"Where... where is this?"
"Mr. Thorne, you're finally awake."
Thorne's gaze sharpened.
On that furry head, compound eyes were densely arranged, glinting coldly under the light. He could never mistake it.
"A moth? Haven't you all died out?"
The other party clearly froze for a moment. Then, a very human-like look of confusion appeared on that fur-covered face.
"The situation is quite serious..."
Miss Moth murmured under her breath while quickly recording in the small notebook in her hand, "Hallucinations accompanied by speech impairment..."
—
"Hmm, I think I understand the gist of it."
The Red Ant wearing a white coat closed the notebook and nodded slightly.
It was a large ant with distinct body segments and a shiny carapace. For some reason, just standing there gave off an impression of being exceptionally strong and reliable.
"So, in your eyes, everyone is an insect, is that right?"
Thorne took a deep breath and nodded.
The moth was still standing to the side, her wings trembling slightly. Thorne couldn't tell if it was an illusion, but he felt like she was laughing.
"Uh... yes."
He looked at the "doctor," his tone slightly hesitant. "For example, you look like an ant to me."
"Oh?"
The Red Ant let out a light chuckle, his two mandibles opening and closing slightly.
"That is quite unexpected. I thought I'd at least be a Rhinoceros Beetle or something similar."
The moth nearby couldn't help but chuckle softly as well. The two insects exchanged a look, revealing a tacit understanding.
"As for what you mentioned earlier, about some Bug Kingdom, a palace full of chainsaws, and the claim that 'you were originally Chinese'..."
The Red Ant's tone was steady. "It can basically be determined as residual dream fragments or delusions."
"However, the situation isn't the worst it could be."
He paused. "Although you see others as insects, you do not perceive yourself as one. This indicates that your self-cognition is still intact."
With that, he handed a document to Thorne.
Thorne looked down.
[Diagnosis: Schizophrenic disorder accompanied by paranoia]
[Treatment recommendations are as follows...]
These words themselves didn't bother him much.
What truly made his heart sink was the small line of text at the very bottom of the document.
July 31, 1991.
"So..."
Thorne murmured, "Is this not my original world?"
Hearing this, the moth and the Red Ant exchanged a glance, clearly interpreting his reaction as despair toward reality.
The Red Ant cleared his throat, his tone becoming gentler.
"Although it will have some impact on your life, we have already performed a comprehensive examination on you."
"Your condition is not due to pathological damage. As long as you take your medication on time, relax your mind, and face life positively, there is a high probability of recovery."
He seemed to remember something and added:
"There was a patient before who insisted that magic existed in this world, along with horses that had wings and bird heads."
Thorne looked up: "And then?"
"Later, he recovered very well and returned to a normal life."
"Oh?" Thorne was taken aback. "How did he do it?"
The Red Ant rubbed his chin and thought seriously for a moment.
"Well... once at a London station, he slammed himself into the pillar between platforms nine and ten until he was bloody."
"Since then, he never had another episode."
The corner of Thorne's mouth twitched violently.
"..."
"Is that considered medical advice?"
—
Walking out of the hospital and onto the busy streets, Thorne still felt a strong sense of unreality.
This was Britain in the nineties.
The streets were already filled with cars; steel and exhaust fumes formed the familiar sight of human society.
The only problem was that the ones driving those cars were not humans.
Mosquitoes, grasshoppers, mantises...
Insects of various sizes skillfully manipulated steering wheels, weaving through traffic, their compound eyes reflecting the streetlights.
Thorne subconsciously clenched his fists.
He tried to mobilize his power, to call upon the vital aid that had once roamed the Bug Kingdom and crossed battlefields with him.
However, the only response was an empty silence.
No feedback, no resonance.
Reality coldly told him that all of this was real.
And his power had completely vanished.
Following the information provided by the hospital, Thorne took the subway to the original "home" of this body.
The subway carriage was clean, bright, and full of modernity.
Except that everyone standing and sitting around him were insects.
Yet, clear and complex human expressions constantly appeared on their faces.
Fatigue, numbness, anxiety, anticipation.
That sense of dissonance was hard to accept.
A massive sense of absurdity weighed on Thorne's heart.
He forced himself to stop looking at those insects, instead casting his gaze toward the rapidly receding tunnel outside the window, and began to organize the memories in his mind.
The original owner of this body was named Eric Thorn.
An orphan.
A long history of mental illness.
After this hospital visit, he was practically penniless.
"...Wow, what a start."
Thorne couldn't help but give a bitter smile.
Although it was much better than waking up directly in the abyss last time, his current situation almost cut off any possibility of making a living.
He looked down at the reflection in the train window.
It was a gloomy and haggard young face.
The complexion was pale, the eye sockets were slightly sunken, and the gaze was always wandering.
Messy strands of hair stuck to his forehead, and his whole being exuded a sense of decay from chronic sleep deprivation.
The dead end of his financial situation, combined with his already serious mental illness.
The original owner had been pushed completely into the abyss of despair.
Even just recalling those memories, Thorne could clearly feel the kind of loneliness that almost swallowed a person whole.
Thus, the original owner gave up on survival.
