《Sigilborn》 Mission Failed Mission Log, Nathan Voss ¨C Codename: Eldrasia Breach Deep inside the Grand Canyon, hidden behind incredibly advanced technology¡ªtechnology the world believed was still decades away, perhaps 50 or even 100 years¡ªlay Nathan¡¯s target. For years, he and his team of covert operations agents had been gathering intel, making plans, and training for this day. Nathan Voss, the Deputy Director of Covert Operations, wanted this to be his last mission. The things he had seen and done weighed too heavily on him. At 41, after over two decades of service in the U.S. Intelligence Agency, he was ready to walk away. But this mission¡ªthis mission surpassed anything he had done before. According to their intel, hidden within the Grand Canyon was a project called "Reach Out." From everything they had gathered¡ªand they had been extremely thorough with this one¡ªa faction of nobles and wealthy elites was building a portal. A straight-up, world-connecting, energy-swirling, fantasy portal. And they knew where it led¡ªEldrasia, a world unknown to the rest of humanity. Yet thanks to Nathan¡¯s meticulous planning, his ruthless approach, and his strategic mind, the first two steps¡ªstealth infiltration and locating the portal¡ªhad gone smoothly. No alarms, no signs of detection. But as they stepped into the final chamber, what they saw made their blood run cold. It was a gigantic, green-lit chamber. The entire room was bathed in the eerie glow of pulsating cables that connected to computers, all leading toward the massive, ring-shaped structure in the center. Green tiles covered the floor, green-hued walls reflected the light, and at the heart of it all, a gargantuan ring of an unknown metal shimmered with an otherworldly glow. And then, they saw them¡ªfigures standing around the portal. A group of oddly wealthy yet medieval-looking people, their elaborate robes and noble attire starkly contrasting the modern, sterile environment. Their faces, a mix of awe and satisfaction, bore strange expressions as they cheered for some apparent success. Stolen story; please report. Nathan¡¯s heart sank. He recognized some of them¡ªEarth¡¯s elites, the same figures his team had tracked for months. The faces that had been haunting their intel reports now stood in front of him, no longer just shadows on a screen but real people¡ªpeople deeply involved in something far bigger than they had anticipated. But the others, the ones in robes, were unfamiliar. Foreign. And yet, the way they stood together told Nathan everything he needed to know. These weren¡¯t just collaborators. These were nobles from Eldrasia. Then, their eyes locked, and time seemed to freeze. Neither side fully understood what they were up against. Neither knew how this encounter would end. For a brief moment, uncertainty hung in the air like a blade ready to drop. And then, all hell broke loose. The robed figures¡ªthe Eldrasian nobles¡ªdropped their goblets, their expressions twisting into panic as they turned and bolted toward the portal. The Earthly elites, in contrast, scrambled toward the computers, desperate to secure whatever data they could before it was too late. Nathan didn¡¯t hesitate. With a few quick hand signals, he made a split-second decision, one that would change everything. His instincts, honed from years of experience, processed the situation before his conscious mind even caught up. His team split. One group charged toward the computers, attempting to seize control of the system. The other¡ªhis group¡ªmoved toward the portal, determined to stop the fleeing nobles from escaping. As soon as he made the call, Nathan felt the weight of his decision settle over him. He knew the risks. He knew that the teammates stepping through that portal with him might never return. And because he knew that, he knew he had to go himself. He couldn¡¯t order men to charge into the unknown while staying behind. If this was going to be his last mission, then he would see it through to the end. With three of his best operatives at his side, Nathan sprinted toward the portal. His heart pounded, his breath steady, his mind sharp. He didn¡¯t know what his teammates were thinking in those final moments before they crossed the threshold. But he knew what he was thinking. Excitement. Then, a voice rang out¡ªan inhuman, guttural chant that sent a chill down his spine. Nathan didn¡¯t understand the words. He barely had time to process the sound before the air itself seemed to shatter. A deafening crack filled the chamber as reality twisted. The portal¡¯s glow flickered violently, its structure shaking as if the very fabric of space was rejecting its existence. The next thing Nathan saw was the space around him breaking apart like shattered glass, the fragments of reality swallowing him whole. Pile of Corpses The Weeping Tear continued its relentless pull, urging Nathan closer, dragging him towards its unknown destination. The sensation was overwhelming¡ªalmost suffocating¡ªand yet Nathan couldn¡¯t help but feel drawn to it. It had an undeniable gravitational force, like a magnetic pull from a deep, unseen force. His body, though no longer truly his own, still responded to the command of his mind. He could feel every shift, every ache, every pull of the tear towards him, as though it was trying to consume him whole. As his gaze focused beyond the tear, the blurred edges of the tear itself seemed to sharpen, and there, behind its undulating surface, Nathan could make out the dim outline of something more¡ªa place. A room. