The sun blazed mercilessly over the crowded streets of India. The air shimmered, thick with heat and the sharp tang of exhaust fumes. Car horns blared in rhythmic chaos, a symphony of impatience and routine. Vendors shouted from roadside stalls, peddling everything from cold lime soda to spicy samosas.

  The streets of the city moved with a life of their own—alive, loud, and relentless.

  Dev walked alone through it all. His school bag clung loosely to one shoulder, sweat trailing down the side of his face. His shirt was already half-soaked, but he didn’t care.

  Eighteen years old. Recently graduated.

  No friends to celebrate with.

  No future to look forward to.

  Just another nameless face blending into the crowd.

  He slid in his earbuds, letting the music drown out the world.

  “It’s like an oven out here… India in summer is hell.”

  The signal light turned green. Without glancing up, he crossed the street, weaving through autos, scooters, and a man selling roasted peanuts by the corner. Everyone moved like they had somewhere to be—except Dev. His destination was simple: home. Just home.

  Turning down a quieter street, the noise seemed to fade a little. Tall buildings blocked the worst of the sunlight. The crowd thinned.

  That’s when it happened.

  He turned a corner—and suddenly, bump.

  He collided with someone.

  A woman.

  Her purse slipped from her shoulder and dropped to the ground with a soft clink. Coins rolled out. A lipstick tube rolled toward the curb.

  “I’m so sorry,” Dev muttered, quickly crouching to gather her things.

  He picked up the purse and looked up to hand it back.

  And froze.

  She was standing right in front of him, silent.

  Her long black hair fell in gentle waves over a pale, flawless face. But it was her eyes that rooted him in place—glowing green, like polished emeralds reflecting sunlight. Unnatural. Hypnotic. They shimmered with a depth that didn’t belong to this world.

  In that brief moment, the street felt empty.

  Just the two of them.

  Everything else—gone.

  The heat. The cars. The people. The world—silent.

  "Thank you," she said quietly, her voice oddly calm.

  Dev handed her the purse, hand trembling slightly. “N-No problem.”

  She turned and walked past him, her footsteps soft, fading.

  He stood still, blinking.

  Dev's pace quickened, his school bag bouncing against his back.

  Something gnawed at the back of his mind.

  "What was that…?"

  His breath was uneven. His chest felt tight, as if something unseen had pressed against his ribs.

  "I felt… uneasy. Just by looking into her eyes. Glowing… green? No, it must’ve been the sun…"

  He shook his head, trying to brush off the anxiety and tried to let the rhythm of the music drown it all out.

  But then—

  A small figure on the side of the road caught his eye.

  A black kitten, barely the size of his palm, crouched in the middle of the street. Its legs trembled, tail tucked under its body. It didn’t run, didn’t move. As if it couldn’t.

  Dev stopped, blinking.

  "...What are you doing there, little guy?"

  He pulled out his earbuds and crossed the road, ignoring the faint yellow “CAUTION” tape fluttering nearby. He knelt beside the kitten and gently reached out, brushing its head with his fingers.

  The kitten looked up at him.

  Its eyes shimmered like glass marbles—too deep, too knowing.

  “Hey... Are you stuck here?” Dev smiled faintly. “What are you doing here, kitty cat?”

  Then—

  CLANG!

  A sharp mechanical scream rang out from above.

  "LOOK OUT, KID!"

  A construction worker’s voice, panicked and strained.

  Dev looked up.

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  A shadow loomed.

  A massive iron beam, disconnected from its crane, plunged through the air—

  —faster than thought, faster than breath.

  Dev’s eyes widened.

  His body froze.

  There was no time to run.

  Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around the kitten.

  "At least… let me protect you."

  BOOM.

  The beam crushed him instantly.

  Blood sprayed across the cracked concrete. A horrific crunch. Silence followed.

  Dev's body lay lifeless beneath the mangled steel, his skull split like porcelain.

  People screamed. Chaos erupted.

  And from above—

  On the rooftop of a nearby building, she stood.

  The woman from earlier.

  The one with glowing emerald eyes.

  Now bathed in red sunlight, her pale skin gleamed unnaturally. Her long black coat flowed in the breeze. And nestled in her arms…

  …the same black kitten, somehow whole, but now stained with crimson.

  She gently stroked its head, unfazed by the blood.

  A smile touched her lips—cold, satisfied.

  “Work done.”

  "What… happened?"

  Dev's thoughts echoed in the void, untethered.

  There was no ground beneath him. No sky above. Just… darkness. Endless. Cold. Heavy. Like drowning in ink.

  He couldn't feel his limbs.

  He couldn't move.

  Only his thoughts remained, spiraling.

