From Mortal To Mystic

Damian's eyes fluttered open, his vision still hazy. Was it all a dream? he thought, trying to recall what had just happened. His body felt heavy, like it wasn't his own, and as he shifted slightly, a sharp pain shot through his head.

"ARGH!" he cried out, clutching his temples as a searing headache overtook him. The pain was unbearable, like a thousand needles piercing his mind at once. His yell echoed in the quiet room, and soon after, hurried footsteps approached.

The door creaked open, and an old man, possibly in his seventies, rushed in. His white beard and weathered face gave him a kind, almost grandfatherly appearance. His concern was clear as he stepped closer.

"Young man, are you alright?" the old man asked, his voice filled with genuine worry. Without waiting for a response, he began inspecting Damian, his hands surprisingly steady for someone his age.

Damian tried to reply, but the words wouldn't come. His mind was still reeling. Where was he? How did he get here?

"I'll fetch some healing potions right away," the old man said after a moment, his voice firm with purpose. Before Damian could stop him, the man hurried out of the room, leaving him alone once more.

"Healing potions?" Damian muttered to himself. "Does he mean... medicine?"

The words sounded strange, almost absurd. He shook his head, trying to clear the fog in his mind. As his thoughts grew sharper, he realized something was very wrong. He had been in the library, hadn't he? Passed out at the table... But if that were true, why was he here? Shouldn't he be at a hospital?

Looking around, Damian took in his surroundings for the first time. The room was small, its walls made of rough wood. Strange glass bottles lined the shelves, filled with bubbling liquids of various colors. The air carried a faint herbal scent, and piles of dried plants sat neatly in one corner. Books stacked haphazardly filled another.

"What... is this place?" Damian murmured, his chest tightening. This wasn't his home. It wasn't even a hospital.

He pushed himself off the bed, his movements careful and deliberate. His legs felt weak, but he managed to stand. He scanned the room, his eyes falling on a mirror leaning against the far wall.

As he approached, something inside him screamed for him to stop, but he couldn't resist. When he looked into the mirror, he froze.

The reflection staring back at him wasn't his.

"What the hell?" he whispered, his voice trembling.

He looked... younger. Far younger. His face was fuller, his skin smoother, like that of a sixteen-year-old. His hair was still the same—short and wavy—but now it looked a bit glossier, as if it belonged to someone who had never worked a day in his life. His athletic build stood out under the thin shirt he wore, but it wasn't his body. It couldn't be.

His heart pounded as he turned to check his back, and that's when he noticed it—a mark on his nape. A lightning bolt.

"A tattoo?" he said aloud, his fingers brushing over the mark. He didn't have any tattoos. He hated needles.

The door creaked open again, and the old man stepped inside, carrying a small glass bottle filled with a glowing, golden liquid. His eyes widened slightly as he saw Damian standing by the mirror.

"So, you have enough strength to move already?" the old man said, his tone calm but curious. "Still, you'll need to drink this."

Damian hesitated, watching as the man walked over and gestured toward the bed. "Come, sit down," the old man said. "You'll recover faster with this potion."

Potion. There it was again. The word sent a chill down Damian's spine. This wasn't a hospital. This wasn't anywhere he recognized. But the old man didn't seem hostile.

Cautiously, Damian obeyed, sitting on the edge of the bed. The old man handed him the glass, the liquid inside swirling unnaturally. Damian stared at it, his gut telling him to refuse.

"I can see you're hesitant," the old man said with a soft chuckle. "But I assure you, it's safe. You'll feel much better after drinking it."

Damian glanced up at him, his fingers tightening around the glass. He had no idea where he was, no idea how he had gotten here. But if this potion could help him figure it out, then maybe...

"Alright," Damian said finally. "I'll drink it."

He raised the glass to his lips, the faint herbal scent making him grimace. He hesitated for a second longer, then tipped it back, the warm liquid sliding down his throat.

As the potion took effect, a strange warmth spread through his body. The pain in his head dulled, replaced by a strange clarity.

"Good," the old man said, a faint smile crossing his face. "Now, I imagine you have some questions."

Damian's eyes narrowed. "You could say that. Where am I? And... what the hell is going on?"

The old man chuckled again, though there was a hint of seriousness in his gaze. "All in due time, young man. But first, tell me—do you remember your name?"

Damian's fists clenched. "Of course I do. It's Damian Vaughan."

The old man's expression flickered for just a moment, a look Damian couldn't quite read. "Ah, I see. Well, Damian Vaughan, welcome to the Kingdom of Elyndor."

Damian's heart sank. The Kingdom of Elyndor. The name rang in his head like a bell. It couldn't be.

"No..." he whispered. "That's impossible."

But deep down, he already knew the truth. Somehow, some way, he had entered the very world from the book he'd been reading. And his life would never be the same again.

The old man raised an eyebrow, studying Damian intently. "What were you expecting? To wake up in Alexandria?" he said with a chuckle, his laughter echoing through the room.

Damian frowned. The casual tone of the old man only added to his frustration. This wasn't the time for jokes.

The man eventually stopped laughing and placed a hand on his chest. "Apologies, young man. My name is Lucian, and I think I might have the answers to your questions."

"Answers?" Damian asked, leaning forward slightly. "What do you mean?"

Lucian turned his back to Damian, tending to the potions on the wooden table. The strange liquids bubbled and hissed, filling the room with a faint herbal aroma. "From what I can tell, your mana and soul are out of alignment with this world," he began, his tone growing serious. "You were transmigrated here, likely by something powerful—perhaps an ancient tome."

"Transmigrated?" Damian repeated, his voice growing louder. "Are you saying that book I read... brought me here?"

Lucian turned slightly, his eyes sharp. "Book? That wasn't a book. It was a tome. There's a difference, boy."

Damian's fists clenched. "Fine. Tome, book—whatever. How do I get back?"

At this, Lucian stopped his work and sighed heavily. He turned to face Damian fully, his expression somber. "You can't," he said simply. "Not until you've completed the reason for your transmigration."

Damian's stomach sank. The weight of those words hit him like a punch to the gut. "Completed the reason?" he asked. "What does that even mean?"

Lucian gave him a pitying look, as though he'd answered the same question many times before. "It means there's something you must do here—something this world needs from you before you can even dream of returning home."

The silence that followed was deafening. Damian's mind raced, but he couldn't find the words to respond.

Lucian, sensing his distress, changed his tone. "Look, young man. You're here now, and you'll need to adapt. If you want to survive—if you want to make your stay here even remotely bearable—you'll need to learn to use magic."

"Magic?" Damian repeated, the word foreign on his tongue.

"Yes, magic," Lucian said matter-of-factly. "The energy coursing through this world. It's all around you, and if you learn to harness it, you might even come to enjoy your time here."

Damian hesitated. The whole situation still felt surreal, like he'd wake up at any moment back in the library. But something about Lucian's tone told him this was real.

Lucian raised an eyebrow. "I just realized—I don't even know your name."

"It's Damian. Damian Vaughan."

"Well then, Damian Vaughan," Lucian said with a faint smile. "How would you like to become a mage?"

Damian's thoughts were a whirlwind. All of this—transmigration, magic, an entirely new world—it was overwhelming. But at the same time, a small part of him couldn't help but feel... excited. How many people got the chance to live out their fantasies?

A slow smile crept onto Damian's face. "Sure. Why not?" he said.

Lucian's grin widened. "Good. Then let's begin."