A lifetime ago on Earth—or maybe about twenty-five years, give or take, before Earth's convergence ever started—Gabriela existed. A dreamer. A girl longing for a depth the world seemed unwilling to give. She had been in her final year as an engineering grad. Her life was going places, just beginning in earnest.

Then, it ended.

Not in some grand, meaningful way. No blaze of glory. No tragic poetry. Just another name lost to time—wiped out by some asshole drinking behind the wheel.

But death didn't take her.

Didn't keep her.

Something else did—rather, somewhere else.

It wrapped around her like a comforting blanket, humming with primal energy. So bright. So soothing. And yet… so very fragile, as though whatever—whoever—had created it was dying.

Her soul quivered, aching with a grief that wasn't her own. The name spilled from her without thought, a whisper into the dimming light.

"Life."

That sadness faded as her consciousness expanded—knowledge, memories from lives long past surging forward like a flood. Each one hers. Lives upon lives, countless identities woven into the fabric of her soul—and more often than not, as a him. For a brief, impossible moment, she knew everything.

It was all a cycle. A loop of reincarnations.

She wasn't human. None of them were. They were all Titans—with a sprinkling of gods among them. Shadows of their former selves, trapped in a manaless prison.

And soon, she would be reborn again.

Reborn into a world that was Tartarus.

Reborn as an outcast—along with their mother, the Primordial who loved them.

Who was sacrificing her very essence to keep their souls from fading into nothingness.

The Primordial of Life was their mother, and she was starving herself—letting her essence unravel, bleed away—so that her children's essences could feed. Just a bit longer. Just enough to keep them from slipping into oblivion.

To live once more—

As suddenly as that awareness came, it was gone.

Ripped away!

Her cycle—shattered. The loop—broken.

Something else had taken hold. Something wrong had ripped her from the cycle, tearing her away from her mother's fading warmth.

Away from the essence that had cradled her for lifetimes.

Away from Life herself.

Gabriela sputtered, gasping for air like her lungs had forgotten how to breathe. Every inhale felt wrong—too sharp, too raw, too real.

Her body ached, electricity crackling beneath her skin, setting her nerves ablaze. Every limb felt too heavy, every movement an impossible demand.

Still, with what little strength she had, she curled in on herself, arms wrapping around her trembling form. Her fingers twitched, nails dragging weakly against the unfamiliar surface beneath her.

She didn't dare open her eyes.

She clenched them shut, muscles locking, breath coming in ragged, uneven bursts as her body spasmed. Something was wrong. So very, very wrong.

"I told you it would work."

The voice was suductive. Smooth. Wrong.

And the language?

Not English.

But she understood it.

That was… odd. But she didn't have time to dwell on it.

Blink.

The hell…?

Gabriela's vision swam, struggling to process the twisted nightmare surrounding her.

This wasn't some sterile, high-tech lab out of a sci-fi flick—no, this was something straight out of Mary Shelley's wet dream.

Glowing glass jars lined the walls, filled with bubbling, viscous liquids that preserved various body parts in grotesque suspension. Twisting tubes coiled like serpents, snaking across the room, pulsing with eerie, luminescent energy.

The stone walls bore intricate carvings—runes or symbols of some kind—each one glowing with an ominous purple light.

Books. So many books. Shelves upon shelves, their spines etched with more glowing symbols, their very presence radiating something unnatural.

Torches burned with unsettling green flames, casting long, jittering shadows that moved on their own.

No… this wasn't some 1800s mad scientist's lab.

This was giving off mad wizard vibes.

"That you did. I suppose I should pay you for the ritual, then."

Gabriela froze.

That voice.

She wasn't alone.

She nearly forgot—caught up in the wrongness of it all. The air, thick with something unnatural, pressed in around her, clinging to her skin like damp silk.

A woman's soothing voice purred.

"Ah, yes. About that—"

A wet, gurgling sound—like someone gasping through a slit throat—ripped through the air.

Her breath hitched.

Her body locked.

Not that that meant anything—that tingling sensation, like electricity dancing over her skin, was still there. The room, the walls, the grotesque, glowing horrors around her—none of it mattered anymore. All that mattered was the realization crashing down on her like a slow, creeping tide.

Something was very, very wrong.

It was then that she noticed the oddity of her body.

Arms wrapped around herself, she took a moment to press a hand to her chest—flat.

Her fingers squeezed experimentally, but the familiar weight she expected? Gone.

That alone was enough to send a ripple of unease through her, but then her fingers—stubby fingers—caught her attention.

Wait… what?

Her gaze snapped downward, still lying where she'd awoken, her breath coming in short, shallow bursts as she finally took in the sight of herself.

Flat chest—

Whyyyyy?

Short arms—

What the hell?

Small body—

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Shit.

And then—

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!

Her eyes went wide in absolute horror as she noticed the new limb protruding from between her—no, his—legs.

Oh. Oh, hell no!

As turmoil raged within her—now his—consciousness, amid the unfamiliar sensations, the wrong body, the strange scents thick in the air, that voice sliced through the chaos like a dagger wrapped in silk.

