The air in 2090 didn't smell like air anymore. It smelled like burnt plastic and ozone. Kaelen crouched in a trench that was more of a shallow grave than a fortification. His lungs burned with every breath. Above him, the sky was a bruised purple, choked by the exhaust of low-altitude hunter drones.
He gripped his rifle. It was a standard-issue railgun, cold and heavy. His hands were shaking, not from fear, but from the sheer exhaustion of three weeks without real sleep. The war had taken everything.
A high-pitched whistle cut through the sound of distant artillery. Kaelen looked up. A streak of white light was descending toward his position. It was a kinetic penetrator; a solid rod of tungsten dropped from orbit.
He didn't have time to scream. There was a flash that turned the world white, and then a heat so intense it felt like his soul was being peeled away from his skin. The sound was the last thing to go, a roar that shattered his eardrums before everything faded into a silent, heavy black.
Kaelen gasped.
He sat up abruptly, his hands clutching at his throat. He expected to feel the wet warmth of blood or the sting of shrapnel. Instead, he felt soft fabric. His fingers brushed against a silken blanket.
He stared at his hands. They were pale and smooth. No scars. No grease from the rifle. No dirt under the fingernails.
'I died,' he thought, his heart hammering against his ribs. 'I definitely died?'
He scrambled out of the bed, his legs feeling strangely long and gangly. He stumbled toward a tall mirror in the corner of the room. When he saw the reflection, he froze.
A boy stared back. He looked about sixteen years old. He was tall, maybe 6'2", with a lean but athletic build. His hair was jet black and messy, falling over a face that was undeniably handsome. He had sharp features and a straight nose, the kind of look people back home would have called a "pretty boy" or an idol.
"Who is this?" he whispered.
His voice was different too. It was higher, smoother, lacking the gravelly rasp of a soldier who had spent years shouting over gunfire.
He looked around the room. The architecture was strange. The walls were made of heavy stone blocks, and the ceiling featured thick wooden beams. However, the craftsmanship was oddly precise. It reminded him of the "Neo-Medieval" revival houses built back in 2026.
He did the math quickly. 2026 was sixty-four years before he died in the trenches. He remembered seeing pictures of those houses in digital archives. They were built to look old but had the clean lines of modern engineering.
'Did I transmigrate?'
The thought hit him like a physical blow. He had read about this stuff in old webnovels during his breaks in the bunker. It was a ridiculous trope, a fantasy for people who wanted to escape their lives. But as he touched the cold stone wall, he realized this was very real.
The room was plain. There were no machines. No screens. No hum of electricity. Just a simple wooden desk, a wardrobe, and a single window looking out over a courtyard.
A heavy knock echoed through the room. It was so loud Kaelen jumped.
"Young Master! Are you awake?"
Kaelen hesitated. He didn't know the language, yet he understood every word perfectly. It was like the meaning was being beamed directly into his brain.
"I'm awake," he called out.
The door creaked open. An old man stepped inside. He wore a stiff, dark suit that looked like a butler's uniform. His white hair was slicked back neatly, not a single strand out of place. His face was lined with deep wrinkles, and he looked incredibly worried.
"Young Master Kaelen, you must hurry," the old man said, his hands wringing together. "Today is the day for the mana affinity test. The carriage is waiting. If you are late, the elders will have your head!"
'Mana?' Kaelen thought. 'Like in the movies?'
"Right. The test. I'm coming," Kaelen said.
He followed the old man out of the room, trying to keep his composure. He didn't know where he was going, but he decided to play along. He was still reeling from the fact that he was breathing.
They walked through a hallway lined with portraits of stern-looking men. The old man led him outside to a carriage pulled by two massive horses with manes that seemed to shimmer like silk.
As the carriage moved, Kaelen looked out the window. They were passing through a town that looked like a fairy tale. The houses were made of timber and stone, and the streets were paved with cobblestones. People were dressed in tunics and robes.
Soon, they arrived at a large open field on the outskirts of the town. Thousands of people were gathered there. In the center of the field stood a massive stone pillar, carved with intricate runes that glowed with a faint, pulsing blue light.
Kaelen stepped out of the carriage. A surge of excitement bubbled up in his chest.
'This is definitely a fantasy world,' he thought.
He looked at his hands again. If he was the protagonist of this story, he must have some insane power. Maybe he was a genius mage. Maybe he had a "system" that would give him God-tier abilities. He felt a grin spreading across his face. He had survived a world war only to be reborn in a world of magic.
"This is amazing," he whispered.
