Cain opened his eyes to an unnatural silence, his body heavy, almost paralyzed. The forest around him was dim, painted in eerie shades of blue and green as the faint glow of bioluminescent trees cast fragmented shadows. He blinked, disoriented by the alien landscape, but even more by the unfamiliar body he now inhabited.
He was… smaller. Much smaller. His limbs felt thin, as though barely touched by training, and his hands—delicate, rough but unscarred—seemed impossibly small. A chill crept through him as he forced himself to his feet, struggling against the weakness that clung to his muscles. This was no longer his own form.
Fragmented memories flickered at the edges of his consciousness. Faces he didn't recognize, unfamiliar voices echoing with commands and quiet conversations, images of austere halls and stone pathways. One name surfaced from the hazy remnants: Verdant Moon Sect. The term carried vague impressions of training, hierarchy, rules he didn't yet understand.
His name here was… Kael. The memories confirmed that much, though they left dozens of questions and gaps he couldn't yet fill. Kael was young, perhaps twelve or thirteen, judging by his reflection in a small, rippling puddle nearby. Pale skin, hollow cheeks, and large eyes filled with exhaustion gazed back at him. The thin, gaunt face reflected a life of struggle, perhaps failure. A sense of vulnerability swept over him; even his movements felt restrained, as though his limbs weren't yet accustomed to strength or combat.
He took a steadying breath, quieting the rush of questions clawing at his mind. What was this place, this world that seemed to pulse with a strange energy beneath its surface? Everything about it was alien yet vivid, with colors sharper, shadows deeper, and the air thick with a sensation that seemed to seep into his skin.
This was a world governed by a power he couldn't fully grasp, one that radiated from the trees and ground like a low, steady heartbeat. Cain—no, Kael—closed his eyes, concentrating on the faint hum that vibrated just beneath his awareness. His instincts told him that this was energy, something far beyond anything Earth could produce. A force he might one day control, if he could only learn the rules that bound it.
But even in his curiosity, a hint of caution stirred. This body's memories were patchy, but what they retained hinted at strict hierarchies, dangers he wasn't yet equipped to understand. He knew little of Veilara's ways and none of its risks, and until he understood more, he would have to tread carefully.
He ran his hands over his clothing: simple, tattered robes, loose and frayed at the edges. His fingers brushed over a small satchel tied to his belt, containing only a few dry leaves, an old scrap of bread, and a smooth stone etched with faint markings. None of these items sparked recognition, though the stone felt significant—a token, perhaps? The memories offered nothing more.
Suddenly, the silence broke—a faint rustle from behind him. Cain's body tensed instinctively, and he turned, his eyes falling on a distant shadow moving through the trees, drawing closer with cautious steps. His pulse quickened as he considered his options. Fight? No, this body was too unfamiliar, too weak. Flee? But even that could prove fatal without knowing the terrain.
The figure emerged, a boy around fifteen, robed in the same style as Cain but with an air of confidence that suggested familiarity with his surroundings. His posture was straight, his gaze sharp as he scanned the area. Cain could see from his stance that he was skilled, or at least experienced in ways Kael hadn't been.
"You're not supposed to be here," the boy said, his voice low and steady, laced with suspicion. His gaze swept over Cain, and his frown deepened as he took in Cain's disheveled state.
Cain sifted through Kael's fragmented memories, pulling up what little he could about the sect's rules. He recalled something vague about "forbidden grounds," places restricted to novices. This forest might very well be one of them.
"The elder sent me," Cain said, testing his voice. It was softer and rougher, as if it hadn't been used in days. He added a faint, sheepish tone, hoping to play into the role of a lost novice and avoid further scrutiny.
The boy's frown deepened. "Which elder?"
Cain's grip on Kael's fractured memories tightened, piecing together what little he could. "Elder Voss," he replied, hoping the name would suffice. A flicker of recognition crossed the boy's face, but suspicion lingered.
"Strange. The elders don't usually send novices alone into the Deadwood." The boy stepped closer, his gaze scrutinizing Cain as if searching for the flaw in his story. "Are you hiding something?"
For a moment, Cain felt a flash of irritation, the instinct to dismiss this child as he would anyone who questioned him back on Earth. But he swallowed the impulse, reminded himself that he was no longer in control here. He had to navigate this conversation carefully to avoid exposing himself—or worse.
"Not hiding anything," he said, feigning weariness. "But… maybe a little lost. I—I think I took a wrong path and ended up here." He cast his gaze to the ground, adding a hint of uncertainty, playing the part of a novice with nothing to hide.
The boy's posture relaxed slightly, though his eyes still held a glint of annoyance. "You novices are all the same," he muttered, though there was a hint of amusement in his tone. "Always getting yourselves into places you don't belong."
Cain kept his head down, biding his time as he studied the boy's body language. This was someone who could be useful. He clearly held some authority, and judging by his demeanor, he didn't see Cain—Kael—as any real threat.
"Come on," the boy finally said, jerking his head toward the path. "I'll take you back before you get yourself killed out here. The Deadwood isn't safe for novices."
Cain nodded obediently, a plan forming in his mind. If he was to survive here, he needed to learn everything he could—and this boy, knowingly or not, would be his first source of knowledge. Following behind, Cain kept his expression neutral, hiding the fierce determination that burned beneath the surface.
He noted the boy's every word and movement, cataloging details that might prove useful. The boy seemed relaxed now, but Cain knew better than to trust any kindness, especially in a world he didn't understand.
As they walked, Cain's lips curved into a faint smile, unseen by his guide. In time, he would make Veilara bow to him. But first, he would learn its rules, master its secrets—and when the time was right, he would discard this borrowed identity as easily as he had assumed it.