WARNING NOTICE:
This chapter maybe will make some of readers uncomfortable. Please refrain yourself from reading if you cannot handle the pressure. Thank you!
He stared up at the airship in disbelief, narrowing his eyes as it drifted silently across the sky. It looked strikingly similar to the ones from Earth, like something straight out of the early 1900s–l—a curious blend of familiarity in this otherwise foreign world.
Standing up, he dusted off his clothes, brushing away the grass and dirt. He glanced around, feeling the weight of uncertainty settle over him.
Uhh... Where am I?
The vast, open field stretched endlessly in every direction, bathed in the warm glow of the strange blue sun. There were no signs of life—no villages, no towns—just the gentle roll of hills and the soft sway of grass in the breeze.
Huh?
He paused, feeling something off. His eyes trailed down to his hands, and what he saw made his breath hitch.
"What the-?!"
His voice changed and His hands were small, far too small. They looked like the hands of a child —tiny, delicate, like they belonged to someone no older than ten. Panic swelled inside him as he reached up, touching his hair, his face, his body.
Am I reincarnated in kid body?
His fingers brushed through the strands of black hair, and his face, smooth and unmarked, felt different than he remembered. He wore a long-sleeved tunic with criss-crossing laces at the chest, paired with tan, high-waisted trousers and brown lace-up shoes. The attire was old-fashioned, almost medieval, yet with a strange, otherworldly touch.
Throb!
A sharp, sudden pain pierced his skull, and his vision blurred. He stumbled, falling back onto the soft earth, clutching his head. The throbbing was unbearable, as if something inside his mind was trying to break free.
Ouch!
He gasped, his sight clearing for a moment. Instinctively, his hand flew to the back of his head, brushing against a tender spot. There was pain— sharp and real. He grimaced, his fingers exploring the area cautiously.
"Uh..."
There was something there, something wrong. His fingers found the edge of a wound, not deep but long, stretching from the crown of his head down to his neck. It felt raw, as if the skin had been torn or sliced.
"What in the world...?"
He looked around, scanning the area, and his gaze fell on something by the tree he had awoken under— a brown leather bag, lying discarded against the trunk. Next to it, a thin trickle of dark, dried blood led from a sharp, jagged branch down to the grass. His heart pounded.
Gasp!
He touched the back of his head again, feeling something warm and wet. Blood. His hand came away stained with dark crimson.
Just what happened to this kid...?
Rising to his feet, he staggered over to the brown leather bag. He knelt down and opened it with trembling hands, hoping to find some clue— anything to explain this mess. Inside, he found an assortment of books and objects: Tabula Rasa, Mathematics, Path of Hermit, The Sacred Language of Lelossa. Each title only deepened the mystery.
But what truly caught his attention was the bloodstained towel crumpled at the bottom of the bag.
Are these books from this world? And whose blood is this...? Why was I reincarnated into this boy?
As frustration bubbled within him, he began rummaging through the contents of the bag, desperate to find a diary or journal—something personal that could offer answers.
"Hah... Is the diary at his home? "
He let out a weary sigh, sitting back on his heels. But just as he was about to give up, his eyes caught sight of something nearby—a book with a green cover, lying in the grass. It wasn't thick, but its pages were soaked in blood.
"That's it! A diary!"
He quickly snatched up the book, certain now that it must be the boy's diary—its cover slick with blood, a silent testament to whatever tragedy had befallen him. His breath came slow and steady as he prepared to uncover the truth, his fingers trembling slightly as they hovered over the cover. Taking a deep breath, he finally opened it.
...Huh?
Something felt off. The first few pages were completely blank—pure, untouched white. No words, no drawings, nothing. He flipped through more pages, one after the other, but each was the same—pristine and void of any markings. Yet, what unsettled him most was that none of the pages bore the blood that stained the front cover. It was as if the blood had been kept at bay, leaving the book eerily untouched.
How..?
He continued turning the pages until he reached the very last one. There, written in deep red ink—or perhaps blood—were the words:
Thank you for fulfilling my wish.
A shiver crawled down his spine, his skin prickling with an unnatural coldness. The words left a deep unease in him, like an echo of something ominous lingering just beyond his grasp.
"What…?"
A creeping sensation of being watched made the hairs on his neck stand on end. He felt eyes upon him, though when he looked up, the field around him was empty—nothing but the endless grasslands and the rustle of wind. He turned his head left, then right, and even glanced behind him. There was no one there.
