I am sorry
This is the only way
Beware the thing that shirks from the light
The voice shattered instantly as bright light inundated the surroundings. The boy, still asleep, felt a sharp pain in his head, as if someone had hit him with a pole over and over again.
In his daze, the boy tried to turn to his side, and hold his head, but his limbs refused to move. Locked in the state of endless darkness, the boy attempted to focus his thoughts, but they refused to be studied.
How much did I drink?
No, wait I didn't even drink last night?
Why do I have such a painful headache?
Could it be all the stress finally caught up to me?
Fuck, I should've listened to my mom and quit that company!
I need to wake up.
WAKE UP, NOW!
Garnering enough incorporeal strength, he managed to slowly lift his eyelids. At first, his vision was blurred, but then it was assaulted by bright light. He shut his eyes again, turning his head to the side and blocking the light with his outstretched palm.
Opening his eyes again, he noticed a sharp pain enveloping his back, as if he had been sleeping on the floor.
Rubbing his back to soothe the pain, the boy meticulously sat up, being careful not to get injured anymore.
"Ah yer finally awake", the boy heard a gruff voice speak up next to him. The boy quickly turned his head to the source of the voice, finding himself face to face with an unfamiliar old man.
The boy felt inexplicable terror and stood up abruptly, but his head throbbed again causing him to lose strength and topple back onto the ground.
"Whoa be careful, kid. You're still in no position to move like that", the old man warned him.
Kid?
The boy inspected his arms. They were frail and puny, with skin wrapped tightly around his bones. In a panic, he turned his head and realized the rest of his body had that same frail physique.
What the-, the boy gasped, his mind flooded with bewildered thoughts. He examined his surroundings and realized he was not in his house.
He was lying on a thin, ragged cloth over a sandy surface. He was at the end of a wide alleyway in between two cob houses. Malnourished men and women littered the sides of the alley, all wearing ragged clothing. A stale air permeated the surroundings, as swarms of flies surrounded some of the more sickly-looking people.
The unfamiliar surroundings, his strange body, and the ancient architecture all pointed towards one thing.
Isekai? The boy's mouth opened.
Am I really the main character of a shitty third-rate story?!
He enjoyed reading various novels and fantasized about these types of situations, however for it to actually happen was completely beyond him.
If it was not for the persistent headaches, he definitely would have believed he was dreaming.
Okay, let's stay calm, the boy took a quick breath, trying to calm his nerves.
As his mind began to calm down, memories of the new body began to flood his head.
Sahaad Abbas, born in the city of Nippur located in Babylonia. He had turned 10 around two months ago.
His father worked in construction, however a worksite accident left him a cripple and he could no longer work. A small compensation offered by his employers barely allowed them to get by…
His mother, realizing the dire straits of her family, turned to prostitution in order to feed her children. She passed away when Sahaad was 8 years old…
He also had a younger sister, however she was sold off by their father a short while after their mother had died. Now it was just him and his father left in the house.
Sahaad would beg for coins out on the streets, while his father would drink all day at the local kapeleia.
The boy's mind stirred. He reached out to massage his throbbing temple, only to be met with damp and heavy fabric, haphazardly wrapped around his head. It was to treat an injury Sahaad had acquired the day prior from his father after not earning enough coins.
And I thought my life was bad, the child chuckled to himself. He turned his head, and spotted the same old man that had helped him before. He had a dark gray beard, and his head only had a few wisps of white hair. The wrinkles on the edge of his eyes and mouth were recessed from old age. His face and frayed clothing were covered in sediment, making his body shine against the light with a yellow hue.
"Sahaad, thank the king you finally woke", the old man greeted, grasping the child's arms with a youthful vigor, his eyes glowing with affection.
"Ah… Mr. Amar. Wh-what happened", the child, Sahaad, asked the old man.
"That bastard smashed your head, and tossed you out. Anur found you lying half-dead and brought you to me. Honestly I was not sure you were gonna make it, it's a miracle".
Miracle… Sahaad contemplated. The child must have died, and now his soul was inhabiting the body. Sahaad could only shake his head in pity at the misfortune experienced by the previous owner of this body.
"You feeling alright?", Amar asked, with a hint of apprehension.
"Yes, thank you Mr.Amar", Sahaad knew a lot of the local homeless population from his days begging on the streets, Mr.Amar was doctor in a neighboring city, however a civil war had resulted in him fleeing and taking a refuge in Babylon. He spent his days helping out other refugees and unfortunate souls that called the slums of Babylon their home.
Sahaad forced himself to stand up, despite the pain, groaning as he stretched out his limbs.
"Kid, you better…"
Sahaad took a deep breath, bracing himself as he stood up despite the sharp pains running through his body. His legs wobbled beneath him, but he clenched his fists, determined not to collapse again. The air was hot and dry, and as he looked down the narrow, dusty alley, he realized the enormity of the world he had been thrown into.
