Elias Hart—or rather, the consciousness that had once been Elias Hart—lay motionless on the straw-strewn floor of the small wooden hut, staring up at the low wooden beams. His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths. Pain radiated through his ribs, a constant reminder that this body, this fragile, unfamiliar vessel, was not his own. He tried to move his hands and found them small, calloused, and already dirtied by labor. His fingers were nimble, yes, but unfamiliar—too thin to match the strength his mind remembered having. The disconnect between thought and body made him shiver. A man in a boy's body. A scientist trapped in a child who was already a target of danger and death.
He tried to speak. The sound that emerged startled him—high-pitched, youthful, wavering. "W-where…?" His own voice sounded foreign. He recoiled at it. A tremor ran through him, part fear, part disbelief. This is insane. Absolutely insane. He wanted to scream, to call for Mara, to demand an explanation, but the reality was inescapable. Mara, the lab, the machines—everything was gone. Buried under forests, dirt roads, and a world that obeyed laws completely unlike the ones he had spent decades studying.
His mind raced. What happened? Where am I? Was it… an accident? Or…? He remembered the hum of the machine, the light, the strange sensation of his consciousness stretching, unraveling, and folding. That moment had been terrifying, awe-inspiring, and now—the aftermath was beyond comprehension. This body—small, wounded, mortal—belonged to a boy named Cai. And Cai was not a mere child. He was the bastard son of an emperor. A child marked from birth by violence, betrayal, and the lethal ambitions of a queen. That thought alone made his stomach churn.
Elias tried to process it logically, clinging to the scientist within. Think. Observe. Experiment. Record. He wiggled his fingers, noticing how the bones felt unfamiliar but functional. He flexed his legs. They moved, but the muscles were weaker than he expected. Every movement reminded him of fragility. Cai is twelve. A boy. And I… I am thirty-four, trapped in him. Thirty-four years of knowledge, and twelve years of strength. This is ridiculous.
He closed his eyes and tried to center himself. He had always prided himself on rationality. No hypothesis was too bold, no idea too unconventional—yet nothing had prepared him for this. No physics textbook, no experiment design, no lecture could have predicted the sensation of being someone else entirely, of inhabiting a life with blood, family, enemies, and stakes he could barely understand. He thought of his own life back home, of the machine, of Mara, of everything he had left behind. And now… now I am Cai. Or at least, his body is Cai. And everything about Cai—his past, his family, the danger he was born into—is real. And mine now. Mine to bear.
Pain flared again across his side, sharp and insistent. He groaned, curling slightly, and the world tilted around him. Focus. He took a slow, measured breath, forcing the thought through the panic. He tried to catalog what he knew: the body, wounded but alive; the village, small and rustic; the strangers who had saved him—most importantly, the mage, the man whose hands had stitched warmth and life back into him, whose presence radiated something beyond anything Elias had ever experienced. Magic. He called it magic. And I… I felt it work.
Elias sat up slowly, testing the limits of his strength. Every movement reminded him how little he knew about this body, this world, this new life. He examined his hands again, turning them over as if expecting to see something familiar. He could still feel his mind—the same reasoning, the same intelligence—but the interface between thought and action was broken. This body obeyed, but in unpredictable ways. Cai… what kind of life did you lead before I arrived? He remembered flashes: the gash across the ribs, a woman crying his name, whispered warnings of riders on the road. Danger was never far. And now it's mine too.
He tried to imagine the palace, the court, the emperor, the queen—figures he had only heard about through the mage's few words. The political landscape was alien, but he could feel its weight, heavy and suffocating. A bastard son. Always hunted. Always hidden. And now… I am him. The thought made his head spin. If this were a story in a book, it would be thrilling, epic, almost poetic. But living it? Living it was terrifying.
He ran his tongue over his teeth, tasted blood, mud, and iron. Hunger and exhaustion gnawed at him. He had survived the initial shock, but survival would require understanding the rules of this world: the magic, the politics, the people, the dangers. I need to learn fast. He realized he could not rely on the body alone. He had to rely on his mind, his reasoning, and—if this mage's strange powers were anything to trust—the potential hidden within this boy.
Elias took a deep breath. He tried to feel the magical energy that had healed him, tentatively flexing his fingers. A faint tingle responded, almost imperceptible. Interesting… so the energy exists within the body. Can it be awakened? Can I control it? Questions tumbled rapidly, cascading into thoughts about his former experiments. Is this dimension… following rules like physics? Or are the rules different? He paused. He remembered his last words to Mara: The mind doesn't have to stay where the body is. And yet here he was, mind intact, body borrowed, in a world alive with forces that defied reason.
Time stretched. Elias closed his eyes, letting himself think, letting himself feel. The mage had said something cryptic: You are far from where you should be. And the forces already hunting you… He swallowed hard. Hunting me? I am Cai. And Cai has enemies I do not yet know. If this queen—if the emperor himself—learns of me, I might not live to see tomorrow. Panic rose, but he held it back. Rationality. Observation. Analysis. He had always believed in it. I can't panic. Not yet. I have to understand. I have to survive. First, learn the body. Then the mind. Then the magic. Then… everything else.
Minutes or hours passed; he could not tell. Every sound—the crackling of the fire in the corner, the faint creak of the hut's wooden roof, the distant wind through the forest—reminded him he was alone in more ways than one. He thought about the villagers who had saved him, the motherly figure who called him Cai. He thought about the mage, and about the hands that had healed him. Who can I trust? How do I navigate this world without understanding the rules? He tried to move again, slower, testing muscles, balance, coordination. Pain reminded him that Cai had lived through hardship before. His mind noted every detail, cataloging, preparing.
He spoke aloud, though no one could answer. "I… am… Cai?" The words sounded foreign. "I am… me. But I am not me. I am…" He stopped. Silence answered him. Only the wind and the fire. Only the ache in his ribs. Only the small, uncertain body that carried a mind far older than its years.
For the first time, Elias allowed himself a thought he had never considered in the lab: I am not just observing anymore. I am participating. I am Cai. And I cannot leave. Not yet. If I want to survive, if I want to understand, if I want to have any hope of returning… or ruling… or surviving the empire's shadow, I must learn everything. Every law. Every danger. Every secret.
He curled up slightly, exhausted, and let his mind wander over all possibilities. Escape. Power. Knowledge. Survival. Revenge. Each option tangled with another. And yet, beneath it all, one idea persisted, steady as a heartbeat: I will not die here. Not as Cai. Not as Elias. Not while I still have thought, will, and reason.
Outside, the wind whispered through the trees. Somewhere far away, the first threads of the empire's plotting began to pull. And inside the small hut, a boy with the mind of a man stared at his hands, and slowly—carefully—began to plan his rise in a world he barely understood.