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. The portal had indeed worked, but not in the way he had expected. It connected his world to others, yes¡ªbut it was no longer functioning properly. The voice that had called out to him as he stepped through the portal had done something to sever the link, leaving him adrift in this space between worlds, stuck on the precipice of existence itself. Nathan tried to piece together his understanding of what was happening. He knew the basic premise of the technology¡ªwell, magic, as the nobles in this world would refer to it¡ªhe¡¯d read about it in classified reports, glossed over it in the course of his intelligence work. Magic had always been a theoretical concept, something so distant from his practical, military mindset. A mistake. A simple translation error in the field that had never warranted deeper investigation. Now, however, as he stood suspended in the void, unable to even grasp his own surroundings, the words ¡°magic¡± and ¡°technology¡± no longer seemed so different. The experience of his own death, his soul being ripped from his former body, and the cold, isolating void between realms had altered everything. The connection he had once dismissed was now undeniable. And the tear? It wasn¡¯t simply a phenomenon; it was a tether between worlds, a rift that had begun to close. Nathan¡¯s heart raced as he stared into the tear, which seemed to beckon him like a doorway into the unknown. He couldn¡¯t move forward, not yet. Every inch closer made his senses tingle with both awe and dread. The pull was almost unbearable now, like gravity shifting under his feet, yet his mind held him back. He hesitated. Was it worth it? What lay beyond that tear, and more importantly, what was it trying to keep out? The room behind the tear became clearer. Nathan¡¯s pulse quickened. White tiles. Sterile, sterile tiles as far as the eye could see. It looked like a storage room¡ªcold, clinical, devoid of life and warmth, a space designed for nothing more than the purpose of holding. There was a single door in the far wall, stark against the room''s eerie, impersonal setting. His instincts screamed that something was wrong, that there was a deeper layer to the scene unfolding before him. But he couldn''t turn away. Then, the true horror revealed itself in agonizing detail. There were bodies. Piles of them. At first, Nathan thought his mind was playing tricks on him, the pull of the tear clouding his judgment. But no. This was real. The bodies were stacked in a way that suggested they¡¯d been placed there with deliberate precision, not carelessly tossed aside. The bodies, however, weren¡¯t just any bodies¡ªthey were women. Pregnant women. His throat went dry, but the horror didn¡¯t stop there. As Nathan¡¯s trained eye scanned the pile, his heart sank. The women¡¯s bodies, cold and still, were dressed in hospital-like gowns, the kind worn by patients in maternity wards. But it wasn¡¯t just the women¡¯s bodies that caused his stomach to turn. It was what he saw next. Their stomachs were split open, grotesquely, as though they had been surgically dissected. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. The infants. Or rather, the lack of them. The women, once pregnant, had been harvested. Their children¡ªinfants who never stood a chance¡ªhad been removed from their bodies with clinical precision. There were no cries, no signs of life. Only the empty, lifeless corpses that lay in twisted heaps. Nathan¡¯s mind raced, struggling to process the enormity of what he was seeing. He was no stranger to horror. His work in covert operations had exposed him to some of the darkest elements of humanity, but this? This was something beyond his comprehension. He tried to rationalize it, to dissect the situation as he would a mission gone wrong, but the truth was too much. It was impossible to ignore, even for him. These women... the thought crept into his mind. They weren¡¯t just casualties. They were experiments. The methodical nature of their deaths, the sterile environment of the room¡ªit pointed to a purpose. A sickening one. This was no random act of violence. It had been planned, executed with terrifying precision. The voice. The portal. Was this the place it had been trying to keep him from? A secret kept hidden away, tucked behind the veil of the tear? Nathan¡¯s breath came in shallow gasps, his heart pounding in his chest. He had to make a choice. Step forward, cross that threshold, and confront whatever lay behind it, or turn away and leave