"Hello there, my little pet."

Nope. Nope. Nope.

Gabriela—or was it Gabriel now?—was not ready to deal with whatever fresh hell this was.

A woman stepped out of the darkness, moving with a grace that sent a chill down Gab's spine.

Something shimmered around her, an almost imperceptible distortion, like the air itself refused to settle around her form. Gab's mind snagged on it, trying to process what exactly was off about her—but nope, brain said fuck that and threw up a Does Not Compute error.

She was tall—really tall—like, giant tall. Or maybe that was just because Gab was now smol.

Or maybe because Gab was now a he?

Or a they?

Oh god, am I having a gender crisis on top of a reincarnation crisis?

Mental breakdown mode: engaged.

Were they dead? Dreaming? Hallucinating?

Gab was rapidly losing any grip on reality, and tall, creepy shimmer-lady sure as hell wasn't helping.

All they wanted was to go home, finish grad school, land an amazing career, find a deadbeat man, pop out some kids, divorce his ass, and raise them alone—you know, like every American woman.

Not…

Not whatever the fuck this was.

"I think I'll name you Nikolanthos. I am Kadia, and we'll have much to learn from one another. The possiblities of new magic."

Excuse me, the fuck did she just say?

Gab—Nikolanthos?—felt their brain short-circuit.

Magic?!

"Will… Will you teach me magic?"

"Of course."

Four Years Later…

Nikolanthos—shortened to Nikola—had struggled to adapt to his new life but had eventually come to terms with the new name and gender.

That said, he'd definitely heard about sex-changing potions and had spent an unreasonable amount of time trying to find one. Turns out, they were stupidly rare and even more stupidly expensive, reserved almost exclusively for nobility.

At first, he figured it was for, you know, practical reasons—like assisting in same-sex relationships. Take a potion, boom, two genders capable of making kids.

Yeah. No.

Apparently, children were already beyond a rare occurrence—like, one-in-a-billion rare. Nope, turns out the nobility just liked hoarding the damn things for their wild orgies. Rich people shit.

Oh, and as an extra fun little discovery in year two? He wasn't a toddler.

He was a gnome.

A fucking gnome.

Kadia, his ever-so-gracious benefactor, had found that absolutely fucking hilarious.

He couldn't forget the way she had hunched over, clutching her stomach, cackling at his expense.

"You truly thought you were summoned into a toddler's body? Truly? Aw, you're too precious!"

That had stung.

Look, in his defense, who the fuck wakes up in a toddler-sized body and immediately assumes they're a gnome?! No one. That's who. Though, he had briefly entertained the idea that maybe he was just a little person. A very unfortunate cosmic joke, but possible. Turns out, he was—just, you know, the fantasy variant.

His benefactor was an odd one.

To this day, he still couldn't figure out what that weird shimmer around her was, and honestly? He never bothered to ask.

No.

Because Kadia was insane.

Like, actual, certified lunatic levels of insane. Nikola had once watched her behead a dwarf for calling her a cunt.

A bit harsh? Sure. But did he get it? Absolutely.

If he'd been called that and had the power to do something about it without suffering the consequences, he would've—well, maybe not beheaded anyone, but certainly done… something!

Kadia had learned about the summoning ritual that had brought him here from a distant moon called Nyxoria—a place that had once been home to a vampiric race, now nearly extinct. Over time, the ruins of their civilization had been settled by scattered kingdoms, wandering settlers, goblins, and anyone else looking to avoid the ever-expanding reach of the Ascended Empire.

She hadn't had the materials or power to conduct the ritual herself.

But the knowledge? That, she could sell.

And so, she did—to a wizard with the means to make use of it. The man had been a slave-owning, power-hungry bastard, the kind who saw magic not as an art but as a tool for dominance. He had the wealth, the resources, and most importantly, the arrogance to believe he could control whatever the ritual brought forth.

Kadia had simply let him believe that.

She let the fool do all the work.

The wizard prepared the ritual, gathering rare components, making the necessary sacrifices, and weaving the intricate spells. And the moment it was complete? She killed him. Took his tower. And everything in it.

Including the one he had summoned.

Nikola hadn't been a slave—not in the traditional sense. No chains. No collar. But he had been an experiment. A curiosity.

At first, Kadia had thought him to be unique, something worth studying. But after weeks of testing, she came to a frustrating realization—

Nikola had no mana.

Not a drop.

She couldn't understand why, and after a few more failed attempts to force magic into him, she eventually lost interest.

And just like that, he was promoted to assistant.

And with that promotion, all dreams of learning magic evaporated.

In Nikola's spare time—which was quite often, given that his manaless existence made him more of a hindrance than an asset—he buried himself in the study of magical engineering. Airship construction, weapon enchantments, arcane machinery—anything and everything that could bring his ideas to life.

His new dream?

Build his own airship. Forge magical weapons. Design a suit of armor—no, not just armor, a full-scale golem he could climb inside and pilot. A walking fortress. A testament to what artificers could accomplish.

The only profession with magic he could master without having any of his own.

