The day was gray—a melancholy blur that hung like a fog over the city.
Time seemed to stretch into something heavy and unbearable, the air thick with the weight of forgotten hours.
Elliot walked the crowded streets, his every step a part of the humdrum rhythm that shaped his life.
He was neither remarkable nor ordinary, he was simply there, one body among many, adrift in the ocean of urban anonymity.
His mind, much like the skyline above, was dull, marred by routines and the longing for something he couldn't name, something he'd long since stopped believing in.
The city, with its concrete veins and towering glass limbs, surrounded him like a cage of metal and ambition.
People moved past him, their lives so distinct and yet so unreachable.
A couple whispered in the corner, their laughter soft like a secret, a child's sneakers scuffed against the pavement as he ran ahead, leaving his mother behind.
An old man leaned on his cane, the weight of years pressing down on his shoulders. And through it all, Elliot walked—just another face in the crowd, invisible, unheard.
There was nothing special about the moment. Nothing he could feel, no spark to ignite the mundane.
It was as if the universe itself had moved on, leaving him in this suspended moment, a brief flicker in the grand expanse of time.
But then, a shift.
A sudden pull—subtle, but unmistakable. It was a ripple in the air, a sensation of weightlessness that caused his feet to falter, just for a heartbeat.
He stopped, his body instinctively bracing against some unseen change.
And then, as if the world had chosen this moment to reveal its hidden hand, his eyes drifted upward.
A glint.
A movement.
A shift in the sky.
A brick—old, weathered—fell from the facade of the building above, tumbling toward him with a predestined inevitability.
There was no time for thought, no space for reaction.
The world seemed to stretch in slow motion, as if the very air had thickened to keep him frozen in place.
The brick descended with cruel precision, the sound of its impact, the only thing that existed in that suspended moment of eternity.
Then, everything went dark.
______________________________________
Elliot's eyes snapped open, the world a blur of color and pain as he lay on the shore.
"Cough, cough..."
His chest burned with every shallow breath, and his body felt heavier than it should. He groaned as he forced himself to sit up, a sharp ache running through his spine.
His mind was disoriented, and the relentless waves lapping at the shore did nothing to soothe the storm inside his mind.
"Where am I?"
He looked around, trying to make sense of the surreal scene.
The beach was desolate—golden sand stretched endlessly in both directions, the sun scorching his skin as it hung overhead, casting an almost unbearable light.
"Another dream?"
He blinked, shaking his head, trying to push the strange thought away.
But there was a bitter taste in his mouth, and it wasn't saltwater. He couldn't explain it. Something was off.
He stood, his legs wobbling beneath him.
*This isn't right. Something isn't normal.*
He looked down at his hands, fingers trembling. Something was different. The texture of his skin felt... off.
"Huh?"
He looked at them again, squinting.
His fingers were thicker, stronger. His skin was darker, with faint patterns running beneath the surface, almost like scales. His nails were sharper, more defined than they had ever been.
"What the hell is going on?"
A cold shiver ran down his spine as he touched his face. His nose, now felt sharper, more angular than he remembered. His jawline was too defined. He ran a hand over his cheekbones and cursed under his breath.
"What the hell is this? What happened to me?"
Then a memory. The fight.
He remembered the chaos.
The panic
The creatures in the water.
The dark power inside him.
His thoughts raced as he inspected his body more thoroughly. His muscles—his abdomen, arms, legs—all seemed sculpted, perfectly defined.
The wounds from the previous battle was gone, his skin smooth and unmarked.
"This is wrong, this isn't me!"
He couldn't remember having a body like this. The memory of the fight lingered in fragments, like broken glass—sharp and unclear. But somehow, it felt as though he wasn't himself.
His mind was clouded with another name, one that echoed through his thoughts.
Rhaegos.
The name hit him like a jolt of electricity.
Rhaegos... He repeated it in his mind, the syllables tasting foreign yet familiar at once.
He stumbled backward, disoriented, trying to make sense of the rush of images that flooded his brain—
Flashes of grand, towering castles,
Battles with creatures that defied the laws of nature,
And a kingdom that felt both lost and suffocating.
