It started with whispers.
A girl sat in a dark forest, her small hands clutching the damp earth beneath her. She could feel it—the corruption seeping into the air like poison. It wasn’t just fear; it was something deeper, primal. Her heart pounded as shadows writhed around her, twisting trees into grotesque shapes. Leaves turned black and crumbled at her touch, leaving ash on her fingertips.
“Why am I here?” she thought, panic rising. “What is this place?”
Then came the voice—a low, guttural sound that seemed to crawl inside her skull. It laughed, mocking her confusion. She tried to run, but her legs wouldn’t obey. Roots erupted from the ground, binding her ankles, pulling her down. A figure emerged from the darkness—a monstrous amalgamation of flesh and bark, its glowing red eyes staring straight through her soul.
“You are mine now,” it hissed, its breath cold against her skin. “You will remember nothing.”
And then, pain. Sharp, unbearable agony shot through her head, as if someone were tearing apart her memories one by one. She screamed until her throat burned raw, but no sound escaped. Just silence. Darkness. And finally… nothing.
—
Her eyes snapped open.
For a moment, all she could do was stare at the wooden ceiling above her, trying to steady her breathing. Her chest heaved, sweat clinging to her forehead. Strands of messy hair stuck to her face, and her nightgown clung uncomfortably to her damp skin. Slowly, she raised a trembling hand to push the hair out of her eyes.
She felt… wrong. Like pieces of herself were missing. Fragments of the nightmare lingered, fading even as she tried to grasp them. What had happened? Where was she?
Her head throbbed painfully when she tried to think too hard. Every memory felt slippery, like sand slipping between her fingers. She clenched her fists tightly, nails digging into her palms. Focus, she told herself. Just breathe.
But the unease remained. Something about that dream—it wasn’t ordinary. It felt real. Too real.
---
With effort, she pushed herself up into a sitting position. The bed creaked softly beneath her weight. Glancing around, she took in her surroundings for the first time.
The room was small but cozy, blending medieval simplicity with early 20th-century luxury. Thick wooden beams supported the walls, their surfaces rough-hewn yet sturdy. A fireplace stood dormant in the corner, surrounded by shelves filled with books and trinkets. Across the room, a polished oak desk sat neatly arranged, papers stacked in precise piles.
Despite the warmth of the decor, an unsettling chill crept over her. This place didn’t feel safe—not after what she’d seen in her dream. Or was it more than a dream?
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, wincing as her bare feet touched the cold floor. Her body ached, especially her left leg, which felt stiff and uncooperative. Limping slightly, she made her way toward the desk, each step heavy with reluctance.
“What’s happening to me?” she muttered under her breath. “Why does everything feel so… off?”
Reaching the desk, she leaned heavily on its smooth surface, her fingers brushing against scattered sheets of paper. Some lay haphazardly across the table, while others were neatly organized into folders. Ink bottles sat beside quills, their tips stained dark.
Her gaze fell on the neat stack of papers. Each sheet bore careful handwriting, detailing strange objects and phenomena. One caught her eye immediately—a document labeled "Whispering Rod."
—
Name: Whispering Rod
Level: T2 (Strategic Threat)
Description: A slender rod carved from obsidian, etched with runes that glow faintly in moonlight. When held, it emits a soft humming noise, almost imperceptible unless listened to closely.
Strengths:
- Amplifies psychic abilities, allowing users to project thoughts directly into others’ minds.
- Can manipulate emotions, instilling fear or calm depending on intent.
Effects:
- Prolonged use causes auditory hallucinations, leading to paranoia and eventual madness.
- Users report hearing voices even when the rod is inactive, often describing them as pleading or accusing.
Containment Protocol: Must be stored in a lead-lined box to prevent accidental activation. Handlers must wear earplugs soaked in lavender oil to resist auditory influence.
