A midnight breeze sliced through the ancient corridors, a spectral murmur weaving toward the grand hallway. A man emerged from the shadows, his black trench coat billowing like a raven's wings, a tilted fedora casting a stark silhouette.
The glint of his glasses caught the sapphire moonlight as he strode with measured steps toward an open room, its ethereal glow beckoning.
"The hour draws near," he whispered, to the silent air. The chamber was a vision of grandeur: a majestic Lilliputian grand piano stood sentinel, its ebony surface drinking in the moonlight that poured through towering windows. Beyond the glass, the city of Mindale glittered like a constellation fallen to earth.
In his hands, the man clutched a leather-bound tome, its deep brown cover shimmering in the lunar glow. His pale skin gleamed faintly, his light brown eyes sharp and piercing, framed by wavy brunette hair that stirred in the breeze. The piano rested in solemn silence.
The man drew the chair closer with a soft scrape, settling before the instrument. He opened the tome, its yellowed pages rustling as he turned to page fifty-four. His young fingers traced a list of names, Julian Michaelson, Marthine Hubil, Van Coover, and finally, Elias Jackson. He tapped the name Elias Jackson thrice, a faint smile curling his lips.
"The chosen one," he murmured, to the stillness. He placed the book atop the piano, its pages splayed open, and turned to a small wooden table beside it. A sheet of white paper adorned with musical notes lay there. He lifted it, his eyes tracing the cryptic symbols.
Taking a deep breath, he chanted, "Elias Jackson, Elias Jackson, Elias Jackson," to the moonlit void. On the third utterance, a chime reverberated through the air, sharp and otherworldly. The man's voice rose, resonant and commanding.
"The divine creatures of Deadlights… Extravagant Flower Bloom… Wonders of Wonderland… Beauty among beasts… One must care for each other… Give me the strength to continue."
His exposed forearms pulsed with a faint, radiant glow, light coursing through his veins like liquid starfire. His eyes fluttered shut, his face serene yet fierce.
"Goddess Vespera the goddess who fell into deep slumber.
God Luminar, who danced along the burning stars.
God Chronovos, who froze the day of ruin.
God Sapiros, one who challenged the universe.
Goddess Sylvara, the one who keeps it all together.
I summon your power, I beseech your aid once more.
A ritual must be set in motion, to the cosmos."
The windows burst open, a gale sweeping through the room, sending his coat dancing wildly. The piano's keys sang under his fingers, a haunting melody rising as his voice swelled, each word a thunderclap.
"Elias Jackson shall rise from death! He shall ascend as the savior, the Celestial Outcast!"
…
Crimson stained the pale snow, seeping from Elias Jackson's broken form. Blood dripped from his lips, painting his face in streaks of scarlet as he lay beneath a sky ablaze with red, its hue a harbinger of fate. Snowflakes drifted down, delicate and cold, kissing his battered cheeks.
His breath came in shallow gasps, each one a struggle against the weight of mortality. Beside him knelt a woman in her early twenties, her face streaked with tears born of guilt and sorrow.
"Elias, no… I'm so sorry," she sobbed, her voice trembling as she clutched his hand. He had shielded her from death, his body taking the blows meant for her. A few meters away, the attacker stood frozen, his blade still wet with Elias's blood.
Realization crashed over him, and with a panicked glance, he fled into the crimson dusk, his footsteps fading into the howling wind. Elias's world grew silent, the sounds muffled as if submerged in a dream. Only a faint, echoing call pierced the haze his name, chanted like a sacred hymn. "Elias… Elias… Elias…" The voice was neither mortal nor kind, yet it carried an undeniable weight.
"Take this vessel and ascend to godhood. The Interplace needs you," it intoned, to the void between worlds. His eyelids grew heavy, the world dimming as the woman's cries faded to a distant lament.
"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice breaking. Elias's lips curved into a faint, fleeting smile, a silent reassurance that it was okay. His strength ebbed, and his heavy eyelids fluttered shut, surrendering to the darkness. Yet, in that final moment, a pulse of divine light surged within him.
The gods of the cosmos Luminar, Vespera, Chronovos, Sapiros, Sylvara watched from their celestial thrones. None of them had any expressions and watched the scene within the cosmos itself using their temporary bodies.
"Yet another soul bound by the ritual Dr. Wonder has wrought," Chronovos intoned, his voice a steady tick of eternity, to the cosmic assembly.
"Certainty is a cause, not a gift," Sapiros murmured, his sapphire eyes glinting with calculated wisdom.
Vespera, her form a cascade of midnight, allowed a faint smile to curve her lips. "I am intrigued by this Celestial Outcast," she whispered, her voice a velvet shadow.
Luminar's molten gaze flickered, a low growl rumbling in his chest. "Then you may watch over him," he declared, his words edged with fire, to the darkened goddess.
Vespera's smile deepened, a silent promise shimmering in her crescent-moon eyes. In an instant, their ethereal forms dissolved into nothingness, scattering like stardust across the Interplace, leaving only the weight of their words and the destiny of Elias Jackson, the newborn creation.
…
Elias's eyelids flew open. He blinked over and over, his vision stuttering like a broken reel of film. Slowly, the rhythm of his blinks began to settle.
He was still lying in the snow. The woman beside him hadn't moved. Neither had the snowflakes in the air. Time itself had frozen. Only Elias breathed, sweating, trembling, confused.
Then came the sound. Soft at first. Chimes, delicate and echoing. But they multiplied, layered upon each other, growing louder, surrounding him from every direction.
Back in a candlelit room far beyond the frozen forest, a man blinked.
His eyes opened and closed in perfect sync with Elias's. A piano stood before him, silent and untouched. It was like a mirror. Two lives tethered by the rhythm of their breath, their blinks.
