The candlelight flickered in the attic study of Château du Clos Lucé, reflecting in the weary eyes of the man hailed as the "Genius of the Renaissance." Leonardo da Vinci's breath was as faint as the dying flame, his body, once brimming with limitless energy and creativity, now trembling weakly on a bed surrounded by scrolls of paper, sketches, and small mechanical models – testaments to a life devoted to research and invention.
On his lap lay the last sheet of parchment. His wrinkled hand, still steady with final resolve, dipped a quill into an almost dry inkwell. He wasn't designing war machines or crafting renowned portraits, but a dream – an "ideal world" where reason and art would unite humanity.
"If only… if only I had a little more time…" a hoarse whisper escaped him. "I would paint a world without bloodshed… a world where knowledge is the guiding light… not suspicion and hatred…"
The very last drop of ink… the only one remaining… was swept onto the parchment, a final stroke of hope.
Flicker!
It wasn't the sound of the candle extinguishing.
Nor the sound of his breathing ceasing.
But the entire world plunging into darkness as if swallowed whole…
A sudden, piercing cold seeped through every fiber of his being. An eerie silence replaced the ticking clock and the sound of his own breath. A sensation of weightlessness, as if adrift in a void, before the first impact assaulted his senses.
BOOM! CRACK! RUMBLE!
Da Vinci's heavy eyelids opened to a sight beyond imagination. The sky wasn't the familiar azure but a lurid crimson-tinged purple, adorned with two suns – one a brilliant gold, the other a terrifying blood-red. Wreckage of colossal metal structures floated above like a celestial graveyard. The dark silhouette of something akin to giant wings soared through thick black smoke.
The stench of burning, gunpowder, and the metallic tang of blood filled the air. Piercing shrieks, the roars of unheard-of beasts, and the continuous, earth-shattering explosions echoed relentlessly.
He lay on cracked, parched earth. The first distinct sensation was an astonishing surge of vitality coursing through his body. It wasn't just the alertness of his intellect, but a muscular strength he hadn't felt in decades.
Da Vinci pushed himself up, not with the clumsiness of an old man nearing his end, but with the agility of a youth brimming with vigor. He looked down at his hands pressing against the ground. Slender fingers, taut skin, free of the wrinkles or age spots he was so familiar with. The clothes he wore were also strange – simple yet durable attire, certainly not his own.
"This… this body…" He stroked his arm, feeling the firm muscle and supple, youthful skin. His last memory was of a failing breath in an aged frame, but now, he was in the body of a young man, perhaps eighteen or twenty!
A battlefield… this was undoubtedly a battlefield. But not a war he knew, not a world he had inhabited, and most importantly… not his body.
His hands were empty... Instinctively, he fumbled for his trusty pen and notebook. But what he touched wasn't paper or a wooden pen.
Something materialized in his right hand, gently, as if forming from thin air. It was a golden paintbrush, intricately carved with exquisite patterns. The pure white bristles at its tip emitted a soft, warm golden glow, like the morning sun. It fit his palm perfectly, as if it had been a part of him for a long time.
The panic that should have overwhelmed him was replaced by a strange sense of familiarity. The genius's mind began processing millions of possibilities in a fraction of a second. Though in a new, youthful body, his intellect and over seven decades of experience remained intact.
"Is this… a gift from God? A miracle? Or… the result of that last drop of ink? A rebirth… in this body?"
Before his thoughts could crystallize, a ferocious roar tore through the air. The colossal form of a four-legged war machine, resembling a house-sized mechanical spider, moved at high speed directly towards where he stood. The massive cannon barrel on its head was swiveling, locking onto him. Flames began to gather at its muzzle!
Instinct screamed to flee, but Da Vinci stood firm. He raised the golden paintbrush. His eyes fixed on the mechanical beast, devoid of fear, only the focused concentration of an artist about to create a masterpiece and the precision of an inventor who understood every mechanism. The miraculously restored physical strength allowed him to stand even more steadily.
He didn't paint on canvas… but swished the brush in the air!
Luminous golden ink gushed from the brush's tip, miraculously forming lines and shapes in mid-air. It was a tangible, three-dimensional sketch! Gears… pressure tubes… steel ornithopter wings he had once designed… and a high-pressure water cannon adapted from an irrigation system! Every component was "drawn" with genius-level speed and precision. Each line, each part, assembled into a complex yet perfect flying machine.
Fwoosh!
The imagined contraption sprang to life! It soared from the ground, scattering debris, its steel wings beating with immense power, and lunged at the mechanical beast with incredible speed.
BOOOOMMMMM!!!
The high-pressure water jet from Da Vinci's creation tore through the mechanical beast's armor as if it were paper. An internal explosion consumed the enemy, leaving only burning metal wreckage and billowing black smoke.
Da Vinci lowered the brush, breathing slightly heavily, gazing at his first creation in this new world with eyes glinting with understanding mixed with awe.
"A brush that paints anything into reality… The power to create the world I once only dreamed of… A world no one dared believe could exist..."
He swept his gaze over the battlefield, still smoldering with the fires of war, the cries of agony, and the relentless advance of death. Then, he spoke to himself, his voice calm, yet imbued with the fierce determination of a man possessing the wisdom of a sage in the body of a youth.
"If this world was built on destruction and slaughter… then I, Leonardo da Vinci, will 'draw' a new world to replace it… with my own two hands and this very brush!"