.
An endless black expanse stretched in every direction, filled with nothing but countless distant stars scattered across the void. There was no ground beneath him, no sky above him—only the silent, infinite cosmos.
Zane struggled to gather his thoughts and calm the turmoil within his mind. Slowly, he looked around, hoping to find something—anything—that could explain where he was.
But there was nothing, only the silent sea of stars.
He then lowered his gaze toward his own body, and what he saw made his heart tremble.
His hand was no longer normal.
It was a strange purple color, tinted with faint traces of black, smooth and featureless, as if it were not made of flesh at all. There were no clear details—no veins, no texture—just a vague shape resembling a hand. When he glanced down further, he noticed that his lower body looked the same.
A hollow, formless silhouette of purple and black.
Before he could even process what was happening, the space around him suddenly began to tremble.
At first, it was subtle, then it grew stronger.
The endless void seemed to shake, as though an unseen force had stirred the stillness of the universe itself.
Zane lifted his head again, His pupils shrank, The stars… were moving.
One by one, the distant points of light began to shift, slowly at first, then faster and faster. they gathered together in a single direction, rushing across the void like a cosmic tide, their speed increased rapidly.
Soon, countless stars converged into one place, merging together into a single massive light—brighter than anything Zane had ever seen.
The moment it formed, the enormous radiance shot forward.
It rushed straight toward him, toward his head.
Zane felt an overwhelming surge of energy flood into his body the instant the light struck him. The force was so immense that he couldn't resist it in the slightest, his entire being trembled violently, his vision flickered uncontrollably, darkness swallowing the stars one by one as his consciousness began to fade.
And then—
Everything went black.
..
"Hey, idiot, stop zoning out and focus. We're on patrol. Who knows what might happen."
The voice came from a man who appeared to be in his late thirties. He had black hair streaked with faint gray, sharp brown eyes, and a thin mustache resting above a stern mouth. His frame was bulky and tall, the build of someone used to physical work.
He wore a dark blue uniform—shirt and trousers neatly pressed despite the late hour. On his chest was a metal badge engraved with the words "Hamlon Police." A baton hung from his belt beside a holstered revolver, while his right hand held a lantern whose dim yellow light swayed gently with every step.
Zane, who barely understood what was happening, felt panic creeping into his chest.
"Wasn't I in my room just a few minutes ago, Where am I… and who the hell is this guy?"
The man glanced at him again, irritation obvious in his expression.
"Do your job properly as a police officer," he scolded in a firm tone. "Did they even bother teaching you anything in the academy?"
He sighed heavily, as if already tired of the conversation.
"Just follow me. Let's finish the patrol quickly and head back."
Zane stared at the uniform again—the badge, the weapon, the lantern.
Police… patrol…?
The situation felt surreal, like a strange dream he couldn't wake up from.
Still, with no better option, he decided to play along for now and see what was going on.
He followed the bulky man through the quiet street,As they walked, Zane noticed several figures lying along the roadside. Their clothes were worn and ragged, their bodies curled against the cold stone pavement. None of them moved, "Homeless…" Zane thought silently.
"How pitiful," the man beside him muttered with a faint look of sympathy. "Sleeping on the streets with nowhere to go, nothing to eat. Truly pitiful."
The lantern light passed over the motionless bodies as they continued walking.
Zane swallowed before finally asking, his voice hesitant, "S-sir… where are we right now?"
The man tilted his head slightly toward him, frowning.
"Are you on drugs or something? You're acting strange tonight."
He studied Zane for a moment before replying, "We're in Hamlon, obviously. We were assigned to patrol South-Port Street. There was a report about a few drunkards causing trouble around here at night."
"Hamlon…?", Zane repeated the name silently in his mind, confusion only deepening.
"Hamlon… where is that supposed to be?"
He slowly looked around, On both sides of the street stood rows of shabby buildings constructed from rough gray stone. Their walls were cracked and weathered, their windows dim and narrow. The architecture looked fragile and ancient—something he had only seen before in medieval movies or historical documentaries.
It was clearly night, Only a handful of street lamps still burned, their weak flames flickering inside glass casings that barely pushed back the darkness.
After patrolling the streets for nearly thirty minutes, the man finally slowed his pace. He glanced at Zane before speaking in a firm tone.
"It looks like there's nothing unusual tonight. Let's head back to the precinct, file the report, and clock out."
Zane let out a quiet sigh.
"Yes, sir."
His reply came almost automatically. In truth, he had barely heard the man's words. His mind was racing with countless thoughts, trying desperately to make sense of everything that had happened.
he wondered "Why isn't the dream ending, It's taking far too long..!"
He rubbed his arms slightly as the cold night wind brushed against his skin.
And it doesn't even feel like a dream…
He could clearly feel the chill in the air, the roughness of the stone streets beneath his boots, the faint smell of smoke drifting from distant chimneys. Every sensation felt vivid—almost painfully real.
Could this be related to the book I opened in my room?, The thought suddenly surfaced in his mind.
It has to be…
Zane had read enough fantasy novels to know the familiar trope.
Sometimes the main character gets transmigrated into another world.., sometimes they even gain some kind of overpowered ability.
He paused for a moment.
Then quickly shook his head.
"No… it's too early to jump to conclusions,For now, the safest option was simple, Just follow this man and observe what happens."
After walking a few more streets, they eventually arrived at the Hamlon Police Precinct. The building stood larger than the surrounding structures, its stone walls darker and more solid, with a dim lantern hanging above the entrance.
The bulky officer pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Before entering fully, he turned toward Zane.
"Stay here for a moment. I'll go inside and file the report."
Zane nodded silently.
"Yes, sir."
The man disappeared through the doorway, leaving Zane standing alone outside the station.
The street had grown quiet.
For a brief moment, everything seemed calm.
Then suddenly—
A sharp pain exploded inside Zane's head.
"—!"
The sensation came without warning, like a blade piercing directly through his mind.
Zane's body trembled violently as the pain intensified. It felt as though countless currents of electricity were surging through his brain, tearing through his thoughts.
His legs gave out, He dropped to his knees on the cold stone ground.
His face turned pale, the color draining rapidly from his skin. Beads of sweat formed across his forehead and slid down his temples.
His breathing grew uneven and unstable.
Fragments of unfamiliar memories began flashing through his mind—images, voices, places he had never seen before yet somehow felt strangely familiar.
The pressure inside his skull became unbearable.
Zane clenched his fists, trying desperately to endure the pain.
But his vision was already darkening, The world around him slowly blurred.
And then—
Zane collapsed forward onto the ground.
Unconscious.