this all to remain in the dark. But he knew, deep down, that he couldn¡¯t turn away. Not now. He had seen too much. There was something more here, something he needed to understand. Something that tied all of this together. And no matter the cost, Nathan had always been a man who followed the mission. This was just the beginning. Whatever had led him here, whatever force had guided him to this horrible revelation, was now his to confront. But what could he do? Would his body reform once he entered the tear? Was this how normal portal transportation worked? Would he become a ghost, just a floating collection of senses, or would he somehow inhabit one of the dead people nearby? The thought of possessing one of the bodies terrified him¡ªnot because it was a woman, but because of what he saw. These bodies had been brutally cut open, their once-living forms now empty, and the infants they had carried were no longer alive. The bodies themselves were no longer viable; they couldn¡¯t support life. If he were to inhabit one of them, would his mind simply die again, crushed by the damaged body he was forced into? The pull of the tear, however, didn¡¯t care about his fears. It didn¡¯t care about his dilemma or the bodies nearby. It simply wanted him through, wanted him to enter. Nathan had no choice but to let go. One moment, he was standing on the threshold, overwhelmed by the sight of the bodies and the dread of what might happen. The next, he was inside. There was no disorientation, no moment of confusion. The transition was seamless. His senses were suddenly flooded with information¡ªsight, sound, feeling¡ªeverything coming at him all at once. The room around him flickered into existence like a quick snapshot, sharp and vivid. He saw it all: the sterile white tiles, the abandoned bodies, the disarray. It was so real, so immediate, that it felt like he had never left. But there was no time to linger on the setting. His attention immediately shifted to the body closest to him. The infant¡ªits small, fragile form lying amidst the chaos of death. He didn¡¯t hesitate. It was as though his soul, his very being, was drawn to the baby. The body, though lifeless, seemed the most compatible with his essence. His instincts screamed that this was where he needed to be. His thoughts barely had time to catch up as he felt his essence shift. He wasn¡¯t just observing anymore¡ªhe was taking over, merging with the tiny, cold form before him. His mind, still sharp and intact, flowed into the body. The transition was smooth, almost effortless. As soon as he settled into the infant''s body, the first breath of life surged through him. The new form, though small and fragile, accepted him. The terror he felt earlier, the fear of inhabiting a broken body, vanished. This was the body that could hold him, for now. Nathan opened his eyes, feeling the world through the infant¡¯s senses. It was a strange, overwhelming flood of input¡ªa body far weaker than his last, but a body nonetheless. He could feel the heartbeat, the warmth of the blood coursing through the small veins. Everything was alive, even if it wasn¡¯t his own. Survive It wasn¡¯t shock or disbelief that flooded Nathan. Maybe if he had just woken up in this body, it would be different¡ªbut he had seen everything. The whole journey. There was no question in his mind about whether this was real, how it had happened, or where he was. He was reborn. No. That word didn¡¯t feel right. Nathan didn¡¯t feel like he had gone through birth. He didn¡¯t feel like a new being. This was just another step, another phase. A continuation of the journey he had already been on. The only thing that had changed was the body he now inhabited. And even that barely clung to life. He was running on fumes. No matter how clear-headed he felt, how logical his thinking remained, he knew it wouldn¡¯t last. It wasn¡¯t stability keeping him together¡ªit was sheer force of will. The moment he had time to stop¡ªto actually process everything¡ªhe¡¯d probably break down. Cry, drink, punch something. Maybe all at once, if given the choice. But that wasn¡¯t his goal right now. "So I really am an infant now." The thought settled as he closed his eyes, focusing inward. He had done this a thousand times before¡ªmapping out every inch of his body, memorizing its limits, its strengths, its weaknesses. It had been a necessity in his past life. And now? Now he had to do it all over again. He started with sensation. The cold skin of other corpses pressed against his. The soft fabric of the clothes draped over his tiny form. The still, stagnant air that carried the scent of decay¡ªfaint but undeniable. These bodies hadn¡¯t been dead for long. His vision, though unfamiliar, was sharp. The light overhead burned vibrantly, sterile and clinical, illuminating every detail of this grotesque place. His hearing was just as precise¡ªeach shift in the air, every distant creak, his own shallow breaths. His senses weren¡¯t just functional. They were heightened. Sure, he had never been an infant with the mind of a forty-year-old before, but even in an unfamiliar world, he doubted newborns had this level of awareness. "Alright. Senses intact. Perfect. Can''t move or control this body yet¡ªnot surprising." His mind was sharp, untouched, unbroken. But his body? Weak. Helpless. Trapped. And worst of all? He needed help. "Shit." With nothing else to do, he continued assessing his new body. In his old world, military and medical professionals used a technique called Body Scanning Meditation¡ªa method designed to systematically scan the body for sensations, injuries, or irregularities. It was a combination of breathing control and mindfulness, a way to map one¡¯s internal state with precision. