Cold.
Jesus Christ!
Why is it so cold?
Alucent's eyes snapped open to unfamiliar rafters above him. His hands shot up to his throat automatically.
The knife. Where's the- It should be here, right here...
His fingers searched frantically but found nothing. Just smooth skin. What the hell?
The memory hit him like a truck: 07:08 PM on June 30, 2025. That shitty warehouse near Ashwood Heights with all the graffiti. Those freaks in robes chanting like they were summoning demons or something. And the knife, God, that knife cutting through his throat like butter. His blood everywhere, pooling on the concrete floor.
I died. I know I died. I felt it happen.
But here he was, sitting on some narrow bed that definitely wasn't his couch, breathing air that smelled like... steam? And metal? And something else that made his skin tingle weirdly.
This isn't my apartment. This sure as hell isn't 14 Willow Lane.
Wh- Where am I? What happened to me?
He swung his legs over the edge and immediately noticed something was very, very wrong. His hands looked different. Bigger. More... elegant? These weren't the hands of someone who'd spent years hunched over a keyboard debugging code and surviving on instant noodles.
The reflection in a cracked window showed a face that was his but also completely not his. Same consciousness inside, but everything else was different. Blue eyes instead of brown. Black curly hair down to his shoulders. A jawline that actually existed.
These aren't my hands. This isn't even my face. What the fuck did they do to me?
Maybe twenty-two, twenty-three tops. Not the twenty-six-year-old data analyst who counted every dollar because Mom's medical bills ate through everything. This body was tall, really tall and had muscles that actually responded when he flexed.
This is insane. Completely insane. The name floating in his head felt foreign but somehow right: Alucent Luci.
How do I know that name? Why does it feel like mine now?
As his panic started to settle a bit, more stuff began flooding his mind. Memories that weren't his memories!
The cottage, yeah, it was definitely a cottage, creaked around him like it was about to fall apart. The wood groaned with every gust of wind, and some frosted glass window kept rattling like it was possessed.
How do I know it's made of Ironvine Wood? I've never heard of Ironvine Wood in my life!
He stood up on shaky legs, testing his balance. This body felt like wearing clothes that almost fit but not quite. There was energy running through him too, something warm and electric that definitely hadn't existed when he was Elias Reed.
The room beyond looked like it came from some Victorian fever dream. Red wallpaper that used to be nice but now looked like old blood stains. A chandelier hanging crooked with no lights on.
Everything's broken. Great. Just great.
But wait... broken things meant cheap. And cheap meant opportunity for someone smart enough to fix them up and flip them. Even his crappy childhood, watching every penny disappear into medical bills, suddenly seemed relevant.
Why am I thinking about money right now? I should be having a complete breakdown! But honestly, focusing on practical stuff isn't the worst idea. At least it gives me something to do besides panic.
The confusion was still there, throbbing in his head, but he could think clearer now. He straightened up and looked around more carefully.
Even in whatever nightmare dimension this is, money still talks.
The kitchen was weird. Instead of his crappy gas stove that never heated evenly, there was this cold coal stove and a bunch of kettles connected by brass pipes. Steam-powered something.
Steam Power System. The knowledge just appeared in his brain like someone downloaded it there.
In what looked like the main room, he found this contraption that his borrowed memories called a Steamsewer. Part sewing table, part brass boiler. The gears were stuck, the gauges read zero, but the thing looked expensive.
Inherited memories. From who? What happened to whoever used to live in this body?
The basement was where things got really interesting. There was this huge setup, anvil, bellows, coal hearth... all connected to more steam-powered machinery. A workshop. Cold and abandoned, but the bones were good.
Workshop means money. Money means independence. Independence means I don't die.
His fingers absently played with a ring on his left hand, and he froze. The thing was glowing faintly and felt warm against his skin. The sight brought back flashes of the ritual: those robed psychos chanting in languages that sounded older than dirt, symbols carved into the warehouse floor, the taste of pure terror as the knife came down.
This ring. This damn ring is connected to everything.
He tried to pull it off, twisting and yanking until his finger started bleeding, but the thing wouldn't budge. It was stuck to him like it grew there.
There was a note on the kitchen table, all fancy writing and official seals. Something about "cottage assignment approved" and "summons to the Scribe's Tower" and "compliance with Rune Covenant traditions."
Politics. Bureaucracy. Threats wrapped up in polite language. Some things never change.
Sir Vorn. The name meant something heavy, something important. Authority he never asked for but apparently had to deal with now.
Scratching at the door interrupted his thoughts. He opened it to find a skinny gray cat looking at him with that special cat expression that meant "feed me now."
"You hungry?" he asked, then stopped. His voice was different too. Deeper. The cat didn't care about his existential crisis and just rubbed against his legs.
At least cats are the same everywhere.
About ten minutes later, while searching for something edible, Alucent noticed something else in the air around him. Like the feeling right before lightning strikes. Energy flowing through everything, waiting for him to figure out how to use it.
Runeforce. The power source for this whole Steam-Rune Age thing.
How do I know these things? Whose memories am I carrying? What happened to the original owner of this body?
The cottage kept creaking and settling around him. Outside, it was getting dark, and the shadows through that cracked window made everything look creepy as hell.
I'm alone in a falling-down house in some other world, wearing someone else's body, with magic powers I don't understand and mysterious people expecting me to obey them.
C-could I have actually undergone Metempsychosis? His mouth dropped open.
He'd read tons of web novels about this exact scenario. Always thought it would be cool. Turns out when it actually happens, it's terrifying.
This is probably what they mean by "be careful what you wish for."
If his head wasn't still aching and his body didn't feel so wrong, he'd definitely think this was all a dream.
Calm down, calm down, calm down... He took a few deep breaths and tried to stop freaking out.
Basic survival first. Food, shelter, security. Figure out the magic stuff later.
But as he knelt down to look at the coal stove, running his fingers over the brass fittings, that ring pulsed again. And with it came a certainty that scared him: whatever killed Elias Reed and created Alucent Luci had bigger plans. Plans that involved him whether he wanted it or not.
I'm either going to play the game, or I'm going to get played. Might not even be my choice.
The steam vents hissed softly, the wood creaked its rhythm, and somewhere out there, the world kept turning. He closed his eyes and felt that energy, Runeforce. flowing around him like a river he was just starting to understand.
Tomorrow there's Sir Vorn's summons and whatever's waiting at this Scribe's Tower. Tonight, I figure out how to survive.
Broken things are just opportunities for someone smart enough to fix them. And these hands, whatever else they might be good for, are definitely good at fixing things.
They're probably good at breaking them too, when necessary.
The thought surprised him, but he didn't push it away. In this new world, breaking things might be just as useful as fixing them.
The cat had wandered over to the stove and was staring at him expectantly. Right. Feed the cat first. Then figure out how to not die in a world full of steam-powered magic and political intrigue.
At least I've got a starting points.