Chapter 01: The Awakening Among Ashes

"Speak! How are you still alive? Who are you!?"

Several rusted swords, yet sharp enough to kill any ordinary person, pressed against the soft skin of his neck. Dorian swallowed hard, feeling the cold, jagged metal scrape against his Adam’s apple.

He would be lying if he said he wasn't afraid.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop the panic rising from deep within from stealing what little air remained in his lungs. Forcing the kindest smile he had ever attempted and raising his hands as if he were being placed under arrest, Dorian spoke:

"M-my friends, I’ve already told you..." he stammered, his smile twisting into a nervous grimace. "I simply woke up here. I’m not lying! I didn't come to hurt you or cause any trouble. I’m harmless!"

"Just look at these scrawny arms...!" he added, shaking his pale, noodle-thin limbs. "I couldn't kill a fly with these, much less you, my strong and well-armed friends!"

"That's enough! Shut your mouth!"

Slap!

The sharp crack of the blow echoed through the forest. The violent strike threw him abruptly onto the damp, filthy ground. His face was smeared with mud, and the familiar metallic taste of blood filled his mouth almost instantly—his lip was split.

"Aniki, be careful! This whole thing is too weird!"

"He could be an immortal in disguise!"

"Keep your weapons on him! If he makes even one strange move, kill him!"

The menacing men surrounding him shouted. This wasn't the first time Dorian had been hit; back in his teens, his "geeky" profile had made him an easy target for several beatings that marked his high school years. But until now, he had never been struck in a context so terminal, so critical, where his life was in actual danger.

That’s right—he was about to be murdered.

It might sound too dramatic for an opening, but he wasn't joking.

He was truly in danger.

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Chapter 01

"Speak! How is it that you're still alive? Who are you!?"

Several rusted swords, yet sharp enough to cause the death of an average person, pressed against the soft skin of his neck. Dorian swallowed hard as he felt the metallic brush of a jagged blade against his Adam's apple.

He would be lying if he said he wasn't afraid.

He closed his eyes tightly, trying to prevent the panic rising from within from stealing the little air left in his lungs. Attempting to force the kindest smile he had ever practiced, and raising his hands as if he were being arrested, Dorian spoke:

"M-my friends, I've already told you..." he stammered; his smile faded into a grimace due to nerves and panic. "I simply woke up in this place. I'm not lying to you! I didn't come to hurt you or cause trouble, I'm harmless!"

"Just look at these skinny arms...!" he added, shaking his pale limbs, thin as noodles. "I wouldn't be able to kill a fly with them, let alone you, my strong and armed friends!"

"That's enough, shut your mouth!"

Slap

The dry sound of the blow echoed through the forest. The violent slap threw him abruptly onto the damp, dirty ground. His face was smeared with mud while the familiar metallic taste of blood was felt almost immediately; his lips were split.

"Aniki, be careful! This is all very strange!"

"He could be an immortal in disguise!"

"Don't stop aiming at him! Any strange movement, kill him!"

The menacing-looking subjects surrounding him shouted.

It wasn't the first time Dorian had been hit; in his adolescence, his geeky profile had made him an easy target for several beatings that marked his high school years. But, until now, he had never been struck in such a terminal and critical context where his life was in real danger.

That’s right, he was about to be murdered.

It might sound very dramatic for a beginning, but he wasn't joking.

He really was in danger.

In front of him, a group of heartless men, dressed in filthy rags, surrounded him like a pack of wild dogs. Spears and swords that, despite their neglected appearance, shone under the moonlight and reflected before his eyes, surrounding him from all flanks.

Dorian, a simple office worker who until recently only worried about spreadsheets and arriving at work on time, now looked like a cornered animal. The tension in the air was so thick that the slightest wrong move would turn him into an impaled cactus.

But how had he ended up in this situation?

Dorian had no answer for it.

He had simply gone grocery shopping at the supermarket. He was returning home carrying a small bag of groceries—some meat and a couple of beers—when he decided to stop for a cigarette.

He took out his old lighter and clicked it a couple of times.

He took a first drag, inhaling the sweet mint flavor and letting the nicotine relax his mind and muscles. He let out a sigh as he cracked his neck. And when he opened his eyes again, the environment had changed.

The paved street was gone, as was the old crooked pole from always, and his apartment building.

Everything had changed.

Now he was standing in the middle of an unknown forest.

Completely alone.

Even the pedestrians who had been crossing by his side, chatting and laughing, had disappeared.

His first reaction was to foolishly rub his eyes, tired from so many hours of work. He thought he might simply be dreaming; perhaps he fell asleep at his desk and never went out to shop.

That was his first thought.