He walked toward the center of the field, joining a group of other teenagers. They all looked nervous. Some were praying, while others were shaking. Kaelen stood tall. He felt a bit arrogant, a bit superior. He was a veteran of the Great War. He had seen the end of the world. What was a little magic test compared to that?
A man stepped onto a wooden platform near the pillar. He wore deep blue robes embroidered with silver thread. He looked like a scholar, but there was a weight to his presence that made the air feel heavy.
"Silence!" the man shouted.
The voice was unnaturally loud. It felt like it exploded inside Kaelen's skull. He winced, feeling a sharp pain in his ears. He reached up and touched his earlobe. When he pulled his hand away, there was a small smear of blood.
'Is that magic?' he wondered, his heart racing. 'Just his voice did that?'
The man began to speak about the importance of the day. He explained that this test would determine their future. Those with high affinity would become mages, the elite of society. Those who were "null" or had low affinity would have to settle for the life of a commoner or, at best, a swordsman who could only use basic aura.
"The first candidate," the man called out. "Elowen Nightshade."
A girl stepped forward. She had long, vibrant purple hair and pale skin. She was trembling so hard that Kaelen thought she might collapse. She walked up to the stone pillar and placed her small, shaking hand against the runes.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the air grew cold.
A sudden frost crept across the grass. The runes on the pillar turned a blinding, icy white. With a loud crack, a massive spike of ice erupted from the ground next to the pillar, reaching ten feet into the air. It was jagged and beautiful, reflecting the sunlight like a diamond.
The crowd gasped. The man in the blue robes laughed loudly, his eyes wide with delight.
"Excellent! A high-tier ice affinity! You will be a Great Mage, child!"
Elowen looked like she was about to cry from relief. She bowed and hurried back to the crowd, her face flushed with success.
The test continued. Some kids passed with minor sparks or small gusts of wind. One boy managed to make the pillar glow green, earning him a spot as a healer. Others failed completely, walking away in tears while their parents looked on in shame.
Finally, the man called out Kaelen's name.
Kaelen took a deep breath. He adjusted his shirt and walked up to the pillar. He kept his head high, glancing at the other kids with a smirk. He was the transmigrator. He was the one who died and came back. This was his moment. He expected the pillar to shatter or turn gold.
He reached the pillar and hesitated. He didn't actually know how to "concentrate mana." He had no idea what that even meant.
'Just touch it,' he thought. 'The power should just come out.'
He pressed his palm firmly against the cold stone.
He waited.
The crowd went silent. The man in the blue robes leaned forward, squinting.
A second passed. Then five.
Finally, a tiny, pathetic spark flickered at the base of the pillar. It was no bigger than the spark from a flint and steel. It lasted for half a second before vanishing into the gray stone.
The man in the blue robes sighed. He looked at Kaelen with a mixture of pity and boredom.
"Kaelen Vance," the man said. "Lowest possible mana affinity. You are effectively null. Next!"
Kaelen didn't move. He stared at the spot where the spark had been. His eyes were wide, and his jaw felt tight.
'What?'
He looked back at the crowd. The other teenagers were whispering. Some were snickering. The arrogance he had felt moments ago turned into a cold, heavy weight in his stomach.
'I came up here like a fool,' he thought. 'I was so sure. I thought I was special because I died in a war? God, you really gave me false hope just to embarrass me.'
He took his hand off the pillar. His palm felt numb. He didn't look at the man in the robes. He didn't look at the other kids. He turned around and walked straight back to his carriage, his face burning with shame.
The old servant, Silas, was waiting for him. He saw the look on Kaelen's face and didn't say a word. He looked devastated.
As the carriage pulled away, Kaelen sat in the corner, staring out the window.
'My father is dead,' he remembered, the memories of this new life finally trickling in. 'I'm the patriarch of a dying house. I'm sixteen, I have no money, and now everyone knows I have no talent.'
The ride back was quiet. Kaelen looked at the trees passing by. They were beautiful, lush and green. It was so different from 2090. Back home, the only trees left were the ones with surveillance cameras bolted to their trunks. Everything here was peaceful and bright.
And he was a nobody.
When they reached the estate, he climbed out of the carriage without waiting for Silas.
"I'll be in my room," he muttered.
He walked through the silent house and shut his door. He sat on the edge of the bed, burying his face in his hands. He felt like a fraud.
'At least there are no drones,' he whispered to the empty room. 'At least I can sleep without hearing guns go off.'
He pulled the blanket over himself and closed his eyes, trying to forget the image of that pathetic little spark.