The rain fell in relentless sheets, drumming a staccato rhythm against Jun's worn-out jacket as he trudged across the campus quad. The distant hum of late-night traffic and the soft chatter of students huddled under umbrellas filled the air, blending with the squelch of his threadbare sneakers on wet pavement.
At twenty-one, Jun was a ghost among the bustling college crowd, his thin frame weighed down by a backpack stuffed with library books. An orphan with no family to lean on, he scraped by on a partial scholarship and late-night shifts at a convenience store, the faint beep of the scanner his nightly lullaby.
His dorm room was a shrine to frugality: a creaky bed that groaned with every turn, a secondhand desk that wobbled under the weight of his dreams, and stacks of tattered books on philosophy and literature—his only escape. Yet, despite having so little, Jun's heart was boundless.
The clink of his last few coins dropping into a homeless man's cup, the rustle of a shared sandwich wrapper with a struggling classmate, the soft laughter of kids at the community center where he tutored for free—these were the sounds of Jun's life, a quiet symphony of kindness.
That night, as he crossed the dimly lit street near campus, the rain's patter drowned out the world, leaving only his thoughts on Requiem of the Fallen, a novel he'd read until the pages frayed.
He loved Elshua, the tragic boy who died in the story's opening, a fleeting spark snuffed out by a cruel world. The crunch of gravel underfoot echoed as Jun wished Elshua had a chance to live, to fight, to be more.
Then, a piercing screech tore through the rain—the squeal of tires on wet asphalt. Headlights blazed, blinding him as a truck barreled toward a child frozen in the street, her small shoes splashing in a puddle.
Jun didn't hesitate. His sneakers slapped the pavement, his breath a sharp gasp as he lunged, shoving the child out of harm's way. The world erupted into a cacophony of grinding metal and shattering glass as the truck struck him.
Pain roared like a storm, then faded to a distant, hollow hum. Rain mingled with blood, its soft drip the last sound he heard as darkness claimed him. His final thought wasn't of fear or regret, but a quiet hope, like a whisper, that the child was safe.
---
Drip.
A sharp drip pierced the silence, steady and rhythmic. Water on stone.
Jun's eyes fluttered open, his body aching as if it had been forged anew. The air was thick with the musty scent of earth and moss, undercut by the faint whistle of wind slipping through unseen cracks.
He lay on cold, uneven stone, the cavern's jagged walls alive with the skitter of unseen insects and the low groan of shifting rock. Faint moonlight filtered through fissures above, casting eerie shadows that danced to the drip-drip-drip of water pooling nearby.
His hands, when he raised them, were small, and unfamiliar—not his own. The rustle of tattered fabric—a coarse tunic stained with dirt—followed his movement, and his body felt impossibly young, barely twelve years old.
A strange hum vibrated in his skull, not a sound but a sensation, like the buzz of a tuning fork deep within. Then, a voice—clear, resonant, neither male nor female—echoed in his mind, its tone warm yet otherworldly, accompanied by a faint chime like crystal struck gently.
"Welcome, soul of Jun, to the world of Requiem of the Fallen. You have been chosen to walk as Elshua, to mend a thread unraveled by fate. Your heart, unyielding in sacrifice, has earned this second dawn. Shape this world, or it shall shape you."
The words faded with a soft, melodic hum, leaving only the cavern's natural sounds: the drip of water, the rustle of leaves carried on a distant breeze, the faint scuttle of something small in the dark.
Panic surged, then faltered as memories not his own flickered in his mind: a boy named Elshua, born in a world of clashing steel, crackling magic, and whispered prophecies, destined to die in this very cave, abandoned and forgotten.
Jun's breath caught, a sharp hiss in the stillness. He knew this place, this story. He was in Requiem of the Fallen, inside the body of Elshua, the character he'd mourned. The forest beyond the cave murmured with danger—the low growl of beasts, the snap of twigs under unseen feet, the world that had already written Elshua's end.
But Jun was no stranger to hardship. His heart, tempered by a life of sacrifice, burned with resolve, a quiet fire that drowned out the cavern's echoes. The strange voice's chime lingered in his mind, a reminder of his transmigration, a call to action.
Clutching a sharp stone from the cavern floor, its rough edge scraping his palm, he staggered to his feet. The crunch of dirt underfoot mingled with the distant howl of wind through the forest beyond.
Jun—now Elshua—would face this merciless world, not as a victim, but as a spark that refused to fade, his every step a new note in a song yet unwritten.