The silence wasn't just a lack of sound; it was a physical force, pressing inward, making my skull throb as if it might split.
No whisper, no rustle, not even the faintest breath of air -just an oppressive void that swallowed everything but the raw ache in my chest and the searing burn behind my eyes.
This wasn't the gentle fade from sleep, nor the comforting embrace of a new dawn. This was pain, sharp and relentless.
My limbs, heavy as lead, refused to obey.
They felt alien, disconnected, as if my own blood had retreated to some unreachable depth.
I was suspended, weightless, caught between a terrifying abyss and the cold, unfeeling earth.
Slowly, painfully, my eyelids peeled open.
The ceiling above was a blur of jagged stone, ancient and utterly foreign.
Dim, sickly torchlight painted long, dancing shadows across the rough-hewn walls, each flicker a silent pulse echoing the frantic beat of my heart.
This room was a fortress, its stone walls cold and unyielding, but it was more than that.
It was a cage.
Not just for my body, but for my mind, which thrashed against bars of confusion, desperate to grasp at something, anything, that made sense.
Everything remained stubbornly out of focus.
A dull, persistent throb radiated from the base of my skull.
I tried to lift a hand, to press against the agony, but my arm remained a dead weight.
The familiar dominion over my own flesh, a control I'd always taken for granted, was utterly absent.
Panic, cold and sharp, clawed at the edges of my awareness.
But I gritted my teeth, forcing myself into a rigid stillness.
"Young Master Kael... You're awake!"
The voice broke through my haze like a blade through fog, sharp and clear despite the persistent ringing in my ears.
It was a woman's voice—soft, but with a hint of urgency, almost a breathless relief.
A flicker of movement caught my attention as a figure appeared beside me, blocking out one of the flickering torchlights.
Her form was blurry at first, a shapeless mass against the dim light, but it cleared with each agonizingly slow second.
I turned my head, painstakingly, to look at her.
She was young, no older than seventeen, her delicate features framed by pale blonde hair that spilled over her shoulders.
Her eyes, wide and a startling shade of blue, were filled with genuine worry.
She was a maid, dressed in a simple, cream-colored uniform with a neat white apron—the standard attire of someone in service.
But there was something about her eyes that hinted at something more.
Something deeper than mere duty.
A profound personal distress that mirrored my own.
The moment she saw me stir, truly stir, she gasped, a small, choked sound.
Relief, so potent it was almost tangible, flooded her face, washing away some of the worry.
"Young Master Kael, you're awake! Thank the gods.
I was so worried, truly, for days... we all were."
Her voice trembled, the last word barely a whisper.
She took a step closer, her hand hovering as if she wanted to reach out but didn't dare.
I tried to speak, to form a coherent question, but my throat was dry, scratchy, like I hadn't had a drop of water in a week.
I barely managed a croak, a raw sound that grated on my own ears.
"Where... where am I?"
"Y-you're in the fortress, Young Master," she replied, a little too quickly, her gaze darting towards the door before settling back on me.
"Don't worry, you're safe now.
You were... you were blasted by a magic attack, but you've been unconscious for several days.
Three days, to be precise.
The doctor is on his way; I just sent for him."
Her words tumbled out, a nervous torrent.
Blasted by a magic attack?
The words rang in my ears, echoing the insistent throb in my head.
But they made no sense.
Magic... attack... what was she talking about?
It sounded like something out of a bad fantasy novel.
A ridiculous, fabricated reality.
Yet the pain, the smell of damp stone, the dim light—it all felt terrifyingly real.
I wanted to ask more, to demand explanations.
To rip apart the bizarre explanation she was offering,
But the dull pain that had started to fade into the background roared back to life.
It surged through me like fire, consuming my thoughts.
My eyes squeezed shut in agony, a guttural gasp for air escaping my lips.
The world felt like it was slipping away again, tilting on its axis,
Threatening to plunge me back into the welcoming blackness of unconsciousness.
Just then, another figure entered the room.
A man, older, perhaps in his late fifties or early sixties, with a long, dark coat and a face that looked like it had seen too much.
His features were sharp, etched with lines of experience, but his eyes were kind.
They betrayed a calmness that seemed almost out of place.
He was the doctor, I assumed, moving with practiced efficiency.
His steps were measured as he moved closer, his gaze sweeping over my prone body.
A silent, professional assessment.
"Young Master, how are you feeling?" he asked, his voice low and steady, a reassuring balm against the chaos in my head.
He reached for my wrist, his fingers cool and firm as he checked my pulse.
"Like I've been run over by a... train," I muttered, my words barely audible,
Laced with a bitterness I hadn't intended.
The thought was absurd, but it was the only analogy I could conjure from the depths of my scrambled memory.
He let out a short breath, half chuckle, half sigh.
A brief flash of amusement in his calm eyes.
"That's an apt description, considering the circumstances."
"Your internal systems took quite a shock, Young Master.
A miracle you're even awake, let alone coherent."
I frowned, my mind trying to cling to some shred of coherence.
Something wasn't right.
Why did they keep calling me Young Master Kael?
Who was Kael?
The name felt… unfamiliar, yet strangely weighted.
I struggled to push away the confusion, to grasp at something solid.
The memories were coming back, but they felt... incomplete.
Like holes in the fabric of my consciousness.
Gaping gaps that my mind couldn't quite fill,
Leaving me with a sense of profound disorientation.
