In a small yet luxurious room within a western-style villa, the sound of shallow, ragged breathing filled the air. A young boy, no older than ten, lay sprawled on a plush bed, his face twisted in pain. His hands clutched his head as though trying to hold his thoughts together. His body trembled, wracked with an overwhelming sensation as fragments of another life bombarded his mind.
Ryan's heart pounded wildly in his chest. Sweat beaded on his forehead, dampening the pillow beneath him. What's happening to me?
His breath came in gasps, the room around him spinning as memories—foreign yet familiar—surged through his consciousness. There was a loud ringing in his ears, and then suddenly, clarity hit him like a cold splash of water.
"I... I survived the space crack," he whispered through trembling lips. The words felt strange in his mouth, like speaking after a long silence. His body felt foreign, his surroundings alien, but the memory of his past life… it was vivid.
I was on Earth. I was walking down the street… groceries in hand… then the space cracked open.
The memory of that moment replayed in his mind. The sudden tear in reality, the howling wind that pulled him in, the dizzying sensation of being swallowed whole. How did this happen? He didn't have answers, but what he did have was the truth of his situation. He wasn't on Earth anymore.
His breaths slowed as he forced himself to sit up, though his limbs still felt heavy and weak. The soft, familiar scent of polished wood and fresh linen filled his senses. He looked around the room, trying to orient himself. Stone walls, ornate furniture, and a large window with sunlight streaming in. This wasn't a place he recognized, but his ten-year-old self—Ryan Duskveil—did.
Ryan closed his eyes for a moment, digging into his new memories. He wasn't just Ryan Duskveil, a young boy from a noble family on the continent of Elyndor. No, that name, that identity was only part of him. His true self… the one from Earth… had played a galgame set in this very world. "Fates of the Enchanted Realm," a game about love, power, and political intrigue in a fantasy kingdom.
Opening his eyes again, he slowly stood up, his legs wobbly from the strain. He stumbled toward a large mirror hanging on the wall, gripping its wooden frame for support as he gazed at his reflection.
Black hair, black eyes, and a young but undeniably handsome face stared back at him. His reflection looked startlingly similar to his old self from Earth—about 90% the same, but younger, more delicate. His fingers brushed against the glass as he studied his new form. This is me now…
A shiver ran down his spine as the weight of realization settled on his shoulders. "I'm in the game," he whispered, his voice barely audible. The words tasted bitter, like iron in his mouth. His reflection stared back, unblinking, as if mocking him.
"I'm an extra," he muttered, his heart sinking. He remembered playing as the hero, navigating through the choices and branching storylines. But in this world, he wasn't the crown prince, or the rival, or even a minor ally. He was a nameless extra, a background character destined to be forgotten.
The thought made his chest tighten. I'm not the protagonist. I have no power, no influence. How am I supposed to survive?
Ryan's mind raced, panic beginning to claw at the edges of his resolve. His family, the Duskveils, were a small noble house, insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Their future was precarious, and the world he now inhabited was ruthless. If I don't act, if I don't prepare, we'll be crushed in the political games of those with real power.
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. His reflection looked back at him with more determination now. "The plot starts in six years," he whispered, his fingers still pressed against the cold surface of the mirror. "That's when the royal academy opens its doors. That's when everything begins."
Ryan's pulse steadied. He had six years before the real players—Leonhart, Elysia, Seraphina, and others—would step onto the stage. Six years before the battle for power, love, and survival unfolded. Six years to prepare.
His jaw tightened as he straightened his back, dropping his hand from the mirror. "Although time is short, I have to work hard," he muttered, pacing the room now, his mind racing with thoughts of what he needed to do. "Otherwise, with the meager strength of my family, we'll be swept away. The future could abandon us at any moment."
The weight of his past-life knowledge settled heavily on his shoulders. It was both a gift and a curse. He knew the story, the key events, and the looming dangers. But that didn't guarantee his safety. It only meant he knew what was coming—and how terrifyingly fragile his position was.
Ryan's gaze drifted to the window. Beyond it, the vast world of Elyndor stretched out—fields of green, forests that whispered of ancient secrets, and mountains in the distance that rose like silent sentinels. This world is beautiful, he thought, a pang of nostalgia tugging at his heart. But it's also unforgiving.
Just then, a soft knock at the door broke his train of thought. "Ryan, are you awake?" called a gentle voice. It was his mother—Helena Duskveil. "Your father is waiting downstairs."
Ryan blinked, the sound of his mother's voice grounding him back in the present. He turned toward the door, his thoughts still swirling but his resolve firm. "I'll be right there," he called back, his voice steadier than before.
As the door clicked shut behind her, Ryan stood still for a moment longer, staring at his reflection one last time. The boy in the mirror wasn't just Ryan Duskveil anymore. He wasn't just an extra, a forgotten face in a grander tale. He had knowledge of the future. He had time.
And he would use both to rewrite his fate.
With renewed determination burning in his chest, Ryan turned away from the mirror and walked toward the door, ready to face the uncertain future ahead.
End of Chapter 1