It wasn't until Kadia casually told him to discard a box filled with depleted mana crystals that he realized just how possible that dream might be.

The box had been as big as he was.

Heaving with effort, Nikola dragged it along the ground, gritting his teeth as the rough edges scraped against the stone floor. Just as he reached the disposal area, the damn thing caught on something and flipped, spilling its contents in a clattering avalanche of hollow crystals.

He groaned.

"Fucking wonderful."

Grumbling under his breath, he started shoving the depleted mana crystals back into the box, one by one.

Then, as he picked up one of the dull, lifeless gems, something strange happened.

A pull.

A shift in the air.

Frowning, he held the crystal up to the dim light, turning it over in his fingers.

The sensation was subtle but undeniable, like the whisper of a current, invisible yet present.

His breath hitched.

The crystal… reacted.

Before his very eyes, the dull, lifeless gem began to glow—mana seeping into it, recharging as though he had willed it to.

With a sharp inhale, Nikola realized the significance of what he'd just done.

He didn't have mana himself—but the mana around him bent to his will.

A rush of excitement surged through him. Maybe… maybe his earlier dreams of learning magic weren't as impossible as he'd thought! Maybe—

No.

He shoved the thought aside. This wasn't something he could afford to get careless with. If anyone found out he could recharge mana crystals using ambient mana, he wouldn't just be valuable—he'd be property. Some power-hungry noble or mage would lock him in a dungeon, chain him up, and use him as a living battery until he withered away.

A shiver ran down his spine.

No! That's not going to happen.

Artificing was still the dream.

His gaze flicked to the scattered crystals, a slow grin forming. Just one fully charged mana crystal could fetch a fortune. Enough to buy his way off this moon. The thought sent his mind racing.

But where would I even go?

Then, the answer hit him.

Nyxoria.

That was where the ritual that had yanked him into this world had originated.

If he could get there—if he could master artificing—he'd flourish.

Depleted mana crystals were worthless. Discarded. It was usually easier to mine new ones from freshly converged worlds than to bother recharging them.

But he could recharge them—easily.

Endless mana.

Endless power for his artificing!

Endless funds!

He could build. Innovate. Thrive.

And maybe—just maybe—he could find a way back home.

Nyxoria had turned out to be a terrible decision.

He hadn't told his former benefactor of his plan—he just disappeared one night. Slipped away, quiet as a shadow. He figured she wouldn't care. He was useless to her, after all.

Or at least, that's what he thought.

What he hadn't considered was that Kadia was possessive. Useless or not, she saw him as hers—and gods help anyone who tried to take away something that belonged to her.

But he was already long gone.

Getting to Nyxoria had been the easy part. A few quarter-sized, fully charged mana crystals had bought him first-class treatment. Turns out, when you casually toss around the kind of power that most mages would kill for, people tend to treat you very, very nicely.

Also, gnomes? Surprisingly well-respected. They made up a good portion of the mages within the Empire, second only to elves. Of course, he didn't tell anyone he couldn't use magic whatsoever, but he had a few ideas on how to work around that.

If mana wasn't an issue, then crafting something like a flintlock pistol powered by a fully charged mana stone would be stupidly easy. One pull of the trigger, and—boom!—it would deplete its entire charge in an instant, firing off a pure mana blast that could punch through damn near anything.

And the best part?

Wards typically protected against physical attacks and elemental spells… but pure, unfiltered mana? Not so much. The cost to guard against something that volatile was too expensive. Too impractical.

But cost wasn't an issue for him.

Not when he could recharge a mana crystal in seconds.

The problem was the Kingdom of Slaethia on Nyxoria. One of countless kingdoms beneath the Empire's boot. And like all kingdoms under the tyranny of the Ascended, they were raging xenophobes, hell-bent on eradicating any intelligent life they deemed lesser. And for those who refused to bend the knee?

Slavery. Or execution.

And guess who their primary target was?

The beastkin.

Unfortunately for them, Nyxoria also happened to have a rather large beastkin kingdom settled there. It took Nikola some time—too much time, really—within Slaethia's brand of insanity before he finally noped the fuck out.

He wanted nothing to do with that mess.

A shame, though. He'd crafted their prized flagship.

After that, he found himself among the beastkin, aiding their kingdom with airship construction, magical weapons, and other innovations to help level the playing field. A strategic move. A practical choice. Purely professional.

…It definitely had nothing to do with the ridiculously attractive fox-eared man he'd met.

Nope. Absolutely not.

And if his heart had shattered when that same man had fallen in the siege of the capital? Well.

That was his burden to bear.

In the end, the war had come down to numbers.

And the beastkin?

They just didn't have enough.

Back to Now!

"…How long have you been there?"

Nikola blinked. The black sludge monster Asherah was hauling around was terrifying as hell, and now it was talking to him.

The creature—no, the woman—was a shapeshifter. And she wasn't just some random nightmare given form. No. He'd seen her before. Too many times. In dreams that weren't just dreams. In places he'd been and never been, yet remembered all the same.

Who was she?

"What? I've been with the three of you this entire time. Why?"

"…Oh. Okay. Cool."

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