  "Did I die…?"

  "That beam… I remember the kitten… the scream… the pain—no, not even pain. Just… nothing."

  Silence.

  Time lost all meaning.

  "Is this it…? The end?"

  But then—

  A flicker.

  Far away, like a candle in a cave, a faint warm light glimmered through the darkness.

  It pulsed softly, golden and gentle, as though calling to him.

  "What's that…?" Dev’s mind stirred.

  "It feels warm… alive. I need to reach it."

  He willed himself forward.

  Though he had no body, he moved. Or rather, he was drawn. Pulled through the abyss toward the warmth like a moth to flame.

  The light grew closer.

  Brighter.

  Brighter—until it engulfed everything.

  And then—

  Dev touched the light.

  The pain came first—dull, throbbing, and real.

  Dev groaned as his eyelids fluttered open. His head felt like it had been split and stitched back together. Slowly, with aching limbs and trembling muscles, he forced himself to sit upright.

  “Ugh… What the hell…”

  His body was wrapped in bandages. His left arm, stiff and tightly bound, ached with every movement.

  Looking around, he found himself in a small wooden room—warm, dimly lit by sunlight spilling through the curtain. A faint scent of herbs lingered in the air, mixed with old wood and fire smoke. The ceiling was sloped, the walls made of clean stone and timber. Definitely not an Indian hospital.

  “Did I… survive that…?” he muttered.

  The last thing he remembered was the iron beam—falling—

  The kitten in his arms—

  And then—nothing.

  With great effort, Dev swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The floor was cold against his bare feet. His knees buckled slightly from weakness, but he pushed himself forward, leaning against the wooden wall for support.

  Each step felt like dragging a sack of stones, but eventually, he reached the window.

  He parted the curtain—

  And froze.

  “...Where… am I…?”

  Outside was nothing like the noisy, crowded streets of India.

  Snow-capped mountains loomed in the distance, piercing the sky like white fangs. A deep forest stretched as far as the eye could see, rivers glinting like silver snakes weaving through the land. Birds flew in flocks above the canopy. The sky—too clear, too blue—felt like it had been painted by a god.

  His breath caught in his throat. This wasn’t Earth. No way.

  “...Am I dreaming…?”

  Just then—

  The door creaked open.

  A woman entered, barely older than him—perhaps in her early twenties. Her attire was striking: a neatly pressed maid outfit of black and white, adorned with a silver brooch at the collar. Dark purple hair framed her pale face, tied loosely behind her back, and her eyes—void-black, like wells without end—locked onto his.

  She stopped.

  Shock flickered in her gaze.

  “You’re finally awake… young master.”

  Dev blinked. “W-Who are you?”

  The woman hesitated a moment, her expression unreadable. Then she stepped closer and placed her hand over her chest in a polite bow.

  “Forgive me. I am Lillian Varzeth, your personal maid.”

  “...Maid?” he echoed, frowning. “I’m confused right now. What’s going on?”

  Lillian’s lips pressed into a soft line of concern.

  “Allow me to explain. On your recent return to the mansion, you were involved in a terrible accident. The physicians did all they could, but…”

  “They believe you’ve… lost your memories.”

  Dev’s heart skipped.

  “Mansion? Memories?”

  He looked around the room again. No posters, no phone, no familiar signs of his world. Just ornate furniture, bookshelves filled with leather-bound tomes, and silver candlesticks instead of light bulbs.

  His gaze landed on a mirror near the corner of the room.

  Slowly, almost afraid, he walked toward it.

  What he saw made him freeze.

  “What the…?”

  It wasn’t his face.

  The person staring back at him had sharp, elegant features. Hair dark as ink fell around a face bandaged around the temple and cheek. His eyes were not brown, but steel grey—cold, distant, foreign. The body was smaller.

  It wasn’t Dev.

  He raised his hand to touch the reflection’s cheek. It moved in sync with his own.

  “Who… am I?” he whispered.

  Lillian stepped behind him, her voice calm and deliberate.

  “Your name… is Saul Spades, master.”

  “Saul… Spades?” he echoed, stunned.

  That name didn’t belong to him.

  But neither did the face. Nor the world he had woken in.

  Just as the words “Saul Spades?” left his lips, a sudden wave of dizziness crashed over him. His vision blurred, his balance swayed.

  “I… feel weak…”

  His legs gave out beneath him.

  Before he could hit the cold marble floor, Lillian rushed forward, catching him gently.

  “Please, don’t strain yourself, young master,” she said with surprising strength for her delicate frame.

  She carefully guided him back to the bed, laying him down with practiced grace. Her hands were cool but firm as they checked his pulse, then adjusted the pillows beneath his head.