"Rhaegos? Was that my... name?"
"Or did those memories belong to this body?"
"Why am I here?"
"Did I reincarnate?"
"Or perhaps transmigrated like in those stories I've heard about?"
"If so, does that mean I'll have to live with this body form now on."
Frantic thoughts swirled in his head. Then a sudden realization. He quickly moved to check his inside his pants.
"Please, please let this be normal..."
He sighed in relief, flashing a faint, self-assured grin, "At least I'm still a man,"
He leaned back slightly, a hint of playful pride creeping into his tone, "And, if I may say so... rather well-endowed."
He chuckled to himself for a brief moment. But before he could regain his bearings, the quiet was shattered. From the jungle, distant but unmistakable, came sounds—the breaking of branches, the rustling of leaves, the sound of heavy footsteps against dry earth.
He tensed, instinctively shrinking back, his heart pounding with anticipation. He didn't know who—or *what*—was approaching, but it was clear that he wasn't alone.
He could hear their laughter, muffled voices calling out to each other, their heavy footsteps on the ground.
They emerged from the jungle, figures clad in rough, patched clothes, their faces obscured by hoods and scarves.
In their hands, they carried weapons—crude, jagged machetes, rusted knives, chains, and whips. Their eyes gleamed with hunger, predatory. Not good people, without a doubt.
Elliot's pulse quickened. He knew he was in trouble. These people weren't just going to let him be. And they were armed.
He tried to summon his magic, just like he had when fighting the monsters in the water, but nothing happened.
"What the hell?"
Panic twisted in his chest. He focused, his hand outstretched, willing the energy to surge from within, but it was as if a wall blocked him.
The men closed in. One of them grinned cruelly, his teeth yellowed and sharp, his voice a low growl.
"What do we have here? A lost boy? A wanderer?"
Elliot opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He swallowed, struggling to stay calm.
"I don't want trouble. I just woke up here. I don't know what's going on."
The man laughed, a harsh, mocking sound.
"Oh, I think you'll find plenty of trouble here, young man." He advanced, hand outstretched to grab Elliot's arm.
Instinctively, Elliot jerked back, trying to dodge, but they were fast, too fast. One of them swung a chain toward him, catching him across the chest. The impact sent him sprawling, pain radiating from his ribs.
He scrambled to his feet, desperation rising in his chest.
*Think, think!*
They circled him like wolves. One of them lunged at him, Elliot barely managed to dodge, his heart racing. He tried again to summon magic—anything—but it was useless.
"Get him!"
The one that seemed to be the leader barked, his voice filled with malice.
Elliot made a break for it, sprinting toward the jungle's edge, but there were too many. He was surrounded immediately.
He tried to fight back, throwing punches, but it was no use. A sharp pain flared in his stomach as one of the slavers kicked him in the ribs, sending him crashing to the sand.
Dazed, Elliot struggled to rise, but his strength was leaving him. They were too strong. Too many.
"You're coming with us," the leader spat, as they hauled him to his feet.
The world seemed to spin, and before he could react, they threw him into a cage. The bars were cold and unforgiving.
Elliot's heart sank as he hit the floor, his body crumpling against the rough metal.
Inside the cage, a few other young people sat in silence, their faces hollow, eyes haunted.
The slavers locked the door, their laughter echoing in the distance. The iron bars shut with a resounding clang, and for the first time in his life, Elliot felt truly trapped.
The air inside the cage was thick and stale, heavy with sweat, fear, and defeat. The prisoners didn't look at him. They didn't speak. They had given up, resigned to their fate.
But Elliot couldn't. Not yet.
His pulse still raced, his mind still screamed for answers.
*Who was Rhaegos? How can I use his powers again?*
He leaned back against the cold bars, pushing away the creeping panic.
*I won't stay here. I won't be broken.*
The night crept closer, and as the wind howled through the trees and the slavers' camp crackled with the sound of fire,
But Elliot knew one thing for sure.
This was far from over.