The Awakening
The objects hung suspended in the darkness like stars caught in amber.
Books, splinters of wood from the broken ritual circle, drops of wax frozen mid-fall, even dust motes hanging perfectly still in the air—all of it floated around him in a sphere of impossible stillness. The new Jheran sat motionless on the attic floor, staring at the spectacle with eyes that belonged to two people at once.
This shouldn't be possible.
The thought came from both versions of himself. From Arjun's memories, the certainty that physics didn't work this way, that gravity was an immutable law. From the original Jheran's fragmented recollections, the bitter knowledge that he had been tested a dozen times, examined by the finest mages in Erondrachen, and every single one had declared the same verdict: No echkker. None at all.
Yet here he was, watching a candle rotate slowly in the air before him, responding to nothing but his will.
He stretched out his hand tentatively. The candle drifted toward his palm, obedient as a trained pet. His fingers closed around it, solid and real and his. The moment he gripped it, the spell broke. Everything crashed to the floor at once—books thudding, wood clattering, wax splattering. The sound was deafening in the silent attic.
Jheran—he'd have to think of himself that way now, wouldn't he?—sat breathing hard, his heart hammering against his ribs. The original Jheran's memories provided context that Arjun had never known existed. Echkker. That's what they called it here. The fundamental power that flowed through Erondrachen like an invisible river, connecting all things. Those who could tap into it were called Wardens, and they shaped the world with their will.
Telekinesis, elemental manipulation, healing, enhanced physical abilities—all of it stemmed from echkker. And all of it had been completely, utterly beyond the original Jheran's reach.
He'd been tested at age five, when all children were examined for the gift. Nothing. Tested again at ten, just to be sure. Nothing. At fifteen, his desperate parents had paid a fortune to have him evaluated by the Grand Magister of the Northern Academy herself. She'd looked at him with something between pity and disgust and confirmed what everyone already knew: he was empty. A vessel with no spark to light it.
In a world where power meant everything, Jheran had been nothing.
The memories hurt. They weren't his, but they felt like his. The original Jheran's life played out in scattered fragments—the disappointment in his father's eyes, his mother's forced smiles that never reached her eyes, his siblings' casual cruelties disguised as concern. It's not your fault you were born defective. They'd sent him away to this mansion on the edge of the family's holdings, a polite exile. Out of sight, out of mind.
"But I can do it now," Jheran whispered to the empty attic. His voice sounded strange, carrying an accent he'd never had, shaping words in patterns Arjun had never learned but that Jheran's muscle memory knew instinctively. "I don't know why, but I can."
He stood up slowly, testing his new body's balance. The original Jheran had been thin, underfed despite the family's wealth—he'd lost interest in eating somewhere along the path to despair. Arjun's soul noticed these things clinically even as Jheran's memories supplied emotional context. This body was his now. These circumstances were his now.
And unlike the original Jheran, unlike Arjun drowning in debt and rejection on Earth, this version of himself had something neither of them had possessed before.
Power.
Luck.
The bitter irony wasn't lost on him. Arjun had spent his entire life watching people with half his intelligence stumble into success. Trust fund kids who failed upward. Bullies who charmed their way into corner offices. Cheaters who somehow always landed on their feet. He'd done everything right—studied hard, stayed honest, worked himself to exhaustion—and gotten nothing but closed doors and empty bank accounts.
One unlucky bastard after another opportunity slipped through his fingers.
But maybe, just maybe, dying and waking up in another world with magic powers counted as the universe finally cutting him a break.
"I'm not wasting this," he said to the attic, to the three moons visible through the window, to whatever cosmic accident had put him here. "I don't care what the original Jheran couldn't do. I don't care what everyone expects. This is my life now, and I'm not going to let them drag me down."
He walked to the attic door and paused, catching his reflection in a tarnished mirror hanging on the wall. Same face, different world. Same desperate eyes, different chance.
Time to see what this new life held.
The stairs creaked under his feet as Jheran descended from the attic. The mansion was large but felt hollow, echoing with the absence of life. Most of the rooms were closed off, furniture covered in white sheets. The original Jheran had lived here alone except for one person—the fragments of memory showed her face, patient and kind even when others had been cruel.
Mira. The maid.
Jheran found her in the kitchen, an older woman with graying hair pulled back in a practical bun, stirring something that smelled of spices he couldn't name. She looked up as he entered, and her expression shifted immediately from neutral to concerned.