Maybe it's just my imagination…
But when he looked back at the diary, his breath caught in his throat.
Gasp!
There, on the once-blank pages, was a face. A black, shadowy face with blood-red eyes, staring back at him from the depths of the paper. He recoiled, throwing the book away as though it had burned him.
"What in the hell?!"
His heart thundered in his chest, so loud that he could hear it in his ears. The world around him seemed to warp, the shadows growing longer, darker. Suddenly, a soft whisper echoed in his left ear, a voice so close it made his skin crawl.
"Do you want to see?"
He whipped his head to the side, but there was nothing—no one. Before he could react, a black hand appeared, its inky fingers reaching out and covering his eyes, plunging him into darkness.
"Ekkk!"
He tried to pry the hand away, his own fingers scrambling uselessly at the dark grasp that now clouded his vision. But it wouldn't budge.
"Do you want my memory?"
The voice was clear now. It wasn't unfamiliar—it was the same voice as the boy's, the one whose body he now inhabited. Realization dawned on him. The shadowy hand belonged to this boy, the one who had died under that very tree.
"Yes... I need your memory."
He spoke with resolve, his voice steady despite the fear coursing through him. But as soon as the words left his lips, the grip on his eyes tightened, sending sharp bolts of pain through his skull.
"Ugh! What the—"
The pressure intensified, fingers digging into his flesh, threatening to gouge out his eyes.
"ARGH!!"
His screams tore through the air as he writhed in agony, his legs kicking wildly as the grip burrowed deeper into his mind. He clawed at the hand, but it was futile—the pain consumed him, dragging him into unconsciousness.
Darkness. Endless, suffocating blackness. Then, just as quickly, the darkness receded, and his sight returned, though the world had changed.
He found himself standing before a mirror in a dimly lit room. The reflection staring back at him was not his own, but that of a young boy. Black hair framed a pale, delicate face with eyes that gleamed a haunting red. He was clad in a white nightgown, his lips slightly pale as if touched by some lingering illness.
...What?
His thoughts raced. This wasn't his body—this was the boy's memory. He was inside the boy's life, seeing the world through his eyes.
Outside the room, the laughter of children drifted through the window, light and carefree. His gaze shifted, drawn to the sight of children playing in a courtyard below. One of the children caught sight of the window and stared up. Panic surged through him—through the boy—and in an instant, he pulled back, hiding from view.
Is this boy afraid of people...?
The fear was palpable, clawing at his chest like a living thing. The boy's eyes returned to the window, but the children had vanished, leaving only the empty courtyard behind.
Knock—! Knock—!
The sudden knock on the door behind him made the boy's body tremble. He turned slowly, his movements hesitant, and reached for the door with a hand that shook as though afraid of what lay beyond. As the door creaked open, his vision blurred, the world twisting and distorting until everything went black.
What happened?
The darkness lifted again, revealing a familiar scene—the grassy field, the tree under which the he had lain. The sky was the same, the blue sun casting its strange light over the land. The boy's body moved without his control, walking towards the tree and lying down beneath it, just as he had done before.
Just tell me what happened to him! And what was behind that door?
His mind raced with questions, but before he could find answers, a chill ran down the boy's spine.
"Nooo!!!"
A scream tore through the air, a sound so filled with despair it made his heart ache. It was the boy's voice, filled with anguish and fear.
What happened?!
"D-D-Don't leave me! I-I-I don't care if you kill me, b-b-but please, don't leave me alone! You're the only friend I have!"
The pain in the boy's voice was overwhelming, a sorrow that dug deep into his soul. He could feel the boy's fear, his loneliness—a desperate cry to someone unseen.
Who is he talking to...?
He couldn't move, couldn't see who the boy was speaking to. The feeling of helplessness clawed at him as the boy's voice grew quieter, more resigned.
"O-Okay, I will do it..."
And then, silence. The boy's vision began to fade, his world dimming to black. His breath caught in his throat, realizing what the boy had decided to do.
Wait! Did this boy… kill himself?!
The memory was slipping away, leaving him in a void of darkness. He tried to force his eyes open, to see more, to understand—but nothing came.
Just as the despair threatened to swallow him whole, a voice pierced the darkness.
"Th... The... Theo!"
His eyes snapped open. Before him stood a woman with flowing black hair, her light blue eyes wide with concern. She wore a simple white blouse, a dark blue pants that reached her ankles, and black leather shoes.