"Elias Jackson," a voice echoed through the stillness. "I hereby grant you this body. A vessel. A creation. A human."
Elias's eyes fluttered one final time, the blink agonizingly slow, as if the world itself held its breath. When his lids parted, the crimson snow and the woman's tear-streaked face were gone. Instead, he sat before a grand piano, its ebony surface gleaming under the sapphire moonlight that spilled through towering windows. The chamber was hauntingly familiar, the same room where Dr. Wonder had chanted his name, weaving the ritual that bound his soul to godhood.
He lurched from the chair, heart pounding, sweat beading on his brow. His teeth gritted, his wide eyes darting in panic. "What the… Where am I?"
His voice trembled, a raw edge of fear cutting through the stillness. The room stretched before him, its air heavy with the echo of divine power. To his far left, two doors hung ajar, their splintered frames revealing a long hallway lined with closed doors, each one pulsing with an unspoken mystery. To his right, an open window framed a glittering cityscape under a star-strewn night sky.
"Victorian England? No… It can't be… It looks very similar… What is going on?" Elias stumbled toward the window, his breath hitching as he gazed out. Below, a cobblestone road wound through the night, lit by flickering gas lamps. A few horse-drawn carriages clattered along, their wheels rumbling softly. Three men in black coats strode purposefully, their faces shadowed, while two women in dark, flowing dresses glided past, their silhouettes elegant yet eerie.
The cobblestone road stretched out in front of Elias, so clean it didn't seem real no dirt, no trash, just smooth stones glowing under the flickering gas lamps. The starlit sky reflected off the surface, too perfect, like something out of a dream. "This isn't the past," he mumbled, his voice shaky, barely above a whisper. "No way this is the past."
His heart was racing, his mind grasping for something to hold onto. Then it hit him, the book. Heaven's Spilling-Crucible's Past History. That creepy old tome he and his buddies Van, Julian, and Marthine had dug up in the musty archives of Ashwood College. They were just a bunch of history geeks, staying up late, geeking out over ancient ruins and forgotten empires. But that book… it was different. Its leather cover felt alive, the pages buzzing with a weird energy that made his skin crawl. They'd been so caught up in it, flipping through every cryptic page, too curious to stop.
One night, in Julian's messy living room pizza boxes and soda cans scattered everywhere they'd done something stupid. They'd read the incantations out loud. Four different ones, each guy picking his own. Elias could still feel the words he'd chosen, heavy and hot in his throat, like they meant something bigger than he could understand.
"Van… Julian… Marthine…" he whispered, a cold knot twisting in his chest. "Guys, you okay?" His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard. He'd left Julian's place that night, needing to clear his head after the weird vibe of the ritual. The snow was falling, soft and quiet, when he heard her scream a woman, cornered in the dark, a knife glinting in some thug's hand.
Elias didn't think. He just acted, throwing himself in front of her. The pain came fast, sharp, and then… nothing. Just blood soaking into the snow, her tears, her voice choking out, "I'm so sorry…"
He should be dead. But here he was, standing on this impossible road, his hands shaking as he checked his chest no blood, no wounds. "What's happening to me?" he muttered, glancing around.
Wasn't Victorian England supposed to be filthy? Covered in soot and grime? Here, the streets looked like they'd been polished by the heavens themselves. Elias's head throbbed, a sharp, unnatural pain pulsing behind his eyes. He stumbled, clutching his temples, and before he could catch himself, he tumbled out the open window, landing hard on the pristine road below.
A woman in a dark blue dress rushed over, her small hat tilted, a veiled mask hiding most of her face. She knelt to check on him, her voice soft with worry. "Sir? Are you okay?"
Elias blinked up at her, his vision swimming. Her dark green eyes peered through the veil, framed by strands of brown hair. She looked young, maybe early twenties, like someone he'd pass on campus. "I'm… I'm okay," he mumbled, pushing himself to his feet, his legs shaky. "What time is it?"
She pulled a gold pocket watch from her dress, glancing at it. "It's one in the morning," she said, her voice gentle but curious.
Elias gave the woman a weak glance, then swiftly gestured with his hands to signal he was okay. She nodded slightly, her green eyes watching as he struggled to climb back through the open window. He slipped, landing hard on the wooden floor inside with a groan. Pain shot through his side, and he lay there for a moment, catching his breath.
His mind raced as he stared at the ceiling. "Am I… in another world?" he muttered, his voice low and shaky. "Is this what happens after you die? Or is that book messing with me?" The thought of Heaven's Spilling-Crucible's Past History sent a chill down his spine. He'd accepted this strange place, sort of, but something didn't sit right.
He flexed his hands, noticing how they looked different, slimmer, paler. His hair felt weird too, softer, almost silky. "Wait a second," he whispered, his heart picking up. "Did I… transmigrate?" He'd read about it in old history books, myths about souls swapping bodies, jumping into new lives. If that book was behind this, if those incantations had done something, then Van, Julian, and Marthine, they might've transmigrated too.
Elias scrambled to his feet, shut the window with a quick push, and shrugged off his coat. He needed answers. Spotting a hallway lined with doors, he started opening them one by one, his pulse racing. Finally, he found a bathroom, modern but way too clean, almost sparkling, like it belonged in a fancy hotel. He stepped up to the large mirror, his breath catching as he took in his reflection.
Caramel-colored eyes stared back, warm but unfamiliar. His light brunette hair fell in soft, wavy strands, like ocean tides. He tilted his head, running a hand over his face. "Huh. Not bad," he mumbled, a half-smile tugging at his lips. He looked, well, better than average, more polished than he'd ever been back at Ashwood.
"This is… weird," he said to himself, his voice echoing in the quiet room. If this was a new body, a new world, what did it mean for his friends? Were they out there, lost in this strange place too?