2 Chapter 2: A soul reborn

Three years had passed since the disastrous explosion at the Argentum Magic Academy. In that time, the academy had struggled to regain its footing, its once-promising future now marred by uncertainty and doubt.

The shockwave of the explosion had not only damaged Roderick beyond conventional salvation, but also fried most of the delicate magical tools and cleared the area of surrounding mana, making the academy worse than average for practicing meditation and spell casting.

Throughout his quest to find a compatible soul to mend Roderick's shattered spirit, Orithar the Wise journeyed to the far reaches of reality, guided by divination spells able to peer into the secrets of past, present, and future on a galactic scale.

Finally, in a small corner of a distant universe, he discovered a world strikingly similar to his own. Known to the locals as Earth, it was a planet teeming with life and a diverse range of intelligent beings. Here he found the soul he had been searching for, that of a recently deceased young man named Alex, a brilliant physics student on the cusp of graduation.

The young man had met a tragic end, his body mangled after a frontal collision with a white truck, leaving him dead on the ground and his spirit's song fading in the background of the Elysian Orchestra, the afterlife where all souls would take part until the end of the universe.

Orithar could have easily saved Alex, but he didn't. A guardian to his people, he didn't care about any other iteration of humans. The universe was full of such species, and he held no concern for them. All he cared about was that he knew he could use this man's soul to fix Roderick's, and thus Alex had to die.

He kneeled down next to the young man and gently scooped out his soul, as one would with a baby. Pulling out what had already begun the descent into the afterlife.

Souls were formed by two parts: the shell, a swirling mist of music playing the memories a person made in their life, and the core, which contained instincts and the inscrutable secrets of consciousness and magic.

Back on the grounds of the Argentum Magic Academy, Roderick still lay in stasis, unchanged from the day of the explosion. He had been moved to his office in the academy, on a bed that had replaced his ornate desk.

The office was an elegant chamber, reflecting Roderick's passion for knowledge and meticulous nature. High vaulted ceilings adorned with delicate frescoes depicting the history of magic gave the room a sense of grandeur, while the soft glow of enchanted candles illuminated the space in a warm, inviting light.

The walls were lined with towering bookshelves, each filled to the brim with tomes, scrolls, and manuscripts. The collection spanned several magical disciplines and historical accounts, speaking to Roderick's insatiable curiosity and dedication to his craft.

In one corner of the office, a beautifully carved wooden globe stood on an ornate pedestal, its surface detailed with the intricate geography of the known world. Across the room, a massive crystal display case housed a collection of magical artifacts and historical trinkets he had accumulated during the war and his successive forays into archaeology, which in the end produced the artifact that landed him in this situation.

Despite Roderick's absence, the office remained well-kept, a testament to the devotion of the remaining academy staff. The rich scent of leather-bound books created an atmosphere of scholarly tranquility.

His friends, Elara and Thane, had taken on the monumental task of running the academy in his absence, doing their best to keep the institution afloat despite the many challenges they faced.

Elara, her eyes filled with determination, had stepped up as acting dean, while Thane continued to head the Magical Combat and Strategy department. They worked tirelessly to keep Roderick's dream alive, hoping against hope that one day he would awaken and return to them.

Unfortunately, not all of his friends shared the same commitment. Some saw the accident as a bad omen for the future of the academy, while others saw the loss of the dean and most of the expensive tools for research and teaching as a sign of impending failure and headed to greener pastures.

As Orithar arrived on the academy grounds, he carefully approached Roderick's stasis field, the soul of the young Earthling cradled in his arms. He dispelled the stasis field and with great care and precision, he began the delicate process of fusing the two souls together.

The two cores began spinning like twin suns, and around them, the full song of Alex's life and the remaining notes of Roderick's, fused together, creating a new one that was both and neither at the same time.

As the fusion neared completion, the stasis field surrounding Roderick began to fade. His eyes fluttered open, and for the first time in three long years, he drew breath once more. However, it was not Roderick who awoke, but Alex, his consciousness now fused with the remnants of Roderick's memories.

Orinthar fixed the rest of the flesh wounds, with barely a snap of his fingers and then disappeared into the background, observing the young man awaken.

Awakening with a sharp intake of breath, Alex bolted upright, pulse-quickening and lungs desperate for air. The room seemed to whirl chaotically around him, an unsettling dance of hazy lights and indistinct shapes. His grip tightened on the sheets beneath him, crinkling the fabric, as the ghostly fragments of Roderick's past invaded his consciousness like relentless, tidal waves trying to wash off the traces of Alex's life. Much like the sea tirelessly attempts to erase the footprints left behind on its shores.

His vision blurred and his pulse pounded in his ears. Incomplete visions of strange lands, unknown faces, war, love, and hate flashed before his eyes as he clutched his head in pain. 

Paralyzed, he felt the weight of the bed beneath him shift and sink as though the very mattress sought to pull him into its depths. Shadows seemed to flit at the periphery of his vision, dancing with the flickering candlelight from an unseen source. The cold tendrils of confusion wrapped tighter around him, causing his heart to skip erratically.

Feverish, he looked left and right as panic set in as he stared at the walls lined with books and artifacts from a world he didn't recognize.

"Wh-where am I?" Alex stammered, his voice trembling with fear and confusion. "What's happening? Where am I?"

There was no answer, for he was alone in the room, save for Orithar invisibly watching from a distance, observing the bewildered young man who had just been given a second chance at life in a world unknown to him.

Frantically, Alex stumbled out of bed, his legs weak and rigid. He scanned the room, searching for some semblance of familiarity, something to anchor him in the torrent of alien memories and emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

Dizzy and disoriented, Alex took hesitant steps forward, but the room seemed to twist and elongate, like some dizzying labyrinth. Each step was an ordeal as past and present tangled, leaving him trapped in a nexus of time and memory.

