Kael Ardent had always been a bright boy. Nineteen years old, full of curiosity, stubbornly hopeful despite the small disappointments life kept handing him.
Life hadn't been easy. Money was tight. Plans faltered. The future felt like a distant, cloudy shore. Still, he studied when he could, helped where he was needed, and convinced himself that effort mattered.
That night, he lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. The faint hum of electricity, the distant voices of his family, the ordinary comfort of home—it felt safe. Sleep came easily.
And then, everything changed.
The world shifted without warning.
At first, it was subtle: the air smelled metallic, slightly sharp, dust lingering unnaturally. The room looked familiar, but off. He checked his hands, his arms, his chest—alive, whole, unchanged. His dark brown hair stuck to his forehead, eyes gray and sharp as always. The hoodie he wore and his worn jeans felt grounding, yet alien here.
"I… transmigrated," he whispered. The thought thrilled him. Stories of second chances, hidden powers, destiny flooded his mind. He thought of his parents, his friends—of the life he'd left behind—and a pang of longing struck him, sharp but bearable. I'll make this mean something, he promised.
Weeks passed. He adapted, worked, learned, survived. Not extraordinary, not special. Careful. Patient. Ordinary.
Then, one evening, his life ended.
No heroics. No grand sacrifice. A stumble, a blow to the head, darkness swallowing him whole. Nothing meaningful. Just nothing.
---
When he woke again, he did not wake in a bed, or a village, or a place he recognized.
He woke on cold, cracked concrete. Dust filled his nose. The air was thick, rotting. Ash swirled in the faint wind. His stomach rebelled, bile rising, but he barely noticed—his eyes were drawn to the horizon.
Shapes moved—or had moved—before. Buildings leaned at impossible angles. Streets split open. Shadows of what might have been people or structures flickered and froze in the distance.
Kael's hands shook. He pressed them against the floor, grounding himself. Alive. Somehow, alive.
A small silver chain peeked from beneath his hoodie, a remnant from a life he could barely recall. He clutched it, needing something familiar.
The sky was wrong. Muted red, streaked with black smoke. Shapes that should not exist lingered at the edges of vision. He felt the weight of the world pressing down, thick and suffocating.
Somewhere in the distance, ruins stretched endlessly, but he could only glimpse them—barely—through his blurred, shaking eyes.
He did not understand where he was. He did not understand how he had come to this place.
All he knew was this:
He had arrived.
The world he had been thrown into was not alive. It was broken. And he, bright, hopeful Kael Ardent, was now very, very small.