---
Darkness.
That was the only word that fit where he was right now.
A cold, weightless void stretched around him, where time seemed to hold its breath.
He didn't know how long he'd been floating.
Maybe seconds. Maybe years.
All he could do was think and the last thing he remembered thinking was:
"What the hell was that ending?"
---
It had started innocently enough.
He was lying on his bed, half-bored, scrolling through an old webnovel he'd randomly found. Some over the top fantasy story with magic, kingdoms, demon invasions the usual.
It had its moments. The worldbuilding was decent. The main character was tolerable. There were even a few emotional deaths that hit hard.
But the ending?
A complete, fiery trainwreck.
Everyone died.
The hero failed.
The world burned.
"What kind of psycho ends a story like that?" he'd grumbled at 3 A.M., slamming his phone down.
"Screw this. I hope the author stubs their toe every morning forever."
In a fit of frustration, he cursed the writer's family for sixteen whole generations and passed out without bothering to plug in his phone.
That should've been the end of it.
--
Instead, a blinding white light tore through the darkness of sleep, not in his dreams, but in reality.
It poured from the screen of his phone, so bright it seared through his eyelids.
For one heart-stopping moment, he thought he'd died.
That maybe God had come to personally drag him to hell for talking smack about a fictional story.
But then, the light dimmed… and blood-red letters flickered onto the screen.
"Why don't you say that to my face, you lil bitch."
He blinked.
"What the fu—"
---
Darkness.
Again.
But this time, it wasn't the calm darkness of sleep.
It was something colder. Heavier. Deeper.
He floated in the abyss, limbs numb, body weightless. There was no gravity, no sound — not even the sound of his own heartbeat.
Just drifting.
Alone.
"...Am I dead?" he muttered. Or tried to. His voice didn't echo. Didn't even form. He wasn't sure he had a mouth anymore
Before he could panic, a door appeared before him.
A white gate, glowing faintly in the void, elegant and old. Its surface shimmered with runes and star-like motes.
It opened slowly with a soft hum, as if inviting him in.
He hesitated.
Then sighed.
"Well, can't be worse than this. Hopefully it's not a cage."
And he drifted toward it, into the light.
---
For the first time in what felt like eternity, he felt gravity.
And then pain.
---
The sound of chirping birds welcomed him back to consciousness.
Sunlight filtered gently through a curtain, warm against his cheek. His body felt heavy but real — limbs stiff, skin slightly clammy.
He blinked against the light, squinting at the wooden ceiling above him.
Then sat up.
Then—
"GAHH—!"
A searing pain ripped through his skull.
Memories—not his own poured into his mind, fast and relentless. Names, languages, places, feelings—whole years of someone else's life dumped into his consciousness like an avalanche.
He clutched his head, teeth clenched.
It wasn't just knowledge.
It was emotion. Smells. Faces. Moments. Childhood, grief, loneliness.
His breath came out in ragged gasps.
Then, just as suddenly, the pain faded—leaving silence in its wake.
He sat there for a moment, panting.
"…Where… the hell am I?"
---
He looked around.
The room was small but clean. Wooden walls. A sturdy bed. A desk. A shelf filled with a few worn books and a hand-carved clock. A window let in light from outside, where birds sang in a distant forest.
His eyes drifted to a framed photo on the desk.
A boy. Smiling. Held in the arms of a cheerful man, with a gentle woman beside them. A family happy, once.
He knew them.
Or rather, the body's previous owner did.
"…No way," he whispered.
His heart sank as the pieces clicked together.
He was inside the novel.
The same one he'd cursed.
The same one with the terrible ending.
And worse?
He wasn't the main character.
Not a hero.
Not a noble.
Not even a side character.
Just… a random orphan.
---
The novel's world came back to him piece by piece, like puzzle fragments aligning.
Eldoria the supercontinent of legends. Fertile forests, enchanted rivers, colossal mountains. A land split into five major nations but one kingdom towered over them all:
Valen the royal kingdom of humans, born from bloodshed during the First Demon War. It was the center of the story, the birthplace of the novel's protagonist.
Aric Valen.
Golden-haired. Ridiculously talented. Born under the prophecy's light.
The Hero.
The one who would gather allies, unlock ancient power, and save the world—
Until he failed.
Until everything burned.
And now, Kiran was in the same kingdom. The same timeline. The same year the demon invasion begins.
He took a long, shaky breath.
"…I'm so screwed."
---
After a few minutes of quiet mental breakdown, he forced himself to stand.
The floor creaked beneath him. His muscles ached.
He stumbled toward the desk, opened a drawer, and found a small brass mirror tucked inside.
He held it up.
The reflection that stared back was... not bad.
Short black hair. Pale skin. Narrow chin. Thin frame. Slight bags under the eyes the face of someone who'd worked too hard and eaten too little.
Not particularly handsome. Not ugly either.
Just… average.
He stared for a long time, fingers curling around the edge of the mirror.
This was him now.
This was Kiran 15 years old. Orphan. Commoner. Lottery-selected applicant for Velderia Arcane Academy.
And now, inhabited by a guy who barely passed high school maths.
---
"...Alright. First things first. Magic."
He sat cross-legged on the floor, closed his eyes, and focused.
He visualized his body as he remembered from the novel. pathways, mana veins, core points. Tried to move the energy. Felt the world around him.
A slow, wobbly current of energy began to stir.
It took nearly twenty painful, sweaty minutes before he successfully circulated mana once through his body.
His arms shook. His brain ached.
But he did it.
"...I have magic talent," he muttered, half-relieved. Then grimaced.
"Barely."
The original Kiran had the lowest affinity ever recorded in the village. A magic stone barely lit up in his presence.
But hey it was something.
And something was better than dead.
---
"No more stalling," he muttered. "Let's check the rest of this place."
He left the room and descended the narrow wooden staircase.
The cottage was simple. A cozy kitchen, a fireplace, a couch that had seen better days. A few books on mana theory. Some dried herbs in the corner. Dusty but warm.
It felt like... a real home.
One that had lost its warmth five years ago when Kiran's parents died in a beast horde attack.
Since then, he'd lived alone.
Worked odd jobs. Trained a little. Clung to a hopeless dream: to enter Velderia Arcane Academy, the most prestigious magical institution on the continent.
Most commoners never even stepped near its gates.
But once a year, a random commoner was chosen through a public lottery.
Kiran was that year's winner.
A golden ticket to the future.
Or at least, it would've been... until he took over.
---
He stopped near the hearth and stared at the slowly dying embers.
Then closed his eyes.
"Don't worry, Kiran. I took your body… so I'll fulfill your dream."
He placed a hand on his chest.
"And more importantly, I'm going to live."
---
He had two months before the academy's semester began.
Two months to become less weak. To train in both magic and swordsmanship, just enough not to die the first time something exploded.