With every breath he drew, the identity of the man he had come to inhabit wavered, its once robust presence now a mere whisper against the winds of change. It felt as though the remaining fragments of that persona were making a final, desperate attempt to mesh with his own, clinging to the last vestiges of its strength. The memories, emotions, and experiences of that soul seemed to seep into him, fervently trying to bridge two worlds before the inevitable dissolution.

He felt the anguish and resistance of the lingering traces battling for existence, and for a fleeting instant, he feared he might vanish alongside them, much like a drowning man inadvertently dragging another into the abyss during his final throes.

As the panic threatened to consume him, Alex's eyes landed on a mirror hanging on the wall. He approached it hesitantly, taking in his reflection – Roderick's reflection – with a mix of curiosity and dread. The face that stared back at him was not his own, but that of the man whose life he had been thrust into.

Roderick was a striking figure, with a strong, chiseled jaw and high cheekbones that gave him an air of nobility. His piercing blue eyes were framed by thick, dark eyebrows that seemed perpetually furrowed in deep thought. His hair, a rich chestnut brown, was kept short and neatly combed, a disciplined style that matched his military background.

Standing at an impressive 6'3", Roderick's tall, broad-shouldered frame was a testament to his years of military service and exploration. Despite the scholarly pursuits that occupied much of his time, Roderick never neglected his physical fitness. His well-toned muscles and athletic build spoke about his dedication to maintaining a strong body to match his brilliant mind.

Seeing his new face somehow stabilized his identity and what was left of the real Roderick disappeared, much like a lone candle's flame snuffed out by a tempest's gust. He took a grateful breath, feeling his brain cooling down, and gave himself a double look.

He frowned seeing the bloody and muddy clothes he still wore, and checked himself for injuries, however, he found none, he traced the lines of his muscles with unsteady fingers and gulped down as he felt how hard he was, his attention was then stolen by something moving in the corner of his eyes.

Alex stared up at the ceiling as shadows danced across it. The flickering candlelight cast eerie shapes on the walls, seemingly taunting him as his thoughts raced. He tried to get a grip on his mind, but they evaded him like wily prey, leaving him trapped in his own tumultuous thoughts.

His eyes landed on a rough necklace made out of wood, its shoddy craftsmanship out of place against the more refined furniture and random decorations he could see around, as he approached it, he suddenly folded over in pain, as though a bolt of lightning had surged through his mind, momentarily reviving the dwindling essence of Roderick.

Suddenly, a barrage of memories assaulted him, tearing through his consciousness like a raging storm. He saw Roderick's life in fragmented glimpses, each one revealing more about the person he used to be, and yet, not him at all. Scenes of laughter and joy intertwined with moments of anger and despair, leaving Alex feeling disoriented and overwhelmed once more.

As the memories continued to bombard him, he felt as though he were being torn apart, his very identity stretched thin between two lives that were never meant to converge. The frustration and confusion boiled within him, and he couldn't contain it any longer.

Roderick bolted forward, slamming his fists against the bed in a fit of wild rage. The wooden frame creaked under the force but held fast. His breathing came in ragged gasps as if he were a drowning man gasping for air.

"Who am I?" he growled through gritted teeth, sending saliva flying.

The anger and struggle within him grew, threatening to consume him whole. He paced the small room, each step an echo of his internal battle. He could feel the two identities vying for control, fighting for dominance over his soul.

In a moment of desperation, Roderick collapsed to his knees, clutching his head in both hands as he tried to push the memories away, to silence the cacophony that threatened to tear him apart. But the harder he fought, the louder they became a relentless onslaught that left him reeling.

In the depths of his struggle, Alex found his very being caught in the crossfire of his two souls. As if the internal battle wasn't enough of a headache, Roderick's body, once used to interface with his original soul, now struggled to cope with the new individual occupying it and the contradictions the brain was trying to process.

Roderick's brain understood that magic existed, but Alex's soul stubbornly insisted it didn't. It was as if he were caught between the conviction that Santa Claus was a myth while still holding onto the hope that he would receive a Christmas gift. The cognitive dissonance he experienced made it even harder for Roderick to reconcile the two conflicting identities within him.

He let out a beastly scream and bit on his lips to avoid fainting on the cold floor, blood seeped out from the corner of his lips, staining the wooden floor.

He could feel his mind being stretched thin, pulled between the magical world that Roderick had known and the mundane reality that Alex had lived in. The relentless assault of contradictions left him mentally and emotionally exhausted, longing for a resolution that seemed impossibly far away.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, his breathing slowed as he tried to find some semblance of calm amidst the storm of confusion. He found himself in a dark ethereal space, back in his old body. Opposite to him, a fragmented silhouette covered in static stared at him. He recognized the shape as the real Roderick, whatever had happened to his soul, left huge gaps, leaving behind an incomplete puzzle of a man.

"Promise you'll help them," he said tiredly in a foreign tongue Alex somehow understood. "Please, help them." He continued, and Alex this time felt like he instinctively knew who he was talking about and nodded his head.

Roderick's avatar smiled and suddenly the storm of memories stopped, and Alex found himself back in the room, still in front of the mirror.

Alex stared at his new reflection, feeling all of a sudden better; gone was the fight between the two souls for dominance. He had won and was determined to unravel the tangled web of memories left by the previous owner.

From his invisible vantage point, Orithar watched with a mixture of satisfaction and apprehension. The fusion had been successful, but the true challenge for Roderick had only just begun. With a silent nod, the wise mage slipped out of the room, his duty to fix a mistake fulfilled.