But after closing and opening his eyes multiple times and seeing that he was still in a forest, his body began to tremble.

He tried to pinch his cheek hard to wake up, but noticed his hand was strange and different; it was no longer the pale and somewhat neglected, but soft, hand of an office man who sat at a desk all day. No, instead, he saw younger hands, without wrinkles but more weathered; thin but long fingers with calluses.

...The hands of a brat?

Unconsciously, Dorian dropped the cigarette on the ground.

"A brat!?" he repeated, this time aloud. Surprised, again. His voice… his voice also sounded different than usual.

That characteristic deep, raspy voice that had defined him since college now sounded youthful. It wasn't the high-pitched voice of a child, but it didn't have the resonance and stability of an adult either.

It was the voice of a teenager.

Dorian brought his hand to his chest, feeling his breathing grow agitated.

Shit, shit.

This can't be what I think... It can't be!

Panic began to flood his body.

Control yourself, Dorian. This is no time to fall apart!

There must be an explanation for all of this!

He took a deep breath, very deep.

Then he exhaled.

He took another deep breath.

The air smelled of vegetation, a scent that temporarily calmed him. Although he also detected an invasive smell in the air. It smelled like smoke. Something not far away was burning.

Where is it coming from?

He turned his gaze, observing the unknown surroundings. A forest of large trees and extensive bushes, damp ground, and a sky in the process of dusk, though the sun had not yet finished setting completely. He twitched his nose, sniffing the air. After detecting what seemed to be the direction the smoke was coming from, he decided to move forward.

Dusk was falling and, although Dorian was no expert in wilderness survival, he knew that being stranded in nature during the night was dangerous. Night is usually the time when some nocturnal animals come out to hunt, added to the difficulty of seeing the environment without natural light.

He advanced through bushes, running faster and faster. His anguish and nerves drove him to want to find someone desperately.

He wanted to find someone who could explain his situation.

Someone to ask where the hell he was.

He ran at full speed, jumping over some strange plants and dodging trees along the way. As he got closer and closer to the source of the smoke, the air became hotter and denser. And then... screams? There seemed to be screams heard in the distance. When he finally broke through the last bushes, a burning tide of heat hit him head-on.

He quickly covered himself with his arms from the intense fire in front of him.

"Agh! Fuck!" he complained, stepping back a couple of paces.

A massive fire was engulfing what appeared to have been a village. The voracious flames were so intense that their heat could be felt from several meters where Dorian stood, and those tongues of fire rose up and dyed the sky a deep red. Wooden houses, stables, trees... everything was being consumed by the fire that showed no mercy, devouring the village without showing signs of extinguishing anytime soon.

This was the smoke he smelled.

Dorian approached carefully; he had previously heard something like screams. If there were people still alive inside who needed his help, he would not hesitate to try to help them. He walked cautiously as he wandered through the streets of the village, observing the houses consumed in flames.

His eyes scanned the horrific scene looking for any sign of survivors.

The heat was stifling.

"Hey, is anyone there!? Anyone alive!?"

There was no response.

The only sound was that of his own footsteps and the intense flames that smothered the air.

Dorian coughed as he covered his mouth with a piece of his clothing. He noticed then that his clothes were also not the same ones he had been wearing, but now was not the time for that.

He continued shouting, trying to find someone, some living survivor.

So far he hadn't seen any charred bodies around the place; that gave him a slight relief. It meant the villagers of this place had managed to escape before the flames consumed everything. Perhaps they were still nearby, he thought.

I have to find them.

They might be the only ones who can explain to me what is happening, where I am or perhaps…

Dorian stopped when he saw an old metal pot lying on the ground.

It seemed to have been forgotten.

He lowered his gaze, observing his unwrinkled and young hands, then his clothes—old clothes that looked like ancient rags, nothing like the shorts and shirt he was wearing at the moment of visiting the supermarket. Everything was different, even his height felt strange. Much shorter than he remembered.

With all these clues in place, Dorian already had an idea of what had happened.

But even so, he resisted.

Dorian resisted accepting this new reality.

He didn't have the best of lives, but it couldn't be said his life was bad either.

He was single and rented a nice apartment in the city center. While his job sometimes left him without sleep for several days, it also had its positive sides, like good pay—well-rewarded enough to afford the luxury of enjoying his hobbies. He also had the privilege that sometimes he could simply work from home and not attend the office.

All things considered, Dorian felt he was comfortable with his current life.

And he didn't want abrupt changes.

His parents were still alive and healthy.

Lately, he was getting to know a nice girl online, and they had even gone out to dinner a couple of times and things seemed to be moving along well.

So, why the hell would he want to change things?