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. Nathan focused on the rhythm of his breathing¡ªthe pauses, the intensity, the duration. Each inhale felt like a cold drink on a sweltering day, crisp and invigorating. He could feel the air traveling down his throat, expanding into his lungs, filling every inch of his frail form. "This is easier than it used to be¡­ and way more precise," he thought. "Before, I could only vaguely sense my lungs. Now, it¡¯s like I¡¯m looking at them from a third-person perspective." Something had changed. Ever since he entered the void, he had been nothing but a cluster of senses, disembodied and drifting. He didn¡¯t know how long he had existed like that, but it had done something to him. His connection to his own sensations was different now¡ªdeeper, sharper, more attuned. Nathan wasn¡¯t the type to dwell on it. Right now, all that mattered was that it worked. And in his current situation, any advantage was a gift he wouldn''t question. Time passed as Nathan continued his internal inspection. Next was the heart. It felt healthy, strong, alive¡ªnothing like what he¡¯d expect from an infant who had been dead just moments ago. But the longer he observed, the more oddities he uncovered. On the surface, everything seemed familiar. Lungs, heart, liver, kidneys, intestines, spleen. Ten fingers, ten toes, and¡ªyes¡ªgenitals. The human body in this world was strikingly similar to the one he had known. Yet, there was one crucial difference. Another organ. Just below his liver sat a black lump, its presence immediately unsettling. At first, he assumed it was necrotic tissue, something dead and rotting, but that wasn¡¯t it. He could feel it working, pulsing, shifting something¡ªnot just within his body, but around him as well. "A new organ? In an infant?" Nathan thought. "So something in this world forced humans to evolve this. But survive what?" If he wanted answers, he needed to understand what the organ did. Did it pump blood like a heart? Process oxygen like lungs? Maybe it produced waste like the kidneys, or functioned as a filter like the liver. He honed his awareness, directing his full focus to the foreign lump as he maintained steady, controlled breathing. The first thing he noticed¡ªit wasn''t connected to any veins, arteries, or known tissue structures. It was independent. Yet, it still absorbed something and distributed it throughout his body. There was a clear pull and push happening inside it. "Maybe it functions like a second liver?" He considered the idea. Maybe it was a secondary filter, processing something necessary for survival. But unlike the liver, this organ didn¡¯t respond to him¡ªit didn¡¯t expand or contract at will. It wasn¡¯t an organ he could control. "Then it''s not like a lung. It''s more like the liver." A filter. That made sense. The organ was absorbing something, processing it, then releasing it back into his body. But what exactly was it filtering? Then it hit him. "Magic!" It was the only major unknown he had encountered so far. The only tangible difference between this world and his own. And since he had nothing else to go on, he trusted his instincts. "So this lump is... a magic liver?" He stopped himself, shaking his head mentally. That sounded ridiculous, even for him. "Alright, whatever. Assuming that''s what it is, then it should function like a liver¡ªpulling in magic from the surroundings, refining it, and making it usable¡­ or at least safe for the human body." A thought struck him like a slap. Magic must be toxic. Humans here likely evolved this organ to survive its effects. The fact that the lump worked passively¡ªconstantly processing something without his control¡ªsuggested it was an ongoing, automatic process. Unlike the lungs, where one could control the intake of non-toxic oxygen, this organ had to be active all the time, continuously filtering out the magic to make it safe. "Maybe it''s like radiation," he mused, "constant, inescapable. Adapt or die." If that was true, then understanding it was crucial. He shifted his focus back to the lump, but this time with a new perspective. He followed the flow of magic as it entered the organ, then left it¡ªchanged, purified. It was no longer raw and invasive but refined, stripped of whatever toxic element made it dangerous. It was no longer the world¡¯s