Awakening in a New Body

Pain.

That was the first thing he felt.

His body was heavy, as if weighed down by iron, and his mind was clouded, trapped in a fog of confusion. Thoughts twisted and tangled within him, memories overlapping—his past, his death, and now… this. One thing became painfully clear: he was no longer himself.

Slowly, he forced his eyes open. A dim, flickering light greeted him, its glow weak and unsteady, casting long, shifting shadows on the walls. The air was damp, carrying the faint scent of old books and candle wax.

His breath came out ragged. He felt his chest rise and fall, but the sensation was foreign, as if he were inhabiting a body that did not belong to him. Panic flared for a brief moment before he steadied himself.

Where… am I?

He tried to move, only to feel a sharp, burning pain in his head, as if something was drilling into his skull. Groaning, he clenched his fists, feeling the coarse fabric of the bed beneath him.

It was then that he noticed something strange.

His hands.

They were not his own.

The fingers were slender yet strong, the skin paler than he remembered. His nails were neatly trimmed, his palms calloused—a sign of someone who had spent time writing, handling delicate instruments, or perhaps… studying.

A chilling realization crept over him.

This body—it wasn't his.

He swallowed hard and sat up with great effort. The room around him was small but elegant, lined with wooden shelves filled with books. A desk sat near the window, covered in parchment, ink bottles, and an old brass lamp. Outside, through the rain-streaked glass, he could see the silhouette of a grand city under a sky shrouded in mist.

He reached up, pressing a hand against his forehead, trying to steady his thoughts.

Who am I now?

A sudden rush of foreign memories flooded his mind.

Julius Cross.

That was the name.

A student of the arcane. A scholar of the unseen. A man whose ambitions had led him down a dangerous path—one filled with whispers in the dark, forbidden knowledge, and secrets not meant for mortal minds.

And now, somehow, he had become Julius Cross.

His breathing quickened as fragments of this new life surfaced. He saw flashes of candlelit rituals, hooded figures, pages filled with incomprehensible symbols… and a lingering sensation of something watching from the shadows.

Then, just as suddenly, the memories stopped, leaving him gasping for air.

His pulse pounded in his ears.

The realization was overwhelming, but there was no time to panic. He needed to understand what had happened.

He needed to survive.

Before he could process everything, a knock echoed against the wooden door.

"Julius?" A voice—soft yet filled with concern. "Are you awake?"

His heart nearly stopped.

Someone knew him. Someone expected him to be Julius.

Swallowing the uncertainty clawing at his throat, he forced himself to answer.

"…Yes."

His voice was unfamiliar to his own ears—deeper, more refined. But it was enough.

The doorknob turned.

The past life of Elias Corvin was gone.

Now, he was Julius Cross.

And his new story was just beginning.

To Be Continued…