Not eating, not drinking, wandering in a daze, and finally fainting directly on the street.
This led to the scene of waking up in the hospital.
The subway reached the station.
Thorne stepped off the platform, walking through the dense crowd of insects.
He suddenly realized that his "condition" might not be that simple.
It wasn't just the physical appearance.
Even the conversations of the "humans" around him had unknowingly turned into harsh and unfamiliar insect-like chirping.
"Zhi! Zhi! Zhi! Zhi!"
"Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!"
"Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!"
The sounds were chaotic and shrill, as if surging in from all directions.
That feeling of being excluded by the entire world made the irritation in Thorne's heart surge again.
Clearly, his logic told him these were humans.
But he couldn't understand their language, couldn't see their faces clearly, and even his "form" of existence was out of place.
It was unbearable.
Especially the sounds of those mosquitoes.
It was too agonizing.
What was the difference between this and staying in the Holy Nest?
What was the point of paying such a tragic price and doing everything to leave that place?
Or perhaps...
Just as the doctor had said—
The Bug Kingdom was actually just a dream?
His identity as a transmigrator was also a delusion?
The more Thorne thought about it, the more irritable his emotions became.
When he stood in front of the house he was renting, listening to the insect cries rising and falling around him, he finally couldn't take it anymore!
He needed to vent!
Under the startled gazes of those nearby, Thorne suddenly raised his arms, his voice hoarse and desperate.
"Are there any humans left?!!!"
But, something unexpected happened!
Clusters of pure white energy, with distorted outlines that seemed to be screaming, frantically surged out of his body.
"What?!"
His vision was suddenly swallowed by white light.
In the next instant—
Thorne lost consciousness.
—
No one knew how much time had passed...
The familiar white ceiling came into view.
Thorne slowly opened his eyes, his vision still a bit blurry.
"...Back again?"
For a moment, he actually felt a bit between laughter and tears.
He hadn't expected to be lying in a hospital again so soon. Should he find that Red Ant doctor and apologize?
And...
What exactly happened just now?
That mass of white stuff that surged out of his body flashed through his mind.
"Could it be... I can still use soul spells?"
While Thorne was thinking, he managed to prop himself up and sat against the headboard.
Just then, a voice spoke.
"You're awake, Mr. Thorne."
Thorne looked up.
Standing before the bed were two humans.
Oh no, to be precise, they were two insects.
One was a Snail, its brown spiral shell glinting coldly, its gaze somber.
The other was a Bee, wearing a smile. He looked quite old, but his temperament was exceptionally gentle.
He seemed to be unwrapping the paper of a candy in his hand.
"Uh..."
Thorne cleared his throat, "Gentlemen, I'm sorry, I'm not quite clear on the current situation. May I ask... what happened?"
The Snail gave a cold snort, clearly lacking patience.
"Eric Thorn, don't remember, do you?"
He picked up a notebook with one of his slimy-looking tentacles, his tone cold and formal:
"Using mass-destruction magic in a Muggle public area."
"Caused serious injury to one Muggle, minor injuries to three others, and the collapse of a building."
"Simultaneously violated the Statute of Secrecy, the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Dark Arts, and the Muggle Protection Act currently being drafted."
"The case has been appealed to the Wizengamot."
The Snail closed the notebook, his gaze grim.
"I imagine it'll just be life imprisonment in Azkaban."
He paused there.
"So, do you have anything you'd like to explain?"
"Uh..."
Hearing this long string of words, Thorne rubbed his temples with a troubled expression. "Well, I don't even know where to start."
The terms popping out of the other's mouth were each more unfamiliar than the last.
Muggle?
Azkaban?
He hadn't even heard of them.
After a moment of silence, Thorne spoke cautiously:
"Before I try to explain, can I ask one thing? Where... exactly is this place?"
The Snail was clearly extremely dissatisfied with his attempt to change the subject.
"Heh."
"You're saying you don't know—"
"Dawlish."
Just then, another voice interrupted him.
The elderly Bee spoke slowly, his tone gentle and composed.
"I think you could let me have a private chat with Mr. Thorne."
"After all, looking at his background, he was indeed just a Muggle with a history of mental illness for the first half of his life. There's no need to interrogate him as a Dark Wizard."
The Snail wrinkled his eye-stalks, seemingly very unhappy with the suggestion, but still shook his head.
"I'd say it's just a waste of time, Dumbledore."
The moment that name was spoken.
Thorne's brow suddenly twitched.
"Hiss..."
Why does that... sound a bit familiar?
The Bee didn't pay any mind to the Snail's grumbling, simply returning his gaze to Thorne.
In those deep compound eyes, there was a bit of scrutiny, and also a bit of interest.
"Mr. Thorne."
He said in a calm tone, "This is St Mungos Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries."
"The largest medical institution in the Wizarding World."
Thorne was stunned.
His mind went blank, and the bewilderment on his face was completely undisguised.
Because at this very moment.
A familiar notification sound suddenly rang in his ear.
[Ding!]
[Special environment discovered, exploration system activated!]
[Current special environment: St Mungos Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries]
[Exploration progress: 0.3%]