magic. It was his. First Spell Magic¡ªthe ever-encompassing mystical energy Nathan had only seen in movies, shows, or books back home. Fantasy was a massive genre where he came from, so when he heard the word magic, images filled his mind¡ªflames, storms, turning silver into gold. Everyone had a picture of it. But now, he didn¡¯t have to imagine. He had seen it firsthand¡ªthe portal, the void, the transfer of a soul. And now, magic was being pumped into his body through this strange new organ. It wasn¡¯t like the stories described. How could it be? This was real. It had always been real in this world. His idea of magic had been glorified, simplified for entertainment. But lying here, in the body of a dead infant, feeling every inch of his fragile form, sensing every cell being infiltrated by the filtered magic coursing from the lump near his liver, he didn¡¯t find it simple. Or glorious. Magic wasn¡¯t just a concept anymore. It was tangible energy, surrounding him, filling him. If he wanted to survive, he had to accept that¡ªhad to make it part of his reality. There were too many things weighing on his mind. He was helpless, entirely at the mercy of whoever found him next. If scientists discovered him, they¡¯d likely keep him as an experiment. If it were guards or law enforcement, they might just kill him on sight. And if it were the people disposing of bodies, they might be too afraid to act at all. Food. Water. Survival. All of it depended on someone else¡¯s mercy. There was no clever strategy, no cunning plan that could turn him into an adult overnight. Only patience. But with so much out of his control, Nathan turned his focus to the things he could control. He could understand magic. He could learn how it functioned in the human body. And maybe¡ªjust maybe¡ªhe could use the energy it provided to survive. With that thought, he shifted his awareness inward, entering meditation. His sharpened perception, heightened beyond human limits, honed in on the black lump beneath his liver. He needed to see it¡ªneeded to understand it. At first, nothing. Just the vague sense of its presence. But then, the surface of the organ took shape in his mind. It was like a ball filled with oil and water¡ªtwo forces trying to mix, succeeding only under immense pressure. The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. Nathan theorized that toxic magic was drawn in from the air, absorbed through pores in the skin, then transported to the lump where it was refined into something usable. But that left one critical question: What kind of pathways carried the mana from his skin to the lump? If evolution was responsible for the existence of this organ, then it must have used the body''s existing systems as a foundation. Evolution didn¡¯t create something entirely new if it didn¡¯t have to¡ªit refined what was already there. So, if this lump had developed to filter magic, it likely used a structure similar to the blood vessels. Why fix something that wasn¡¯t broken? That meant there had to be some kind of magic veins¡ªreal, yet invisible to the human eye. And if that were the case, then theoretically, he should be able to control the flow of magic, just as he could control his muscles. Just like how clenching a fist directed more blood to his hand, he should be able to will magic into specific parts of his body. So the question was: What did he want the magic to do? Nathan¡¯s goal was clear¡ªhe needed to see these pathways. If they truly existed, then perhaps forcing magic into his eyes would reveal them. But what would happen if he did? Would an influx of magic enhance his vision? Burn his retinas? Make his eyes burst? Risk assessment had been a major part of his past life, and it wasn¡¯t about to stop now. The situation gave him no good options¡ªonly a choice between lesser evils. If he never took risks, he¡¯d never gain control over his situation. And if the worst happened¡­ well, then he died. The thought should have terrified him. It should have made him hesitate, made him fear the idea of pushing his limits. But he had already died, hadn¡¯t he? He had felt his flesh stripped away, experienced the sheer agony of his own destruction. He had known he would die. Humans feared the unknown¡ªbut death was no longer unknown to him. So Nathan braced himself. He focused. At first, it felt impossible¡ªlike trying to move a limb that wasn¡¯t there, like grasping at something intangible. But the magic within him carried his signature, his presence¡ªhis will. So he willed it. He forced the magic toward his eyes when he felt like he could and redirected it when he needed to. The magic already had a path¡ªit just didn¡¯t know how to walk it. Nathan simply had to teach it. In a normal human baby, this organ would likely instruct the magic on its own over time, adapting as the body grew. But time was a luxury Nathan didn¡¯t have. So he kept pushing forward. It felt surreal¡ªhe could sense it, envision it¡ªyet there was nothing there. Like he was controlling something that existed in a separate