Huff.

Huff.

Huff.

I kept running, my chest burning as the rain started falling, light at first, then heavier with every step I took. I kept glancing back, expecting them to chase me, to come after me. But there was no one. Just me, alone in the storm.

I reached the bridge, my feet heavy, my breath ragged. The rain mixed with the sweat and blood on my skin, washing it all away like it didn’t even matter.

"Ha... HAHAHAHAHA!"

I laughed so hard it hurt, a hollow sound that echoed into the emptiness around me. I didn’t even know why. Maybe it was the absurdity of it all—how my life had turned into a nightmare so quickly. Just yesterday, I was celebrating my growth, feeling like I was finally becoming someone worth being proud of. And now? Everything was shattered.

I walked to the edge of the bridge, gripping the cold metal railing with trembling hands. The knife was still in my hand, blood dripping off its edge and mixing with the rain. I looked down at the water below, dark and huge waves, swirling with the storm.

"It’s clear," I muttered, my voice almost blocked by the sound of rain.

I took a shaky breath and stepped onto the peak of the bridge, the rain stinging my skin. Raising my arms out to the sides, I felt the weight of everything crushing down on me—the fear, the regrets, the pain I’d been carrying for years.

"I'm pathetic," I said, laughing bitterly.

The thought of jumping off felt... simple. One step and it’d all be over. No more pain, no more fear, no more trying to figure out why life felt like one endless cycle of being beaten down. But then the questions started flooding in.

What if I’d fought back earlier? What if I had just said no? What if I hadn’t been so afraid? Would my life be different? Would I still be here?

But it didn’t matter now. It was too late.

I stepped forward.

The water, it was painful jumping from that height. The impact shocked every nerve in my body, and my lungs burned as water filled them. I thrashed, desperate for air, for anything to hold onto, but the river pulled me down.

This is what you wanted, I told myself. But as my body fought to stay alive, I realized how much I hated it—hated the feeling of suffocating, hated how helpless I was.

I couldn’t stop thinking. About the things I never got to do, the potential I’d thrown away, the way I let everyone and everything walk all over me.

If I had another chance, I’d fight. I’d fight for myself, for my happiness. I wouldn’t let fear control me anymore.

But it was too late for regrets. My vision blurred, my lungs tightened, and my thoughts faded.

I sank, feeling like trash being swallowed by the deep.

Then, through the darkness, a bright orb appeared, glowing faintly. It moved toward me quickly, cutting through the water like a comet. My vision was fading, but I saw it—just barely—before my mind went blank.

And then...

Clink.

[You are being reincarnated.]

[Searching for a host...]

[Failed.]

[Searching for another...]

[Failed.]

[Searching for another host...]

[Failed.]

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

[Searching in another world...]

Clink.

[100% Success & Compatibility.]

Clink.

[Preparing for takeover...]

[Success.]

I didn’t hear all of it, not clearly, but I heard enough. Reincarnated? That was impossible. I didn’t believe it—or at least, I didn’t want to. But when I woke up, the proof was all around me.

I can see, my left eye can see clearly.

And I wasn’t dead.

I blinked. The air was damp and cold. The walls around me were made of rough, gray stone, and the room was small—tiny, really. There was nothing but a thin bed, a bucket, and shadows.

A jail cell.

I sat up, my body aching in unfamiliar ways. Scars lined my arms and chest, deep and jagged, like a roadmap of pain. Some were thin and straight, knife wounds by the look of them. Others were rougher, like burns or whip marks.

Who is this guy?

I glanced around, catching sight of a violet leaf on the bed. Beside it, a dark stain on the ground—dried blood and vomit. My stomach twisted. He looked like he poisoned himself or someone poisoned him.

I tried to stand, but as soon as I moved, a sharp spark of pain shot through my skull. It was like someone had taken a hammer to my brain. I grabbed my head and let out a low groan, my knees buckling under the pressure.

"Arrgh..."

Then it came to me—waves of memories that weren’t mine, crashing into my mind like a strong flood. Faces, voices, places I’d never seen before. The pain eased, but the memories didn’t stop.

That’s when I learned his name. The name of this man.

Zachary. Zachary Hale.

The second-youngest son of a duke, a noble born into wealth and privilege—but, as the memories showed me, that didn’t mean much. Zachary was a disappointment to his family. Talentless, they called him. Useless. He’d trained, sure—his body wasn’t completely soft—but it was clear his efforts had never been enough to earn anyone’s respect.

And now, I was in his body.

I felt excitement at first. Living again? Fully breathing and feeling alive? That was a feeling I can't even explain! I could finally live a better life, maybe even fix some of the mistakes that ruined me before.

But then reality set in.

I was in jail.

The memories filled in the gaps quickly. A week ago, Zachary had been caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. He stumbled across a rebel meeting—men and women plotting against the king—and before he could explain himself, he was thrown into jail. Worse, his family had done nothing to help him.

Suspected of treason.

It didn’t matter that he was innocent. I thought being noble meant everything but when those memories come crashing to me, I learned that being noble meant nothing if your own family didn’t stand by you.

I knew I had to stop reacting like I always did before. Reacting out of fear or anger never worked. This time, I had to think. Plan.

