A single seed, suspended in darkness, burst open. Points of light streaked outward, navigating an invisible maze before converging into a dazzling flash that consumed everything. The brightness seared itself into your senses, and when you opened your eyes, you were... here.

You blink, disoriented, sprawled on the rough stone floor of what looks like a medieval kitchen. Wooden beams crisscross the ceiling, and the faint scent of herbs lingers in the air. Pressing your palms into the cold floor, you push yourself upright, glancing around. Had you fallen? Did the chair slip out from under you?

No. Something feels wrong. You don’t remember anything about this place—or much of anything, for that matter. Everything feels new.

Despite the strangeness of it all, you find yourself strangely receptive. A spark of curiosity flares within you. Whatever this is, it feels like an adventure waiting to happen.

The kitchen is primitive but functional, cluttered with well-worn utensils and neatly arranged jars of dried plants. Beyond it, a cozy sitting room comes into view. A mismatched armchair sits by the fireplace, next to a bookshelf crammed full of books.

Drawn to the shelf, you wander into the room, moving cautiously, as though trespassing in someone else’s home. The books are an eclectic mix—crafting guides, histories, fantasy novels. “A touch of the nerd,” you mutter with a wry smile. The sound surprises you; it’s deeper, warmer, and unfamiliar. Clearing your throat, you try again.

“Hello?” The voice resonates, rich and unfamiliar. It isn’t yours.

A sharp knock at the door jolts you. Before you can react, a melodic voice calls out, “Kevin?”

Kevin?

Hesitantly, you open the door. A woman greets you with a bright smile, her arms full of groceries.

“Could you grab this? I know, I know, you only sent me for the dailies, but the market had these wonderful herbs, and the traveling salesman brought books so I might have—” Her words trail off as her eyes meet yours.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she says, shuffling the bag to her other arm. She steps past you before you can respond. “You’re looking more spry than this morning! Feeling better since the festival? I even picked up that Potion of Sobering you asked for.”

You blink at her, trying to piece together a response, but your mind feels like a foggy blank.

She pauses, scrutinizing you more closely. “Oh, come on,” she says with a nervous laugh. “Stop messing around, Kevin!” But her laughter fades, and she drops the bag at her feet.

“Wait… Kevin?” she murmurs, her eyes narrowing. “Those pesky—”

You hesitate, your voice uncertain. “No. I’m… not. Who are you?”

Her gaze sharpens, and the weight of it presses down on you, unsettling and unrelenting.

She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she grabs your hand without warning, her grip firm and urgent. “Hold on,” she says, dragging you into the living room. “I have one of their pseudoscience scripts here.”

Her focus shifts entirely to the bookshelf, scanning its contents with manic intensity. Her fingers dance over the spines until she finds what she’s looking for—a leather-bound book. She yanks it free, flips it open with practiced familiarity, and shoves it into your hands.

The book is heavy, the cover embossed with swirling, intricate patterns that seem to shimmer faintly in the firelight. The first page is covered in an ornate, almost indecipherable script. It reminds you of something ancient—or maybe just some overly ambitious limited edition print.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” you ask, your bewilderment growing.

“Can you read it?” she demands, her excitement crackling in the air between you.

You glance down at the page, the strange letters shifting and rearranging themselves before your eyes. Words emerge where moments ago there was only chaos. “It’s… something about dimensionalism? Mana planes?” You flip to another page. “Shaping gestures?”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Her face lights up, a spark of exhilaration lighting her features. “So they are scripts!” she exclaims. But the joy is fleeting. As her eyes meet yours again, her expression shifts, her excitement dissolving into something much heavier—sadness, tinged with disbelief.

Her eyes drop to the floor as her voice drops to a whisper. “Kevin…”

The name grates against your growing frustration. “Who is Kevin?” you snap, the sharpness in your tone surprising even you.

Before she can respond, her knees buckle, and she collapses to the floor.

You freeze, stunned, the book slipping slightly in your grip. The room falls silent save for the faint crackle of the fireplace.

“What the hell just happened?” you mutter to yourself.