dimension, overlapping with his own. Was that where magic existed? A different plane of existence, intersecting with reality? Some higher dimension, intangible yet ever-present? He didn¡¯t know. But he didn¡¯t care. Minutes passed like hours as he forced the magic into his eyes, guiding it with sheer will. Then, finally, something clicked. His vision flared with an intense, fiery blue glow, and in that instant, he unwittingly cast his first body-enhancing magic. He dubbed it¡ªMagic Gaze. Magic Gaze It was like wearing drunk goggles¡ªhis infant brain simply couldn¡¯t hold, sort, or store all the new information flooding his senses. His vision twisted, his thoughts blurred, and the sheer weight of knowledge crushed down on his fragile consciousness. He barely lasted a few seconds before he shut it down, only to notice a thin trickle of blood running from his nose. "I see. Shit. While my mind could probably handle it, I¡¯m still an infant. That¡¯ll take some getting used to." But what was a bit of harsh training if not progress? Reactivating Magic Gaze felt easier the second time. The magic now knew its path, responding to his will more fluidly, slipping into place like a once-stiff gear now oiled and moving smoothly. Still, it wasn¡¯t instant, and the information overload remained¡ªa relentless storm hammering his senses. He pushed through it, lasting longer each time. To reduce the strain, he forced himself to focus solely on his own body. Not on the corpses, which radiated a strange, eerie presence, something vague yet deeply unsettling. Not on the tiles or the dim lights, which pulsed with weak traces of magic like dying embers. And certainly not on the atmosphere¡ªan overwhelming presence of raw, unseen energy, thick enough to choke on. His body. That was all that mattered. With Magic Gaze still active, he shut his eyes and returned to meditation, turning his awareness inward once more. The lump beneath his liver¡ªthe one responsible for filtering magic¡ªlooked different now. It wasn¡¯t just an organ. It was a vortex, pulling in the ambient magic trapped inside his tiny abdomen, spiraling in slow, mesmerizing motion. And then, finally, he saw what he had hoped for. Magic veins. It took several tries, each attempt leaving him weaker, his nosebleeds worsening. But after an exhausting battle of willpower, he finally saw them¡ªintricate, glowing pathways running through his body like an unseen nervous system. They pulsed faintly, their delicate networks threading deep into his limbs, coiling around muscle and bone like the roots of an ancient tree. He mapped them in his mind, tracing their routes, feeling their depth, their potential. He was in ecstasy. This energy, this connection¡ªit was unlike anything he had ever experienced. The magic veins were part of him, woven into every inch of his fragile form. He wanted to see more, to explore deeper, to understand everything. The temptation was intoxicating. But he forgot, once again¡­ he was just an infant. His small body betrayed him. Dizziness, drowsiness, exhaustion¡ªall crashed over him like a tidal wave. His vision blurred, his limbs grew heavy, his tiny fingers twitched weakly before going limp. Before sleep claimed him, one final thought crossed his mind: "It¡¯s like a muscle¡­ probably burns energy and calories like one too¡­"
Nathan didn¡¯t know how much time had passed when he finally woke again. His body felt hollow¡ªweak. Hunger gnawed at his insides, sharper than before, a deep, primal craving that turned his stomach into a pit of agony. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. "I need to be more careful. This can¡¯t happen. If I pass out and someone finds me like this, I¡¯m done for. This body is starving." Even healthy infants needed constant care¡ªwarmth, food, protection. This body had been dead hours ago. He had no reserves, no safety net. "Milk. I need milk. Nutrients. Anything." His small eyes darted around the dim room. Still nothing but corpses and silence. "No. This isn¡¯t it, Nathan. You¡¯re not dying here. You¡¯re free, goddammit." His breath steadied. He had seen this world¡ªreally seen it. Even in the short time he had been here, he had glimpsed its potential. The magic, the mysteries, the power. Yes, it was plagued with horrendous deeds, but that wasn¡¯t the world¡¯s fault. That was human nature. "I already died once. Lost it all." His mind flickered back to his past life¡ªto the faceless parents, the faceless teammates, the faceless coworkers. "Lost it all, huh? Lost what, exactly?" His own laughter was dry, bitter. "I can¡¯t even remember my parents. How good could my life have been?" He had always wanted to live¡ªnot just survive, but live. In his old life, in his old job, he hadn¡¯t done it for the sake of bettering the world or eradicating ¡°evil¡± deeds. No. He had simply taken matters into his own hands to eliminate threats that endangered his life. This time would be different. But not really. He would still handle problems himself, still take action against anything too dangerous