Her eyes drifted to another paper nearby. This one simply read:
Name: Veilstone Pendant
Level: T3 (Tactical Threat)
Another sheet listed:
Name: Hourglass of Eternity
Level: T1 (Global Threat)
But these lacked detailed descriptions. They teased her curiosity, hinting at secrets she couldn’t yet understand.
As she stared at the papers, fragments of memory began to resurface. Bits and pieces clicked together like puzzle pieces falling into place. Suddenly, she froze, her breath hitching in her throat.
“Chrono Nexus…” she whispered, the words tasting foreign on her tongue.
She remembered now—or rather, she knew. This wasn’t her world. She had been someone else before. Someone completely different. A man. Living a mundane life, playing games late into the night, dreaming of adventure…
And now, here she was. Trapped—or perhaps gifted—with a new existence in a game world she once only imagined.
Her knees buckled, and she sank onto the chair behind her. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring the ink-stained pages before her. Anger, confusion, disbelief—all swirled within her like a storm. But beneath it all, there was something else. Excitement. Fear. Possibility.
“This can’t be real,” she thought, clutching the edge of the desk. “But it is.”
---
The cabin grew quiet again, save for the faint crackle of embers in the fireplace. Outside, the wind howled softly, rattling the shutters. She sat there, staring blankly at the artifacts’ descriptions, her mind racing.
Who was she now? What role would she play in this fractured, dangerous world? And most importantly—how far would she go to survive?
One thing was certain: whatever awaited her beyond these four walls, it wouldn’t be easy. But maybe… just maybe… it could be worth it.
---
Evelyn—no, she wasn’t Evelyn yet. Not fully. The girl who had once been a man sat slumped at the desk, her head resting heavily in her hands. She massaged her temples slowly, trying to ease the throbbing pain that pulsed behind her eyes like a heartbeat. Each thought felt like prying open a rusted door, creaking and groaning with resistance.
“Why does my head hurt so much?” she muttered under her breath, her voice trembling slightly.
Every time she tried to dig deeper into her memories, it was as though someone—or something—was stirring inside her brain, forcing its way through delicate pathways. Pain flared sharply, making her wince. It wasn’t just physical; it felt invasive, like an unwelcome guest rifling through her thoughts. She clenched her teeth, fighting back tears of frustration.
Her fragmented memories swirled chaotically. Bits of her old life surfaced—a factory floor buzzing with machinery, the smell of oil and sweat clinging to the air, late nights spent hunched over a computer screen playing Chrono Nexus. And then… nothing. A void. Until now.
She sighed heavily, leaning back in the chair. Her shoulders sagged under the weight of resignation. This wasn’t some dream or hallucination. She had transmigrated. Days ago, apparently. How could she have missed that? Was her mind so clouded by corruption—or whatever it was—that she hadn’t noticed?
The realization hit her like a punch to the gut. Shock. Embarrassment. Resignation. All these emotions churned within her, leaving her feeling hollow.
Finally, she stood up, deciding she needed a distraction. Walking around the cabin might help clear her head—or at least give her something else to focus on.
The cabin wasn’t large, but it was well-designed, blending functionality with subtle luxury. To her left, near the fireplace, stood a small wooden dining table surrounded by four chairs, their backs carved intricately with floral patterns. Opposite the table, against the far wall, was her sleeping area—a simple bed with a quilt stitched in earthy tones, flanked by two bedside tables holding oil lamps and books.
Near the entrance, a narrow hallway led to what appeared to be a bathroom. Its door stood slightly ajar, revealing tiled flooring and the faint gleam of polished brass fixtures. Adjacent to the study table where she’d been sitting earlier, there was a compact kitchenette equipped with a sink, a cast-iron stove, and shelves stocked with jars of dried herbs and spices.
The entire space couldn’t have been more than 300 square feet, but every corner seemed purposeful. Despite its medieval charm, modern touches like the brass faucets and glass windows hinted at an odd fusion of eras.