With little choice, you move quickly to prop her up in the armchair, her body limp but still breathing. You glance at the groceries scattered near the doorway and carry them to the kitchen, placing them on the table. “there”

Returning to the living room, you sit and examine the book she thrust into your hands. The pages seem to hum faintly under your fingertips. The text describes a world where reality can be bent and shaped, the very fabric of existence twisted and molded with focus and practice. It reads like a strange blend of fantasy and philosophy, something you might have dismissed outright under different circumstances.

But now? Now it feels… plausible.

When the woman stirs, you set the book aside and fix her with a pointed look. “Alright. Time for answers. Who are you, where am I, and what’s going on?”

She rubs her temples, muttering, “I need a drink first.” Rising shakily, she retrieves a bottle of wine from a cabinet and pours herself a glass. “Right,” she begins, her voice steadier now. “I’m Renee. I live here—with my husband, Kevin. Or… I did.” She downs the glass in one gulp and immediately pours another.

“And you know I’m not Kevin,” you say. Scanning the palms of your hands.

“Of course.” She studies you, her gaze heavy with something between grief and disbelief. “Kevin… he’s gone, isn’t he?” She looks you up and down, her expression darkening, but she presses on. “You’re an elf. Or something close enough. Last week, during the Summoning Festival, the ceremony called for a champion. We thought it failed, but…” She gestures vaguely at you with her glass.

You lean back, trying to process her words. “So let me get this straight: I’ve been summoned. Into someone else’s body. Your husband’s body?”

She winces, swirling the wine in her glass. “Yes. That part’s… less ideal.”

“You don’t seem particularly alarmed.”

She shrugs, pouring yet another drink. “Shock, probably. Or denial. Besides, the Head Summoner will explain everything better than I can.” Her proclamation ends with an exaggerated eye roll.

You nod slowly, the weight of her words settling over you. This wasn’t just a case of amnesia or mistaken identity. Something far stranger was at play. Your gaze drifts back to the book on the table, its strange text glowing faintly in the firelight.

Whatever was happening, you were determined to get to the bottom of it. And maybe, just maybe, find your way back to whoever—or wherever—you were before.

Your mind begins to wander, the edges of reality fraying ever so slightly. That’s when you see it—a blue orb, faint and swirling at the edge of your vision. You blink hard, rub your eyes, but it’s still there, hovering like a persistent fly.

“Do you see this?” you ask, pointing at the strange, gaseous orb.

Renee pauses mid-sip, squinting at you through her third glass of wine. “See what?”

You frown, shifting your gaze to her. The orb flickers, then vanishes, leaving behind only Renee’s bewildered expression. She follows your pointing finger, turning toward the window as though expecting something outside.

“What’s out there?” she asks, spinning awkwardly on her heel.

“Never mind,” you mutter, lowering your hand. She doesn’t see it.

Renee exhales loudly and drains the rest of her wine, setting the glass down with a faint clink. Her cheerful voice rises, a brittle edge betraying the hollowness behind it. “Well, no time like the present!” she declares, her tone an odd mix of forced enthusiasm and teacher-like authority.

She rolls her eyes at herself but forces the smile to remain. “Come on. The Head Summoner’s probably still at the inn. He spent half the festival day there yesterday, so gods know he’s still nursing a hangover.”

You hesitate, glancing back toward where the orb had hovered. It felt like more than a trick of the light. But Renee is already moving, grabbing a coat and swinging the door open, a gust of cold air pulling at her hair.

“Let’s go,” she calls over her shoulder. “If anyone can make sense of this, it’s him.”

You follow her out, your mind buzzing with questions and the faint image of that blue, shifting light.

A strange sensation lingers, sharp and electric, as if the faint hum had followed you outside and settled deep in your chest. You stop, blinking, the air around you vibrating ever so slightly. It feels… familiar, though you can’t quite place why.

Before you can linger, Renee rushes past you, muttering under her breath. She slips back through the doorway, disappearing inside for a moment, then reemerges with flushed cheeks and a coat bundled in her arms.

“Here,” she says, thrusting it at you. Her tone is brisk, but a flicker of embarrassment softens her expression. “At least wear his coat. You could catch a cold. Can you? I… I don’t know.” She winces at her own rambling, shoving the coat into your hands. “Just—please wear it.”