"—ngh."

Iskander reached for his phone beside the bed. 

The alarm sound, combined with the nightmare he had just experienced, only added to his annoyance at being woken up. Despite that, he forced himself to wake up anyway.

His rented room was small, consisting of a bedroom, kitchen, and bathroom. If the space were a full square, half of it was dedicated to the bedroom, while the other half was divided between the kitchen and bathroom.

Most of his belongings were stored in the bedroom. They were neatly arranged—shoes, clothes, laptop, and other items. Overall, Iskander's room was very clean. At the moment, the only thing that wasn't clean was Iskander's emotions.

Iskander was a young man with slightly curly black hair, a face often considered intimidating due to the shape of his eyelids and pupils, and a height of just 165 cm. You could still see signs of youth in him—because he was, after all, a young person, only turning eighteen this year.

Back during my internship, one of the employees once said that every time he woke up in the morning, he always felt sad— I understand how he feels now.

Well, it had been less than six months since he graduated from vocational school. He had only started working for a week now. His discomfort stemmed from not being used to it yet.

He forced himself out of bed, showered, ate, and prepared for work.

Wearing plain clothes, he covered himself with a black jacket while grabbing his chest pouch containing his driver’s license, id card, the motorcycle key, and other small but important items. Iskander hurried out of his room, not forgetting to lock it, and tried to start his motorcycle.

His residence was quite far from the main road, located in a densely populated neighborhood that was surprisingly not very noisy. Cars couldn’t pass through the narrow streets there. Even two motorcycles sometimes couldn’t pass each other. Along the many alleyways, the sides were lined with residential buildings where Iskander lived.

There was a small terrace in front of his room, just enough space for one motorcycle, where his own was parked there.

Iskander started his motorcycle and rode off to his workplace.

Iskander worked at a printing company. He assisted in making books, invitations, posters, banners, and even t-shirts, packaging, and other such things.

The work wasn’t hard, but it was exhausting. It also tended to get messy with ink, so Iskander and most of the workers wore informal clothes just in case. It would be a hassle if it got on their clothes.

Once he hit the main road, his mind switched to autopilot. Getting a gaming laptop and phone comes first.

Iskander thought seriously. It didn’t show on his face, but it was something he often did.

I like writing.

Just liking it. I'm not that good or even a bit good, probably.

But by using the time I have left after work, I might be able to gain an audience, generate enough income to quit my current job. I wouldn’t have to work eight hours a day anymore, and freely manage my work schedule!

A grin unconsciously crept onto his face. Thankfully, the helmet covered it.

Working on a hobby is a beautiful dream. I mean, who wouldn’t want that?

[Confirmed]

“Ah?”

A holographic text floated within his field of vision. 

The hell? 

Fortunately, he was not close to other vehicles or driving at high speed at that moment, or it could have been very dangerous. Whatever had just float across his vision distracted him.

What was that? he frowned.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

As if answering his question, it reappeared.

[Iskander Yansen’s soul has a high compatibility with Aiura Moor. Initiating transmigration process—]

What did it—

Before he could think further, his vision suddenly distorted, turning all black.

----------------------------------------

[Awaken]

"...?"

Iskander’s eyes fluttered open following a faint jolt.

His gaze drifted upward. He quickly realized he was lying down. Above him stretched a cloudy sky, tinged with the deep red of a fading sunset. Crimsons bled into the horizon, casting an eerie glow over his surroundings. Jagged structures pierced the sky, crumbling remnants of what seemed to be a ruined building. The sight would have normally frozen him in confusion, but at this moment, he could barely summon the energy to even care.

—It f*cking hurts...!

He couldn’t help but groan, his body trembling incessantly as he tried to keep himself from breaking down—even the act of trembling sent searing pain through him. 

What the hell? I was just riding my motorcycle… I remember that much. Did I crash? No… it’s that damn hologram. That must be it!

He struggled to piece things together.

He had been living an ordinary life. A recent high school graduate, freshly hired at an offset printing company. A new job, a new place to live—a simple life without fanfare. Nothing about his daily routine had ever hinted at anything out of the ordinary.

So why am I here, suffering?

Iskander hadn’t understood a thing.

Without even realizing it, his arm moved on its own, propping him into a sitting position. The pain still throbbed with every slight motion, but he managed to push through it, wincing as he did. He glanced down at his body, confusion tugging at him.

His clothes were different—some sort of black garment, thick and rugged like animal hide. The unfamiliarity of it bothered him, but what confused him was the sight of his own hands.

What kind of skin is this? Could a human even have this kind of skin?

It wasn’t corpse-like, nor grotesque in the way of something inhuman, but there was an otherworldly quality to it, a slight sheen that made it seem... enhanced. If he had this skin back on Earth, people would have surely looked at him strangely, but with fascination rather than revulsion.

He shook his head and turned his attention to his surroundings.

The walls of the structure around him were half-destroyed, open to the sky above, where night was beginning to fall. Stars slowly emerged, dotting the heavens. Large windows lined the walls, some still intact, others shattered. The broken glass lay scattered among the debris, sparkling faintly under the growing starlight. Some remnants of what looked like telescopic instruments lay scattered around.

A strange sense of clarity began to settle on his mind. I’m not on Earth anymore.

If I believe that hologram, I’m transmigrated. 

He wasn’t unfamiliar with the concept of transmigration. He knew it literally that transmigration means soul transfer. It's not equal to being transported to another world, but it usually is.

Though not exactly a fan of otherworldly fantasies, he had come across enough stories on the subject at some point in his life. Am I one of those chosen ones?

There wasn’t much else he could see in the room—except for a small door leading to another room and, just beneath where he had been sitting, a partially destroyed circle inscribed with strange symbols. Within it, remnants of symbols resembling stars and other celestial designs were still visible. Beyond that, the meaning eluded him.

At some point, the unbearable pain he initially felt had dulled to something more tolerable. It still pierced his focus now and then, but at least it was no longer all-consuming. That was when he realized something from that experience. If I’m not specifically dwelling on my memories from Earth, my mind seems to be adjusting more comfortably to this tougher body? Iskander was amused. A transmigration, though… What kind of body am I inhabiting?

He stared at a broken, dusty window nearby, its reflection dim but clear enough to his eyes. 

He raised an eyebrow with a wry grin.

Is that supposed to be me? Wow, lucky me.

His white hair fell just past his ears, a striking contrast against the dim ruins around him. His face—handsome, sharp, and cold—seemed oddly out of place amidst the ruin. Although his height was around 170 cm, his slender frame gave him an appearance of greater stature. Something in his stance strongly hinted at agility and precision. 

Just then, a familiar hologram appeared before him.

[Name: Aiura Moor 

Soul: Iskander Yansen 

Race: Elf (Possessed)]

Iskander stared at the information with a strange expression. The hologram had a transparent background, with white text in an unnaturally flowing script. Iskander struggled to catch what’s so unnatural about it, but he felt a sense of importance should he grasp it.

Am I hallucinating? It doesn’t feel like it...

Reaching up to his ear, he immediately felt the pointed tips. I mean, I’m really an elf.

His gaze wandered around the ruined structure. His thoughts quickly shifting to the abilities that might come with this body.

The place looked dangerous. I didn’t want to die.