---
Evelyn stepped into the bathroom, closing the door softly behind her. The room smelled faintly of lavender, likely from sachets tucked into drawers or hung discreetly out of sight. A porcelain sink stood beneath a round mirror framed in dark wood. Above it, a single bulb hung from the ceiling, casting soft light across the tiled walls.
Taking a deep breath, she approached the mirror. For a moment, she hesitated, almost afraid of what she might see. Then, steeling herself, she looked up.
Staring back at her was a face both familiar and alien. Platinum blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders in loose waves, catching the light like strands of spun gold. Her eyes were perhaps the most striking feature—large and uniquely purple, shimmering faintly as though reflecting a starry sky. They held a depth that made her feel exposed, vulnerable.
Her figure was slender yet athletic, with delicate curves accentuating her waist and hips. Broad shoulders balanced her frame, giving her an air of strength despite her petite stature. Even her posture seemed poised, confident—a stark contrast to how lost she felt inside.
“Evelyn Veylan,” she whispered, testing the name on her lips. It sounded strange, foreign. Yet it fit this body perfectly.
A flush crept up her neck, spreading across her cheeks. She turned away quickly, unable to meet her own gaze any longer. The embarrassment bubbled up again, sharp and biting. She used to be a man—a plain, ordinary factory worker who lived for weekends and gaming sessions. Now… this.
Her reflection mocked her silently, reminding her of everything she’d lost—and gained. She gripped the edge of the sink tightly, knuckles whitening.
“This is ridiculous,” she scolded herself. “You’re alive. You’re here. Deal with it.”
But dealing with it was easier said than done. Every glance in the mirror brought another wave of self-consciousness. Who was Evelyn Veylan, really? Could she ever truly become this person?
---
Determined to push those thoughts aside, Evelyn turned on the faucet. Cool water rushed out, splashing noisily into the basin below. Cupping her hands, she scooped up a handful and splashed it onto her face, letting the chill wake her up. Droplets clung to her eyelashes, dripping down her cheeks. She repeated the motion, scrubbing gently at her skin as if trying to wash away the lingering doubts.
When she finally looked up again, her expression had softened. Her face was flushed—not just from embarrassment but also from the cold water. Stray strands of damp hair stuck to her forehead, framing her features in a way that made her look almost ethereal.
For the first time since waking up, she allowed herself a small smile. Maybe she didn’t need to figure everything out right now. Maybe it was okay to take things one step at a time.
With renewed resolve, she grabbed a towel hanging nearby and patted her face dry. The fabric was soft against her skin, carrying the faint scent of lavender. As she folded it neatly and placed it back on the rack, she took one last glance in the mirror.
“You can do this,” she murmured, her voice steadier than before. “Whatever comes next, you’ll handle it.”
Evelyn exited the bathroom, feeling lighter somehow. The oppressive weight of her earlier thoughts had lifted, replaced by a cautious optimism. She moved back toward the main room, her bare feet padding softly against the wooden floorboards.
Sunlight streamed through the windows now, illuminating dust motes dancing lazily in the air. The cabin felt warmer, cozier. Even the papers scattered across the desk seemed less intimidating than they had moments ago.
She paused briefly by the study table, glancing at the artifact descriptions still lying there. The Whispering Rod’s details caught her eye again, sending a shiver down her spine. But instead of fear, she felt curiosity stirring within her. Perhaps understanding these objects would help her navigate this strange new world.
Squaring her shoulders, Evelyn resolved to dive deeper into the mysteries surrounding her. Whatever lay ahead, she knew one thing for certain: she wouldn’t let fear control her anymore.
Hi. I’m Designer of Blog Magic. I’m CEO/Founder of ThemeXpose. I’m Creative Art Director, Web Designer, UI/UX Designer, Interaction Designer, Industrial Designer, Web Developer, Business Enthusiast, StartUp Enthusiast, Speaker, Writer and Photographer. Inspired to make things looks better.
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