"Young master Jheran!" She set down her spoon and hurried over, her eyes scanning him with practiced worry. "You look pale. Have you been in that attic all day again? You need to eat something proper, not just—"
She stopped mid-sentence, her eyes narrowing slightly. Something in his posture, maybe, or the way he met her gaze instead of looking away like the original Jheran always had.
"I'm fine, Mira," he said, and was surprised by how steady his voice sounded. "Actually, I'm better than fine."
She studied him carefully, the way someone examines a familiar object that's been moved slightly out of place. "You're standing differently."
"Am I?"
"And your eyes." She stepped closer, peering at his face. "They're... I don't know. Clearer, maybe?"
Jheran felt a flutter of panic. He couldn't let anyone know what had happened. A soul from another world inhabiting the body of a failed mage—that sounded like the setup to either an execution or a lifetime of magical experimentation. He forced a small smile, pulling from Arjun's years of faking confidence he didn't feel during job interviews.
"I've been thinking," he said. "About my life. About what I want to do differently."
Mira's expression softened into something like relief. "That's good, young master. You've been so withdrawn lately, I was worried..." She trailed off, clearly not wanting to voice whatever dark thoughts she'd been having.
"I know I've been difficult," Jheran continued, choosing his words carefully. "But things are going to change. I'm going to change."
"You don't need to change," Mira said firmly, falling back into the maternal role that the original Jheran's actual mother had never filled. "You're a good boy. You've just had a harder path than most."
You have no idea, Jheran thought, but kept his expression neutral. "Maybe. But I'm still going to try harder. Starting with school."
That got a reaction. Mira's eyebrows rose. "School? But you haven't wanted to attend regularly in months. You said it was too—"
"Humiliating?" Jheran supplied. The original Jheran's memories provided that word, along with the sting of sitting in classes where everyone else could demonstrate basic echkker manipulation while he remained powerless. "I know. But I need to go back. I need to... I need to see what I'm capable of now."
There it was, slipping out. Mira caught it immediately. "Now? What's changed?"
Jheran hesitated. He could feel the echkker flowing around him even here in the kitchen, an invisible current that responded to his attention like iron filings to a magnet. It would be so easy to demonstrate, to show her what the ritual had done. But something held him back—Arjun's instinct for self-preservation, perhaps, or the original Jheran's memories of how quickly news spread in this world.
"I just feel different," he said finally. "Like maybe I've been approaching everything wrong. I want another chance."
Mira studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Your mother called yesterday. She wanted to know if you'd decided about the apprenticeship they arranged."
Jheran felt his stomach tighten. The original Jheran's memories supplied the context: his family had given up on him ever becoming a Warden. Instead, they'd arranged for him to apprentice with a merchant, learning to keep books and manage trade routes. Respectable work for someone without echkker. A way to be useful despite his deficiency.
"What did you tell her?" he asked.
"That you'd call her back when you were ready." Mira returned to her cooking, but her tone had shifted. "Jheran, whatever you decide to do, I'll support you. But don't torture yourself trying to be something you're not. There's no shame in—"
"I'm going to school tomorrow," Jheran interrupted, more forcefully than he intended. "And I'm going to show them all that I'm not what they think I am."
Mira turned to look at him again, and this time there was something like hope in her weathered face. "All right, young master. I'll make sure your uniform is clean."
Jheran nodded and left the kitchen, climbing the stairs to the second floor where the original Jheran's bedroom was located. It was a modest space despite the mansion's size—a bed, a desk covered in books about echkker theory that the original Jheran had studied desperately, trying to understand what everyone else seemed to grasp instinctively.
He sat on the edge of the bed and held out his hand. Concentrated. A book on the desk trembled, then lifted smoothly into the air. It floated across the room and settled gently in his palm.
The original Jheran had read this book a hundred times, searching for some secret that would unlock his dormant power. Arjun had never believed in magic at all. But somehow, impossibly, the combination of both souls in one body had created something new.
Something powerful.
Jheran closed his eyes and felt the echkker flowing through him, vast and untapped. He didn't know why the ritual had done this, didn't understand the mechanics of how a dying soul from Earth could merge with a broken body in Erondrachen and produce this result.
But he knew one thing with absolute certainty: he wasn't going to waste it.
Tomorrow he'd walk into that school where the original Jheran had been pitied and dismissed. Tomorrow he'd face the people who'd looked at him like he was broken.
And tomorrow, everything would change.
He was done being unlucky. Done being powerless. Done letting the world grind him down.
This was his second chance, paid for with two lives' worth of suffering.
And he was going to make it count.