to ignore. But not for a nation. Not for a government. Not for anyone above him. This time, he would do it for himself. To live, to see what this world had to offer. Not just to survive it. Summoning more will and energy than his frail body had to give, he activated Magic Gaze once more¡ªjust to stare into the air. Agony. Information overload. Exhaustion. It all hit him at once. His vision swam, his head throbbed, his body screamed at him to stop, but he held on. He had to. "Filter it, Nathan! Filter it!" The atmosphere itself was alive. Vibrant. Constantly shifting, swirling with colors and sensations beyond human comprehension. It was too much. Too much to process at once. But he remembered. He focused. One aspect at a time. Piece by piece. Breaking it down, separating, isolating. Filtering. And then¡ªsuccess. Before the creeping darkness of unconsciousness could claim him again, he stopped. And for the first time, he could see the atmosphere clearly. He could filter out what he didn¡¯t need. Not perfectly¡ªnot yet¡ªbut enough. Enough to look around without the crushing weight of overstimulation. Enough to hold on longer without his body betraying him. Enough to keep going. Though the use of magic still drained his tiny, fragile body, he had taken another step forward. And he would keep stepping forward. No matter what.
He had planned for this. No matter what. If he was going to survive, he needed to force his existence into someone¡¯s attention. He couldn¡¯t wait. He wouldn¡¯t wait¡ªnot another hour, not another day. If he did, he would die in this room, and no one would ever know he had existed. If he encountered a scientist or researcher, he had to prove that he was a successful experiment¡ªsomething too valuable to kill. If it was a guard or law enforcement, and they saw him as an abomination to be eliminated, then he had to unleash everything. He had to make them hesitate. Make them believe he was too important to kill. Or die trying. But what he hoped for, more than anything, was the third option. A maid. A janitor. Someone lower in the hierarchy of this place. Someone who wasn¡¯t making decisions but simply cleaning up a mess. Someone he could inspire pity in. None of these were ideal plans. But nothing about this situation was ideal. Risks weren¡¯t just risks anymore. They were lifelines. And then¡ª It happened. Something he had known would come. Something he had hoped for. And yet, feared all the same. The door to his room slowly creaked open. And Nathan was about to meet the first human of this world. First Encounter The candlelight flickered against the polished wood of the master''s study, casting long, wavering shadows. Anna stood before the heavy oak desk, hands clasped tightly before her, back straight. Her master, Lord D¡¯Armand, did not like slouching. "You will clean the waste rooms tonight," he said, his voice smooth but utterly devoid of warmth. Anna did not react. She had known this was coming. "Yes, my Lord," she said, her voice steady. D¡¯Armand leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers against the armrest. His nails were perfectly manicured, pale against the deep mahogany wood. His lips curled into a faint smirk. "I trust I do not need to remind you to be thorough?" "No, my Lord." "Good." He reached into a drawer and retrieved a small glass vial, filled with a thin, shimmering liquid. "Your payment." Anna stepped forward and took the vial with careful fingers, resisting the urge to sigh in relief. This was why she obeyed. This was why she endured. The medicine inside was the only thing keeping her husband alive. "You may go," D¡¯Armand said, already turning his attention to the papers before him. Anna bowed her head slightly and left the study without another word.
This was Anna Belrose, one of the few trusted¡ªor rather, controlled¡ªmaids in her master''s mansion. The position was sought after, not for its work but for its privileges. Better food, warmer quarters, protection from the worst abuses that ran rampant among the lower staff. But such benefits came at a cost. The master did not assign these tasks to just anyone. No, to be chosen for this work, one had to meet his criteria. Either he had their trust, their fear, or a firm grip on their secrets. In Anna¡¯s case, he had all three. She trusted her husband, the master¡¯s tailor, when he told her that keeping her head down and doing what was asked was the only way to keep them both safe. She feared her master and what he was capable of¡ªthe quiet disappearances, the unspoken rules, the whispered warnings that carried the weight of truth. And blackmail? Yes, she had that too. A blade held to her throat, ensuring her silence. Her grip on the mop tightened, knuckles whitening as a flood of awful memories rushed back. She had once thought about running. Everyone did, at first. But she had seen firsthand what happened to those who tried. A young footman had attempted to flee only three months ago. They found him days later, or rather, they found what was left of him, displayed