Darkness. Thick, suffocating, absolute darkness!
James—or whoever he was now—drifted in it, weightless and cold. His body felt distant, like a puppet with severed strings. Slowly, awareness began to seep back in—a dull throb in his temples, a chill seeping into his skin, and an ache in muscles he wasn't sure were his own.
Then came the smells: damp wood, stale ale, and faint traces of herbs—lavender, maybe? Or something bitterer. Dust clung to the back of his throat, making him cough weakly as his senses sharpened, piece by agonizing piece.
This isn't my apartment!
His breath hitched, panic bubbling in his chest.
He tried to move, his limbs protesting as though they'd been filled with lead. When his hand finally rose to his forehead, he froze.
His fingers were wrong. Slimmer, longer, unfamiliar.
His breathing quickened. His head pounded. His body wasn't his.
"Where…am I?" The words scraped out of his throat, dry and hoarse.
His voice didn't even sound quite right.
Pushing through the panic, he forced himself upright, teeth gritted with effort.
A coarse, tattered blanket slipped from his shoulders as he sat up. The faint sliver of moonlight slipping through a narrow, dirty window painted weak outlines of the room around him.
A slanted wooden ceiling loomed low above his head, its beams darkened with age and moisture. The walls were rough and uneven, with shadows creeping into every corner. A small nightstand sat by the bed, supporting an unlit candle and a dusty, leather-bound book.
His heart hammered in his chest as he took in the scene.
This wasn't New York. This wasn't his dingy studio apartment, and this wasn't—
Wait.
His head snapped up, his last memory flaring to life with startling clarity: crossing the street late at night, headlights blinding him, tires screeching. Impact. Pain. Darkness.
Cold sweat broke across his forehead.
Did I…die?
His chest tightened as panic clawed its way up his throat. But before he could spiral, a sharp, searing pain lanced through his skull. He clutched his head, groaning as a flood of alien memories slammed into him.
Fragmented images, feelings, and sensations that weren't his poured into his mind—drunken laughter, the clink of mugs, a crackling fireplace. And then…a face.
Warm brown eyes, soft wavy hair, and a kind smile.
"Mom?" The word slipped out, unbidden and raw.
But she wasn't his mother. No, these memories didn't belong to James—they belonged to Lennox Morgan.
The name surfaced, sharp and clear, like a key unlocking everything else.
Lennox was seventeen. The illegitimate son of a nobleman. Raised in a crumbling tavern in a remote border town called Greywater. His mother, Kimberly Morgan, had fought tooth and nail to keep their tavern running after being cast aside by Lennox's father.
But she was gone now. Dead under circumstances that felt far too suspicious.
The grief hit him like a punch to the gut. It wasn't quite his grief, but it was.
James—no, Lennox—let out a shaky breath, his chest tight with a strange, bitter ache.
He looked around again, and suddenly the unfamiliar felt…less unfamiliar. The lavender scent? His mother's favorite herb. The blanket wrapped around him? She used to tuck him in with it on cold nights.
It was his room. His attic. His home.
Memories continued to slot into place, fitting like jagged puzzle pieces forced together.
"I didn't survive death just to sit here and wallow," he muttered, his voice trembling slightly but resolute. "If I'm here, I'm here. Time to deal with all this."
As if answering his declaration, a pulse of energy rolled through him—cold and sharp, like diving into an icy lake. Every nerve lit up, every sense sharpened, and then—
A glowing, translucent screen flickered into existence before him, hovering in the air.
[Fateless soul discovered.]
[Conditions to bind the Mystic Tavern met…]
Lennox froze.
A floating screen? Glowing letters in mid-air?
His lips twitched despite himself. "Okay, so either I'm hallucinating, or I've just spawned into a fantasy RPG. Cool. Totally normal."
But the screen wasn't done.
[Welcome, Lennox Morgan. You have been chosen as the new Master of the Mystic Tavern.]
"A tavern?" he said aloud, frowning. "I got reincarnated and my grand destiny is to serve drinks and mop floors?"
The screen flickered in response, like it was sighing at him.
[The Mystic Tavern is a unique establishment with the potential to transcend worlds.]
[It is your foundation, sanctuary, and key to unlocking limitless power.]
[However, it is currently in a state of disrepair. As its Master, it is your responsibility to restore and manage the tavern. In return, the tavern will provide the tools and opportunities for you to grow stronger.]
Transcend worlds? Limitless power?
His frown deepened. "So…basically, it's a tavern with cheat codes. Got it."
He let out a long breath, rubbing his temples. The idea of running a tavern felt absurd—he could barely cook pasta without starting a fire.
But then…he remembered the tavern itself. He could see it in his mind: dusty floors, cracked wooden counters, a faded sign swinging outside on rusted hinges.
His mother had loved that place.
His chest tightened again.
The screen flickered one more time, almost hesitating before displaying its next message.
Lennox couldn't help but visualize a tiny, frustrated office worker or a strange-looking scholarly alien sweating in some distant realm while typing furiously on a cosmic keyboard.
[You must decide where to establish your Mystic Tavern.]
[You may choose to rebuild the tavern left by your mother here in Greywater, or relocate to another region with greater potential for growth.]
Lennox froze.
Stay? In this remote, debt-ridden town on the border of nowhere? Or start fresh somewhere bustling with patrons and wealth—a better chance at building his "legendary" tavern?
It should have been an easy choice. But…
His mother's face flickered in his mind. Her tired smile, her determined eyes.
Greywater wasn't just a run-down border town—it was home.
He ran a hand through his now-wavy hair, letting out a soft, mirthless laugh.
"Seriously, System? You're hitting me with moral dilemmas on Day One?"
But he already knew his answer.
Straightening his back, Lennox looked directly at the glowing screen and spoke clearly.
"I'll stay. Greywater's my home, and I'm not letting my mother's tavern rot away."
The screen shimmered brighter, as if pleased with his answer.
[Location Confirmed: Greywater Tavern]
A soft chime resonated in the air, followed by a warm surge of energy that spread through his chest and into every corner of his being.