The doctor, seeming to sense my discomfort, or perhaps the blankness in my gaze,
Placed a hand on my shoulder gently.
"We need to check your vitals thoroughly, Young Master."
"You've been unconscious for some time.
I understand this is disorienting,
But please, try to remain still."
He began his examination, his movements precise and unhurried.
He checked my eyes, listened to my chest, felt my forehead.
But it didn't matter.
The only thing that mattered was what the maid had said, what the doctor had implied.
Young Master Kael.
The name echoed in my mind, a persistent, unsettling hum.
Kael Thorn.
I remembered that name.
I knew that name.
A sudden, jarring clarity cut through the haze of pain and confusion.
It was like a forgotten key suddenly fitting a locked door in my mind.
I struggled to recall the details, the specific images,
But the moment the name "Kael" resurfaced, it was like a floodgate opened.
Memories rushed back—not my own, not truly,
But fragments of a story, a narrative.
A story I had read.
A book.
A web novel.
A web novel about a world of magic and monsters,
Where a righteous hero named Kaiden Reagers would rise to save the world from the encroaching forces of darkness.
And where Kael Thorn, the scion of a powerful noble family, the villain,
Would become a twisted antagonist, a source of immense suffering,
And ultimately meet his tragic, well-deserved end at Kaiden's hands.
I felt a cold chill run through me, sharper than any physical pain.
A horror that eclipsed the agony in my body.
I'm the villain.
The realization hit me like a ton of bricks,
Demolishing the last remnants of my confusion and replacing it with a bone-deep dread.
I'm Kael Thorn.
The scion of House Thorne, a family of immense, almost tyrannical power in this world.
The villain.
The one destined to be defeated by the hero.
The one who would amass power only to be crushed.
A cold sweat broke out across my body, despite the chill of the stone room.
I tried to sit up, to escape this terrifying truth,
But my body refused to obey—still sluggish and unresponsive.
I had no strength.
I was weak.
How could I be weak?
I remembered... no, Kael remembered.
He was a monster.
A force of overwhelming power.
A cunning schemer.
A ruthless manipulator, a villain with the strength to match his formidable will.
But now?
I couldn't even move my fingers without a monumental effort.
My muscles felt atrophied, useless.
The memories continued to assault me,
Fragments of his past life, of who he was,
Intertwined with the horrifying knowledge of who I had become.
I remembered the novel—the overarching plot, the inevitable path the story would take,
The terrible future I would inherit, and the inescapable fate that would end with my death.
The more I remembered, the more it became sickeningly clear:
This wasn't just a new life.
This was a transmigration,
A reincarnation into a fictional body.
A condemned character.
I had been reincarnated into the body of Kael Thorn.
The villain who would lose everything.
I clenched my fists, though the effort sent shooting pains up my arms.
It hurt.
It hurt to feel so utterly powerless,
So completely at the mercy of a predetermined narrative.
I could see it now,
All the pieces falling into place with a horrifying click.
I knew the plot.
I knew the end.
Kaiden Reagers would come for me,
And I would fall—just like every other villain in every other story.
But there was one crucial detail that sent a fresh wave of terror through me,
A detail that offered no comfort, only more despair:
I didn't finish the novel.
I don't know how it ends for Kael.
The last chapters were a blur,
Or perhaps I had simply stopped reading before his final, miserable demise.
The horror was not just that I was the villain,
But that I was a villain with an unknown expiration date.
A strange, dark pressure settled deep within my chest,
A heavy, unsettling emptiness where a great power should have resided.
It wasn't pain, not exactly,
But a profound wrongness,
A sense of something vital being twisted or missing.
It was a power I didn't understand,
A part of him that was now a part of me,
Yet inaccessible. Dormant.
What was it for?
What did it mean?
Could it change anything?
"Doctor…" I croaked, my voice shaky, barely a whisper.
"What happened? How did I get here?"
I needed more.
I needed specific details that the fragmented memories couldn't provide.
The doctor paused his examination,
His brow furrowed slightly as he met my gaze.
He hesitated before answering,
A slight grimace crossing his face.
"You were gravely injured, Young Master.
A monster's attack... it nearly killed you."
"You were found in the desolate outskirts of the territory.
Your injuries were severe, a chaotic burst of energy...
But we were able to stabilize you, barely. It was touch and go for a long time."
The desolate outskirts of the territory.
I remembered now—vaguely.
My last memories were of fighting.
Of grotesque shapes lunging from the shadows.
Of searing pain.
Of an immense, unknown force tearing through me.
It all came rushing back in a chaotic mess of images and distorted sounds.
But I couldn't make sense of it.
I couldn't understand what truly happened,
Only that it led me here,
To this moment of grim realization.
I was Kael Thorn.
A villain.
But I wasn't dead.
The doctor spoke again, his voice firm, breaking through my desperate thoughts. "Rest now, Young Master. You need time to recover. You've been through a lot, more than most could bear." He straightened, moving to a small table beside my bed, beginning to prepare something with various vials.
The maid, still hovering close, her hands clasped nervously in front of her, echoed the doctor's concern. "Young Master... are you alright?" she asked, her voice soft, her eyes still wide with genuine worry. She seemed to genuinely care, a stark contrast to the monstrous Kael I now inhabited.
How could I be alright? I thought, my gaze fixed on the dancing shadows on the cold, unforgiving stone ceiling. How could anyone be alright, knowing they're destined to die, to be nothing more than a footnote in someone else's heroic tale? The words formed a cold knot in my gut.