as a warning at the estate¡¯s entrance. His remains had been positioned deliberately, almost artistically. The master had a taste for messages, for making sure his lessons were understood. No one had tried to run since. Shaking her head, she pushed the dark thoughts aside and forced herself into routine. The human-waste rooms¡ªsterile words for what they really were¡ªheld the failed experiments of her master. She didn¡¯t know what happened to them, or why, or even who was responsible for the actual experiments. She only knew that her master was funding it, and that it was her job to clean up the aftermath. This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. With a sigh, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a smooth white marble¡ªone of many. Without hesitation, she popped it into her mouth and bit down. A faint mist escaped, swirling around her face before settling into a thin, translucent mask over her nose and mouth. The familiar, filtered sensation followed, blocking out everything but clean air. The marbles only lasted half an hour. She had three left. Enough. Bracing herself, she unlocked the door with a glowing key and stepped inside. The usual. Women. Children. All dead. The stench of blood, rot, and something unnatural hit her even through the mask. It wasn¡¯t the smell of mere death¡ªit was something worse. Something corrupted. Ten months. That¡¯s how long she had been doing this. At first, she had wept. She had raged. She had prayed. But grief and horror were luxuries she could no longer afford. They had burned out, spent like a candle left to smolder for too long. Now, all that remained was the empty, mechanical rhythm of her work. Expression blank, she placed the bucket down and propped the broom against the wall. First, she had to separate the bodies. Then, she had to disassemble them. After that, she would dissolve the remains in the Ash Bucket. Her hesitation about the job had long faded into numb routine. She moved toward the pile, ready to pick up the first corpse¡ªwhen she felt it. A gaze. Sharp. Fierce. Cutting through the stagnant air like a blade against her spine. Cold sweat prickled at her skin as her eyes darted across the room. Empty. The door? Still shut. Yet the sensation of being watched only grew stronger, more tangible. Her breath hitched as she turned back to the pile, scanning the lifeless forms. And then she saw it. Between the dissected remains of women and the limp bodies of infants, something stared back. Two dull, glowing eyes, barely visible in the dim light. A baby. But its gaze¡ªit wasn¡¯t vacant, wasn¡¯t weak or confused like it should be. It was piercing. Intentional. Intelligent. A chill crawled up her spine. ¡°Shit,¡± she muttered, fingers going slack as the broom clattered to the ground.
Nathan watched as the woman entered, her bucket and broom in hand. His chance. His best chance. But he waited. Back in his old life, he prided himself on reading people, on understanding intent and emotion. But looking back now, at the countless blank faces in his memories¡ªnames forgotten, relationships blurred¡ªhe wondered. Had he really been a good judge of character? If no one in his past had been important enough to remember, had he ever truly understood them at all? No. Now wasn¡¯t the time for doubt. He needed to act. He focused, letting his magic flare in his gaze, not only to draw her attention but to analyze her. The way her mana flowed, the way it pulsed through her body¡ªsteady, refined. It was stronger than the weak, flickering traces he had sensed in the corpses around him. She had the same organ he did, though hers was dark and lumpy, like a diseased heart. She was like him. Then their eyes met. And just like that, control slipped from his fingers. His survival, his future¡ªeverything was now in her hands. He loathed that feeling. She spoke, something sharp and startled. A curse, maybe? He couldn''t understand her. Of course, he couldn¡¯t. New world. New language. I can adapt. The woman hesitated only a moment before stepping forward, peeling away the corpses one by one. He barely felt the weight being lifted. His body was too weak, too frail. The constant use of his magic had drained every last calorie he had to spare, and malnutrition had already begun sinking its claws into him. As she worked, her movements slowed, hesitating as she uncovered more of him. He could see the realization setting in¡ªhe wasn¡¯t just another failed experiment. He wasn¡¯t just a mindless infant gasping its last breath. He was something else. He forced himself to move, just slightly, his fingers curling against the cold floor. A test. A final gamble. Would she recoil? Call for someone? Or¡ª She didn¡¯t scream. Didn¡¯t flinch. Instead, she exhaled, slow and measured. Her hand hovered above him, uncertain. He stared up at her, willing his gaze to hold, to convey what his voice couldn¡¯t. Save me. She clenched her jaw. Looked toward the door. Then, finally, she moved. Not away. Not to call for help. She reached for him.