A Scholar’s Second Life

Ethan Holmes adjusted his safety goggles, his sharp blue eyes scanning the holographic data on the monitor. The experimental energy reaction was reaching its critical point. Years of research, sleepless nights, and endless calculations had led to this moment.

Just a little more...

His heart pounded as the numbers on the screen fluctuated. The reaction chamber hummed with unstable energy, glowing with an eerie blue light. His colleagues had warned him that the current stability threshold was too low, but Ethan was confident. Science was about pushing boundaries.

Then, the alarms blared.

"System overload detected! Energy instability rising—"

His breath hitched. The containment field flickered. Sparks erupted from the machines. Ethan's mind raced, running equations at lightning speed, trying to adjust the parameters.

Too late.

A brilliant explosion of white light engulfed the lab. Heat and pressure crushed his body as he was hurled backward. His senses faded into darkness, his last thought bitterly simple.

"I should have checked my equations one more time."

***

Ethan gasped as his eyes flew open. His entire body ached, drenched in sweat. His breathing was shallow, heart hammering in his chest.

Instead of the crisp scent of sterilized lab equipment, he smelled mildew, damp wood, and something rotten. He tried to sit up but winced at the sudden wave of dizziness.

The room around him was crude and tiny, the wooden walls cracked, the roof sagging. A thin blanket covered his frail frame, and beneath him was a lumpy straw mattress that smelled of mold.

Where was the hospital? The laboratory?

He raised his hands. They were thin, bony, and smaller than he remembered. Panic surged through him. He scrambled to the side of the room where a rusted metal plate acted as a mirror.

A pale, malnourished boy with messy black hair and dull blue eyes stared back at him. His breath caught.

This wasn't his body.

And then—the flood of memories hit him like a collapsing dam.

3. The Orphan of Cordoba City

Images and emotions not his own crashed through his mind.

This body belonged to an orphan named Ethan Holmes, a 16-year-old boy from Cordoba City, a settlement within the Holy Dominion. The former Ethan had been poor, starving, and alone, succumbing to a fever that had claimed his life.

Cordoba City... yes, now he understood. A well-known city famous for literature, scholars, and strict devotion to the Church. Knowledge was valued here, but only within the limits of faith-sanctioned learning. Mages—those who pursued arcane knowledge—were considered heretics and burned alive.

Ethan let out a shaky laugh, half-amused, half-horrified.

"I died a scientist, and now I'm in a world where knowledge gets you executed. Great."

Despite the absurdity of the situation, his rational mind began assessing the facts.

He had no family, no money, and no resources.

His body was weak and malnourished.

The Holy Church ruled with an iron grip and magic—if real—was dangerous to even mention.

For now, his priority was survival.

Ethan forced himself up, his muscles protesting. He found a ragged brown cloak in the corner of the shack and wrapped it around himself before stepping outside.

The city was already alive with activity.

Cordoba City was a decent-sized medieval settlement, filled with narrow cobblestone streets and tall stone buildings. Priests in white robes walked solemnly among the crowds, while knights clad in silver armor patrolled with heavy swords at their hips.

Despite its rigid religious structure, the city had a thriving intellectual culture.

Scholars gathered in courtyards, debating philosophy and scripture.

Scribes copied books by hand, selling parchment scrolls in the market.

The grand library of Cordoba stood as a beacon of knowledge, towering over the lesser buildings.

Ethan's mind absorbed every detail.

"No glass windows, only wooden shutters. Currency seems to be coin-based—gold, silver, and copper. Bread is thick and coarse, likely made with less refined grain."

It was fascinating and terrifying at the same time.

His stomach growled painfully. He needed food.

Ethan wandered the alleys near the library, his gaze landing on a pile of discarded parchment and broken wooden boxes. His scientific mind immediately assessed their potential value.

Could this trash be useful?

He picked up some barely readable pages and a few wooden scraps and headed toward the merchant district. After haggling with a book vendor, he managed to sell the parchment for a few copper coins—enough for a simple meal.

At a street-side stall, he purchased a chunk of bread and a bowl of thin vegetable stew. He sat by an old stone wall, slowly eating.

"The bread is dry, but it's food. The stew is mostly water, but it's warm."

For the first time since arriving, he felt a small sense of victory.

As night fell, Ethan returned to his small shack, setting the remaining piece of bread aside for the next day.

He sat near the dim candlelight, staring at the flickering flame. Memories of his past life surfaced.

His family. His research. His old world.

He clenched his fists.

"Did anyone mourn me?"

"Did my research survive the explosion?"

"Would they even believe I'm here?"

The weight of it all finally broke him. He buried his face in his hands, silent tears streaming down his cheeks.

For a long time, he simply let himself grieve.

Then, he made a decision.

He couldn't change the past.

He was Ethan Holmes now, in a world where knowledge was a crime.

He had no choice but to survive—and adapt.

His mind sharpened with determination.

"If knowledge is hidden, I'll find it. If magic is forbidden, I'll uncover its secrets. If this world fears intelligence... then I will thrive in the shadows."

Ethan smirked through the tears.

"Let's see what this world has to offer."

As the candle burned lower, Ethan stared out at the moonlit city—his new reality, his new battlefield.