Ian groaned as he stirred awake, his body feeling oddly light. Everything seemed off—the softness of the bed beneath him, the quiet stillness of the room, and even the way his limbs moved. His body didn't feel like his own. Smaller. Younger?
Sitting up groggily, Ian rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the fog of sleep. The bed he was on wasn't the creaky twin mattress in his dorm. This bed was massive, with sheets that felt far too smooth and expensive to belong to him.
"What the…?" he muttered, blinking as his eyes adjusted. The room around him was no less luxurious—a high ceiling adorned with intricate carvings, a massive chandelier, and walls lined with polished wood and marble. This wasn't his dorm. This wasn't even anywhere he'd ever been.
Instead of panicking, Ian closed his eyes and took a series of slow, deep breaths. Alright, assess the situation. Freaking out won't help.
He reached to his side for his phone, but his hand only met soft fabric. Frowning, Ian looked around the room. No desk. No chair. No phone. Just an ornate vanity, a wardrobe that looked like it belonged in a museum, and a massive set of curtains shielding the room from the sunlight.
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Ian let his bare feet touch the cold marble floor. The chill made him shiver, but what startled him more was his legs themselves—slimmer, smaller, pale.
His hands flew to his arms. Thin, pale skin stretched over wiry muscle. These weren't the arms of a 22-year-old college student who occasionally worked out. They were…a kid's arms.
"What the hell is going on?" he muttered, standing up on shaky legs. His heart thudded in his chest as he scanned the room for a mirror. He needed to see.
That's when he caught it—a reflection glinting faintly on the marble wall, where a sliver of sunlight broke through the heavy curtains. Ian froze.
The reflection wasn't his.
Bright, messy curls of crimson hair framed a face that was both delicate and sharp, with piercing cyan eyes that almost glowed in the dim light. A youthful, almost princely face stared back at him—a face he'd seen countless times before on his computer screen.
Ian's breath hitched. His mind raced as realization struck.
"No way… No freaking way," he whispered, stumbling closer to the marble wall for a better look. The reflection moved with him, confirming what he already knew deep down.
Bright red hair. Cyan eyes. A face so frustratingly familiar it sent chills down his spine.
"Orin Ragnis?!" he blurted out, his voice cracking with a mix of disbelief and panic.
The name echoed in the luxurious room, sealing the truth in his mind. Ian Winters, an ordinary college student, had somehow woken up in the body of Orin Ragnis—the third-rate villain from Eternal Reverie. The character destined to die before the story even truly began.