I had to get out of here.

But how?

It wasn’t like I could break out. I had to prove that I was innocent, that I was caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. The truth should’ve been enough, but no one was listening. I was stuck, and this wasn’t going to be easy.

I needed to think, and I needed to do it fast. Fear couldn’t control me this time. But as I tried to focus, I heard footsteps.

Thud-thud-thud.

They were getting closer, and my heart raced. I wasn’t ready for whatever was coming next, but there was no stopping it now.

A man appeared in front of my cell. He was huge, tall, broad, with a thick black beard and hair. His military uniform looked too big on him, but the way he carried himself showed power. Confidence.

He grinned when he saw me. “Yo, didn’t expect you to look so relaxed in there,” he said, like he was enjoying it.

I couldn’t tell if he was mocking me or just being smug. Either way, his presence made the tension in the air even thicker.

“You gotta step out for a moment,” he said. “Your interrogation’s starting.”

I stood up and walked towards the door. It felt like the world had narrowed down to just me and him. I was about to be interrogated.

He unlocked the cell, and as I stepped outside, I felt how much smaller I was compared to him. He could’ve easily crushed me if he wanted to. His presence felt like a wall of muscle and authority.

The word “interrogation” stuck in my mind. I had no idea what to expect, but one thing was certain: I had to stay calm. I needed to answer their questions without giving anything away. Prove I was innocent.

This wasn’t just my chance to escape—I had to prove I wasn’t guilty of treason. But I’d never been interrogated before. I didn’t know how it worked. I had to think carefully, because one wrong move could be the end of everything.

I just had to hold it together.

Thud-thud-thud.

Thud-thud-thud.

The sound of footsteps echoed through the cold hallway, getting louder with each step. We passed by a few cells, some prisoners barely clinging to life, others just sleeping, lost in their own world. The constant thud-thud-thud was like a countdown, each step pulling me deeper into whatever fate awaited me.

Creak.

The door opened, and I stepped into a room that looked too clean for a place like this. A large, chubby guy sat at a desk, grinning like he knew everything.

"So, it's gonna be interrogation time, huh, Mr. Hale?" he said, his voice almost mocking.

I didn’t reply, just walked past him and took a seat. I wasn’t about to let him get to me.

"Your father must be in a rage," he added, smirking as if the thought amused him.

Before I could even think of responding, the tall, muscular man with me pointed at the chubby guy. "Do me a favor, and leave the room already."

The chubby guy didn’t argue. "Fine. Just be quick with that," he muttered, standing up and leaving the room.

Now it was just me and the big guy. His presence was overwhelming, like he could break me with a single look. I sat across from him, trying to keep my breathing steady. The table between us felt like it was miles wide.

"Alright," he said, leaning forward. "I know you’re a noble, but let me tell you something—nobles are plastic. They’re snakes. I don’t like liars. If I catch you lying, I’ll make sure you’re executed. And I’ve got the power to make that happen."

I wasn’t sure if he was just trying to scare me or if he really would do it. Either way, I wasn’t about to show fear. I nodded, trying to hide the chill running down my spine.

"What? Are you deaf?" he snapped suddenly, his voice booming, filling the small room. "I need answers, damn it!"

I flinched at his shout, my ears ringing, but I quickly pulled myself together. This wasn’t the time to crumble. "Y...yes!" I stammered, forcing myself to look him in the eye.

He stared at me for a long moment, as if waiting for me to break. When I didn’t, he asked, "Why were you at the location where the rebels were meeting?"

If I wasn’t careful, I could say the wrong thing and everything could fall apart. I had to stay calm. I thought back to the memories of this body’s original owner—Zachary Hale. He had been meeting with a swordsmith. Simple, no political connection, no rebel ties.

"I was about to meet a swordsmith," I said, my voice steady.

He didn’t buy it. "A swordsmith?" He laughed, shaking his head. "Why would a swordsmith meet you on an open street? Swordsmiths have shops. Why would he want to meet in a place like that?"

I knew this was coming. He was trying to poke holes in my story. "I’m telling the truth. Check my record—you’ll see I’ve never been involved in any kind of political movement or rebellion. And I was there for only five minutes before the guards showed up. If I was a rebel, why would I risk being caught?"

I could feel my heart racing as I spoke. Was he buying it? Or was I digging myself deeper?

But he wasn’t done. "And you aren’t suspicious of this swordsmith? Why would he meet you in such a hidden, dark place? Doesn’t that seem strange to you?"

"I think it’s a setup," I said, forcing myself to sound calm, but inside I was freaking out. Someone had to be framing me. It made too much sense.

The big guy chuckled, a low, mocking sound. "You’re reaching, aren’t you? Trying to talk your way out of this. It’s pathetic."

I wasn’t backing down. "Have you searched my belongings?" I shot back, my voice sharp.

He stopped, clearly taken aback by my question. "No. But we will. After this. We’ll go straight and check the Hale estate."

The thing was, I had to talk my way out of this. If I could keep answering their questions and stall them long enough, they’d eventually check my belongings. And once they saw there was no proof to link me to the rebellion, they’d have to let me go. At least, that’s what I was hoping for.