[Third Person's PoV]
Alex Mont had always been captivated by magic. The idea of bending reality with a few words or hand signs fascinated him. As a kid, any movie or show featuring magic instantly caught his attention. Then came the comic books, which opened an entirely new world for him.
He loved them all—especially Marvel. Whether it was Doctor Strange, Scarlet Witch, or even Doctor Doom, Alex was hooked. Magic wasn't something he ever grew out of, though he wasn't one of those kids at school who pretended to be a wizard. His imagination provided all the space he needed for that; there was no need to embarrass himself in public.
Since real magic wasn't exactly in the cards, Alex settled for the next best thing: learning simple magic tricks online. It became a hobby, something he enjoyed practicing in his free time.
At 18, Alex moved out of his parents' home, finding a small apartment and a part-time job to support himself while continuing his education. When he got his first paycheck, he felt proud, wanting to reward himself with something special.
He wandered into a bookstore, looking for something meaningful—something about magic, no matter how small. As he scanned the rows of fantasy books, his fingers grazed over each spine until he froze.
"Pfft... 'Book of Spells'? Seriously?" he muttered, chuckling to himself. "I can't take that seriously. That's too funny."
Amused, he picked up the book and started flipping through the pages. The parchment-like paper, detailed with magic circles, hand signs, and flowing cursive writing, caught his attention.
"Huh... it's like a grimoire," he said, intrigued. "This is too weird not to buy."
At the register, the cashier glanced at the book, then back at Alex's awkward grin. She shook her head, amused, and scanned the purchase. Alex paid, heading home with a small but satisfying smile.
Later that night, he sat on his bed, flipping through the pages again. "Hmm… 'Samsara Recycle'? What kind of spell is that? Ugh, why is it in cursive? I hate cursive—it gives me a headache."
"A reincarnation spell… leads to your next cycle in exchange for your current life force," he read aloud. A smirk formed on his lips. "Heh... sure, why not? Let's give it a shot."
Setting the book aside, Alex began practicing the hand signs. His eyes darted over the page as his grin widened. "Alright, let's see if I can do this."
He mimicked the intricate gestures slowly at first, twisting his fingers into unfamiliar shapes. Feeling a bit ridiculous but too entertained to stop, he whispered the incantation softly, his voice barely louder than a murmur.
"Solum vitae transitus... vertere circulum aeternum..."
The foreign words felt strange on his tongue, but there was something exhilarating about pretending to be Doctor Strange, even if it was just for fun. His imagination ran wild, picturing glowing glyphs forming around him. He smiled, caught up in the fantasy.
Finally, Alex formed the last hand sign—a triangle. He exhaled, completing the incantation: "Samsara Recycle!"
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then, a low hum filled the room.
Alex blinked, glancing around as the book on his lap began to glow faintly. The symbols on the pages pulsed, as if they were alive. The air felt thick, charged with energy. His heart raced. This couldn't be real. Could it?
The glow intensified, casting eerie shadows on the walls. His hands, still locked in the final hand sign, began to tingle. Warmth spread through his fingers, growing stronger with every second.
"Holy crap..." he whispered.
Suddenly, a gust of wind whipped through the room, even though the windows were shut. Papers flew, curtains rustled, and Alex could feel an invisible pull—something far beyond his understanding. His heart pounded as the magic circle from the page lifted off the paper, hovering in the air, swirling with an ethereal light.
This wasn't a game anymore.
He felt his body being pushed, and for a moment, he saw himself falling backward. But strangely, he was still sitting upright. His hands were translucent.
"This is aweso—" Before he could finish, his astral form was sucked into the glowing book. The room flared with bright light as the pages fluttered violently. Then, everything went still. The book softly floated down, landing on his now-empty bed. His physical body was nowhere to be seen.
---
In an Alternate Reality:
The rain poured down in torrents, the only sound cutting through the night as two figures raced through the mud. Panting heavily, their feet squelched with every step.
The woman cradled a basket in her arms, shielding it from the storm with her long red cloak. Inside, a baby slept soundly, oblivious to the chaos. She pulled the cloak tighter around the infant, trying to keep him warm. Beside her, the baby's father clutched a medallion shaped like a closed eye, his face etched with determination.
He muttered something under his breath, forming quick hand signs. A clone of themselves appeared, sprinting off in the opposite direction.
"That should buy us a few minutes. Let's go," he said, his voice strained with exhaustion.
They pushed forward through the dense forest until the outline of a church appeared in the distance. The couple exchanged a look—sad but resolute. This was it.
When they reached the church steps, they noticed two other baskets already placed there. The father grimaced. "Okay, that's a little strange… Get it?"
"Not the time, honey."
"Sorry..."
The mother unwrapped her cloak, swaddling it around the baby.
"Are you sure?" the father asked, his voice barely a whisper.
"I want him to remember me by this," she replied softly.
Nodding, he gently placed the medallion atop the sleeping baby's chest. "Better in his hands than theirs," he said, his voice thick with emotion.
They kissed the baby one last time before stepping back. The father waved his hand, causing a small card to appear atop the medallion.
Without another word, they fled into the night, tears streaming down their faces.
After a second later the door to the church opened, out came the father of the church looking around in confusion. He looked down and froze when he noticed three baskets along his doorsteps.
"Uhhh… is this a special event or something? Why is everyone suddenly leaving their babies at the doorstep?" Father Orsi muttered in confusion.
He picked up the first too and set them on the table before returning for the last one. "Let's see… This one left a card with a name, that's good… Stephen Strange. A last name… was he an abandoned noble?"
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