"I can walk, Mr. Amar," Sahaad repeated with more determination in his voice, forcing a weak smile at the concerned old man. Amar gave him a nod but didn't push further.
"Just be careful, kid," Amar advised softly, watching Sahaad shuffle down the alleyway, leaving the safety of the small cloth that had served as a makeshift bed.
As he ventured further out into the slums of Babylon, the sights and smells assaulted his senses. The streets were narrow, lined with mud-brick houses that loomed over him, casting long shadows in the waning afternoon light. Most of the homes were crumbling, their walls marred with deep cracks. People dressed in tattered garments huddled together under rickety awnings, their eyes sunken and hollow.
Sahaad's feet carried him forward, but his mind raced with disbelief. His memories of his old life—the one in the modern world—were still vivid. The sensation of his body was new, foreign, and every step he took reminded him that he wasn't the person he used to be. The air here was thick with the smell of sweat, grime, and something sour that made his stomach churn.
What time period am I even in?
He had read about the ancient region of Mesopotamia, a place of wonder and awe in his world's history. But this version of Babylon was far from the golden paradise he had imagined. The streets were teeming with beggars and merchants shouting hoarse cries for scraps. Stray dogs wandered aimlessly, while children, no older than Sahaad's body, darted through the crowd, their dirty hands slipping into pockets and pouches in an attempt to find something to eat.
It was strange, even though the city had an air of a time long forgotten, Sahad recalled from his memories of how his father drank branded bottles of liquor and how he used to work at an industrial factory two miles north from the main hub.
While Sahad was no historian, he knew just enough to understand this probably was not the history of the world he was familiar with.
Instinctively, Sahaad wrapped his arms around his own frail body, shivering despite the heat.
He watched the pickpockets with both curiosity and caution, and moved to the edge of the street, stepping carefully over the puddles of filth that had pooled near the uneven stones. His head was still pounding, his vision still somewhat blurry, but he kept walking, determined to find why he was sent here
He found himself in the heart of the market soon enough, the cries of traders and the clatter of wheels filling the air. Small carts were set up along the narrow lanes, selling fruit, spices, and bronze tools. The scent of fresh bread briefly overpowered the stench of the slums, and for a moment, Sahaad's stomach growled, reminding him of how long it had been since he had eaten.
He stepped toward a bread stall, his mouth watering. The flat, round loaves were stacked high, the golden-brown crust glistening in the fading sunlight. He reached out, hesitating only for a second before realizing he had no coins.
Not yet, at least.
"Oi, kid! Move along!" the stall owner barked, eyeing Sahaad's ragged appearance with disgust. Sahaad stepped back quickly, his face flushing with embarrassment.
He turned away from the market and slipped into a side alley, the crowds thinning as he moved deeper into the maze-like streets. The sun was setting now, casting a reddish-orange hue over the city. He could see the towering walls of Babylon in the distance, their massive gates silhouetted against the sky. Despite the dirt and decay, there was still something grand about this place, something ancient and powerful that sent a chill up his spine.
Eventually, Sahaad found himself in a quieter part of the city, away from the bustling market and the noise of the main roads. The houses here were smaller, more rundown, their mud-brick walls barely holding together. He recognized the area—it was where his current body had lived.
The weight of this reality pressed down on him again as he approached his home, a small shack on the edge of the slums. The roof sagged, and the door hung crooked on its hinges.
Sahad muttered to himself, trying to find humor in his situation. To think just yesterday I was in my penthouse cooking wagyu steak, is this karma?
Sahaad's heart pounded in his chest as he reached out and pushed the door open.
Inside, the room was dimly lit by a single flickering oil lamp. The smell of alcohol and stale air hit him immediately, almost making him gag. In the far corner of the room, sprawled out on a mat, lay a man, his body limp and motionless.
Sahaad's breath caught in his throat as he recognized him. This was his father—or at least, the father of the body he now inhabited. A gaunt, broken man, his face hollowed out by years of hard labor and drink. An empty jug lay next to him, its contents long gone.
The man stirred as Sahaad stepped inside, his bleary eyes opening just enough to see the boy. His lip curled in disgust, and he muttered something incoherent before turning away, sinking deeper into his mat.
Sahaad stood frozen for a moment, staring at the man who had been responsible for so much of this body's pain. A wave of anger surged through him, in his previous body he could have easily stomped the vile man, but now he was just a weak, injured kid.
Without a word, Sahaad turned away from his father and slumped against the wall, the weight of the day finally crashing down on him. The reality of this new life, this new world, settled heavily on his shoulders. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his head, and for the first time, allowed himself to rest.
But even as he drifted into sleep, the words from his dream echoed in his mind.
"Beware the thing that shirks from the light."
What did that mean?