Lucen woke up to pain.Not sharp pain. Not screaming pain.
It was the dull kind—heavy, everywhere, like his body had been used and then thrown away.
His eyes stayed closed for a moment. Not because he couldn't open them, but because he didn't want to. The air felt wrong. Too clean. Too quiet.
When he finally opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was wood.
A wooden ceiling. Rough. Old. Cracks ran through it like veins. No fan. No tube light. No sound of traffic outside.
This wasn't his room.
Lucen tried to move his hand. His fingers twitched—and pain followed. He sucked in a breath without meaning to.
…Still alive?"
The voice wasn't his.That was when panic tried to rise. Tried.
Lucen didn't let it.
He stayed still, breathing slowly, sharp eyes taking in everything. A small room. Stone walls. A narrow bed. A window on the side, open just enough to let mountain air in. Outside, green slopes stretched far, quiet and endless.
This place felt… far.
He searched his memory.College. Evening. The road home.Dark. Voices shouting. A loud crack.
Gunshot.
His chest tightened.
The last thing he remembered clearly was falling. The world spinning. A face leaning close. A man's voice, low and rushed.
"We killed a student. Run before anyone sees—"
Then the tattoo.
A strange flower-shaped mark on the man's left hand.
Lucen clenched his fingers.
He should be dead.
Yet here he was.A shadow moved near the bed.
"Easy," someone said. "Don't move too fast."
Lucen turned his head. A man stood there, mid-thirties maybe, wearing rough clothes and a leather vest. A sword rested against the wall like it belonged there.
Sword.
Lucen's eyes narrowed.
"Where… am I?" he asked.
His voice sounded deeper. Not weak. Just unfamiliar.
The man blinked. "You don't remember?"
Lucen chose his next words carefully. "Not much."
That wasn't a lie.
The man sighed and crossed his arms. "Figures. You took a hit to the head. Village healers did what they could."
Village.
Lucen looked down at his hands.They weren't his.
Same shape. Same size. But rougher. Small scars. Calluses on the fingers.
This body had lived a different life.
"What's your name?" the man asked.
Lucen paused.
Names had weight. He didn't know why, but saying the wrong one felt dangerous.
"…Lucen," he said. "Lucen Morrow."The man frowned. "That's not funny."
Lucen met his eyes calmly. "I'm not joking."
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, the man shook his head. "You really did lose it, huh. Fine. Rest for now."
He turned to leave, then stopped at the door.
"You're lucky to be breathing," he said. "Most didn't make it when the village was attacked."
The door closed.
Lucen stared at the ceiling again.Village attacked.
Body not his.Alive when he should be dead.
This wasn't a dream.
And somewhere deep inside his chest, something warm stirred—slow, quiet, and unfamiliar.
Lucen spent the next few hours listening.
Footsteps outside. Low voices. The sound of metal clinking. Wood creaking. Everything felt real in a way dreams never did.
When the door opened again, a woman entered with a bowl of soup. She looked tired. Not afraid of him. Just… used to pain.
"Drink slowly," she said, placing it beside him. "Your body's still weak."
Lucen nodded and followed her advice.
The taste was simple. Salty. Warm. It grounded him.
"People keep coming in and out," he said casually. "Am I important or something?"
The woman gave a short laugh. "You're part of Crux Cross. Of course they care."The name settled in his mind.
Crux Cross.
A guild.So I'm not a villager," Lucen said.
"No," she replied. "You were hired muscle. Escort work. Searching job."
"Searching for what?"
She hesitated.
Lucen noticed.
"…A pendant," she said finally. "A cross-shaped one."
Lucen's grip tightened around the bowl.
A cross.He stayed calm on the outside. "And you don't know what it does?"
She shook her head. "We're told not to ask. Orders came from above. Noble request."
That answered a lot—and nothing at all.After she left, Lucen sat in silence.A noble-backed job. A guild. An attack.
The man who owned this body had died.And Lucen had taken his place.
He stood slowly, ignoring the ache, and walked to the window.
Mountains stretched endlessly under a soft sky. No wires. No buildings. No cars.
A beautiful place to die.His reflection stared back at him in the glass.
Same sharp eyes. Same calm expression. A little older maybe. More worn.
"This world better be worth it," Lucen muttered.
That was when it happened.A flicker of light crossed his vision.Not outside. Inside.
His chest warmed again. This time stronger. Symbols flashed through his mind—crosses, lines, something sealing shut.
Lucen grabbed the window frame.
The air around him felt heavy for a split second, then normal again.
He exhaled slowly.
"…So that's new."
He didn't know what it was. But he knew one thing.
That power didn't belong to this body.
It belonged to him.
Night fell quietly.
Lucen lay back on the bed, staring into the dark. Somewhere outside, people talked in hushed voices. Plans were being made.
They would move again soon.For the pendant.
For the nobles.
For reasons most of them didn't understand.
Lucen closed his eyes.
He didn't know this world. Didn't know its rules. Didn't know why he had been brought here.
But he knew how to survive.
And he knew one more thing—clear as day.
Whatever that cross pendant was…It was connected to him now.