Dorian wasn't religious or anything like that, but faced with this new reality that was beginning to suffocate and crush him, for the first time he was praying in his mind that none of this was real. That it was all a simple dream, an hallucination, that he would wake up and be back in his apartment.

With his eyes closed, he picked up the pot. He felt the hot metal, but he didn't care. He could handle this level of heat; what he couldn't handle was the anguish and anxiety of knowing… but at the same time, he felt fear. Fear of the answer.

He waited several seconds, reflecting to himself.

He thought about his life, his job, who he was, and even the aspirations he had for the future.

He always believed that in a few years he would end up promoted to manager, but now, everything seemed to be a mere distant dream.

When he finally felt ready (though he really wasn't), he opened his eyes and looked at the reflection in the metal.

A brat looked back at him.

Brown hair, clear greenish eyes, and young, pale skin.

Yes, no matter how you looked at it, it was a face he had never seen before.

The face of a teenager no more than fifteen years old in the prime of youth.

That was his reflection.

His new body.

Dorian already had an idea, but it was only here, crashing head-on into the new reality, that he could finally accept it as such… he had transmigrated.

**

There must be survivors nearby.

Perhaps they could… tell me who I am now.

Whose body is this that I am possessing?

Clearly it isn't my original body; I am an office worker on his way to turning thirty, while this body is that of a brat of approximately fifteen.

What was the name of the owner of this body? Who was he? Did he have parents? Did he come from somewhere?

He knows nothing.

At the very least, he had to understand his situation before starting to look for a way to return to his original world.

If only his soul traveled to this world and ended up in this body, that must mean his original body was still in his world. Perhaps in a deep coma or something like that. Perhaps in a vegetative state due to not having a soul. He doesn't know. He doesn't have a fixed answer, but as long as his body hasn't come to this world, he believes there might be some way to return to his original body.

There has to be a way back!

Dorian grit his teeth.

He looked at the forest and looked at the burning village.

Then he looked at the sky, saw that night had arrived and the sky was adorned with stars and a huge bright moon that illuminated the world and made the night less intense.

He doesn't know what kind of world he has transmigrated into, but the first impressions were not good for Dorian. Waking up in a forest and stumbling upon a burning village was an ill omen for his taste. Obviously, such events happened in his previous world almost every summer. Forest fires that wipe out entire houses were news every day.

But first impressions are always those with the greatest impact on the image you have of a place you visit for the first time.

And his first impression of this new world wasn't very pretty.

A town in flames was not a pleasant thing to see.

He swallowed hard as he started to run to get away from the intense fire.

He sighed in relief as he shook the soot and ashes off his clothes and hair. His face was also blackened by the smoke. He wiped his face with the edge of his clothing, spat the soot from his mouth, and began to walk, circling the village in search of a path.

Fortunately, it didn't take long to find a dirt road with recent tracks of people and several carriages.

It must be the people who fled, right?

He followed the tracks, guided only by the moonlight above.

He was lucky that the tracks were recent and very marked, or else it would be difficult to find his way in the middle of the night.

It wasn't long before he heard voices talking ahead and saw the light of some campfires.

"The master will be happy with us, and maybe he'll even take us to the immortal paradise with him!"

"We made a great harvest this time; it was good to take that detour and run into that brat wandering in the forest who pointed out the location of the village."

"Hahaha, weren't you too mean, Aniki, killing that kid? We could have kept him for the master!"

"He helped us locate the village, so I was condescending and finished him off. That's better than ending up in the master's hands. It was my thanks to the brat! He must be grateful in the afterlife!"

"Hajajajaja! I can't wait for the master to be rid of that curse and be able to lead us to the immortal realm!"

"Hajajajajajajajajaja!"

Voices of people!

I finally caught up with them!

Dorian grew excited and began to run.

"Hey!" Dorian shouted, raising his hand and waving.

"Help, please! I need help!"

The people were startled; they stood up in a hurry and drew their swords.

From a distance, Dorian couldn't see the appearances of these people, but now, seeing them up close illuminated by the campfire, he felt something was wrong.

The appearance of these subjects, really… they didn't look very kind, so to speak.

Dorian thought that, perhaps, and only perhaps... it would have been more prudent and intelligent to lurk and observe from a distance before revealing his presence.

However, the terror of finding himself in a totally alien and unknown place drove him to act without measuring the consequences. His only goal was to find someone, anyone, who could offer him even a minimal explanation: where he was, who he was, and to whom the body he inhabited belonged.

But…

Now he felt that he had really fucked up.

"You, brat," a tall, muscular man pointed at him with eyes wide open like saucers. His expression was one of pure horror and disbelief, as if he were seeing something impossible, as if a walking ghost had appeared before him.

"...How is it that you're still alive!?"