  “Your body is still recovering. You must rest,” she said softly, brushing a few strands of hair from his forehead. “I’ll prepare something light for you to eat.”

  With methodical care, she began changing his bandages. Saul winced slightly at the sting of antiseptic, but her touch was swift and professional. Once done, she bowed respectfully and left the room, the door clicking shut behind her.

  Silence returned.

  Saul lay there, staring up at the intricate carvings on the wooden ceiling.

  What happened to me?

  The question repeated like a mantra in his mind.

  Was that really real? The street… the heat… the cat… that woman with emerald eyes? The iron beam…

  He closed his eyes tightly, trying to piece it together. But the memory felt fragmented—like pieces from two different puzzles forced together.

  Am I dreaming? Did I die?

  The days passed slowly.

  Each morning, he woke to birdsong outside his window, the scent of pine and frost in the air. The maid—Lillian—attended to him without fail. She brought him meals, medicine, and helped him move when he was too weak to stand on his own.

  His body slowly began to recover.

  But the questions never left his mind.

  One crisp afternoon, as the pale sun filtered through the frosted windows, Saul sat upright at a small round table, pushing aside an empty plate. Lillian stood beside him, silently pouring hot tea into a delicate glass cup. The scent of herbs and flowers wafted into the air.

  Saul looked up at her.

  “Lillian… Where are we, exactly?”

  She paused, the silver teapot hovering mid-air for a heartbeat.

  Then, with practiced calm, she answered.

  “You are in the Roselle Empire, young master. More specifically, at the Spades family estate, located near the edge of the northern territories.”

  Roselle Empire?

  The name meant nothing to him. He narrowed his eyes.

  “I… I’ve never heard of such a place,” he muttered. “And I wasn’t exactly failing geography back home.”

  He glanced at his hands—pale, unfamiliar, bearing faint lines where once there were none. His eyes drifted lower. His robe slipped slightly as he moved, revealing a long scar across his collarbone. Another peeked beneath the bandages on his chest.

  And when he stood before the mirror that morning, he saw more—scars on his back, arms, even the side of his ribs.

  Not shallow scrapes.

  Wounds.

  Deep, brutal, carefully stitched.

  His breath caught.

  How badly was I injured…? What kind of life did this “Saul Spades” live?

  Lillian, watching his expression darken, spoke again, softly.

  “Those scars… are reminders of survival, not weakness.”

  But Saul wasn’t sure if they were reminders of someone else’s life—or his new beginning in someone else’s body.

  While Saul’s body healed, his mind stayed restless.

  Each day, Lillian brought him not just meals, but books—dense volumes on history, geography, and the structure of this strange world. He devoured them with quiet intensity, searching for familiarity.

  But everything he read only deepened the truth.

  This isn’t Earth… this is something else entirely.

  A world shaped by steel and sorcery. Here, magic wasn’t myth—it was science, tradition, and warfare. Knights wielded swords infused with runes, while nobles cast spells through engraved family crests. Monsters once roamed freely, but over centuries, they were hunted to near extinction. Dungeons—once sources of chaos and power—were explored, mapped, and eventually buried.

  It resembled the Victorian era in its culture, clothing, and customs. Elegant but sharp. Refined yet ruthless.

  And strangely… peaceful.

  The empires that survived the great Dungeon Eras signed a treaty decades ago, creating a temporary but lasting peace among humans, elves, and beastkin.

  Saul frowned as he read the dates and accounts.

  This world has already passed its “adventure age.”

  A cruel irony.

  Reincarnated… into the quiet after the storm.

  He closed the book and stared out the frost-lined window, a strange mix of bitterness and curiosity brewing within him.

  Several days later…

  His body had finally recovered. The weight in his limbs had lessened, and he could now move with more ease. The bandages were gone, and though the scars remained, they no longer throbbed.

  Lillian arrived in her usual quiet way, carrying a new set of formal clothes.

  “Young master,” she said, folding a coat over one arm. “You’ve received an invitation to join the Lord and Lady for breakfast today.”

  Saul blinked.

  “Lord and Lady?”

  “Your parents,” she clarified with a graceful nod. “They arrived at the estate late last night. It seems they wish to see you now that your condition has stabilized.”

  He stood there, quiet for a moment.

  Parents, huh…?

  He didn’t know what to expect. Did they care about this “Saul”? Or was he simply a piece in a noble family's power game? He tightened his grip on the edge of the table.

  “What are they like?” he asked.

  Lillian hesitated.

  Just for a moment.

  Then her expression returned to its usual neutral calm.

  “You’ll see for yourself, young master.”