The Cycle of Fury

Elias slumped on the edge of the massive royal bed in the master bedroom, his body still but his mind a mess. Hours passed, and he just sat there, staring at the ornate walls, feeling like he was half-asleep, half-trapped. Why did this happen to me? he thought, his chest tight. I never wanted to transmigrate. I just want to go home.

Memories flooded in, not his own but those of the body he now inhabited. His name's Louis Wright. A young detective with the Hub Order. Obsessed with magical potions and archetypes, enough to apply as a Guardian Detective. Those weren't regular detectives tracking lost wallets or helping locals. Guardian Detectives answered to the gods and goddesses of this world, their work steeped in magic and danger. In Mindale, Goddess Vespera was practically worshipped, her churches dotting the city like stars. Goddess Sylvara wasn't far behind, her name spoken with reverence.

Elias rubbed his chin, standing up slowly. Guess I'm Louis now, forcing himself to accept the name. Most people would've freaked out longer, the idea of being stuck in someone else's body gnawing at them forever. But Louis, or Elias, whatever he was now, he just wanted out. This world, with its gods and magic, felt like a minefield where one wrong step could end him.

He crossed the room to a polished cupboard, grabbing a cane, a top hat, and a black coat. He threw them on quickly, the coat heavier than he expected, and shut the bedroom door behind him. Heading upstairs, he followed a faint memory from Louis's mind. There's a revolver up here. Somewhere. He needed it. Louis Wright had a job to do, find Mr. Gordon, the ex-leader of the Hub Order's detective branch. A man of honor, respected, until he vanished without a trace. The Hub Order had given Louis a deadline, deliver answers or they'd come knocking. And if they did, Elias was in trouble. He barely knew Louis's life, just scraps of memories, not enough to fake it if someone started asking questions. Just act normal, pretend everything's fine.

Louis started down the stairs, but his legs gave out, heavy with a bone-deep exhaustion that wasn't entirely his own. The clock read four in the morning, and a stray memory from this body, Louis Wright's, hit him: the guy hadn't slept in thirty-eight hours before Elias took over.

He stumbled, landing hard on his back with a groan. Struggling to his feet, he spotted a plush sofa with white cushions right in front of him. Without thinking, he collapsed onto it, sinking into the soft fabric. His eyes were heavy, his face drawn, and sleep pulled him under before he could fight it.

…

Hours later, Louis jerked awake, sweat beading on his forehead. He yawned, taking a deep breath as he glanced at the window. The clock showed noon, and sunlight poured in, carrying the lively hum of Mindale's bustling crowds.

He ran a hand through his wavy hair, trying to shake off the grogginess, and stood up. I was supposed to start looking for Mr. Gordon, he thought, frustration creeping in. But I passed out, totally wiped. How didn't I notice how tired this body was before I tried the stairs? Did the transmigration hold it off for a bit, then let it crash over me?

He grabbed his black coat, top hat, and cane from the nearby rack, the weight of the detective's life settling on his shoulders. Stepping outside, he locked the dark green front door, its golden plate gleaming with the number seventeen. He glanced at it, a small anchor in this strange world. A few steps led him down to Niveda Street, where identical houses lined the road, each with a different number on its door.

The cobblestone street was as clean as ever, almost unnaturally so, catching the sunlight like polished glass. Louis spotted a horse-drawn carriage nearby and fumbled through his pockets, pulling out a single pence. Good enough, he thought. Carriages were cheaper than the railway trains, and he'd planned to explore all of Mindale this month, hunting for clues.

Mr. Gordon a man known for his honor, had vanished without a trace. Why would someone like that disappear? And what pushed him to abandon the Hub Order? I need answers, Louis thought, gripping his cane. If I don't find something soon, the Hub Order's coming for me, and I barely know how to be this guy.

Louis handed the pence to the carriage driver, who gave a quick nod. He climbed inside, settling onto a worn leather seat. Two others were already there: a man buried in a newspaper and a woman staring out the window, her eyes distant. Louis sat quietly, trying to piece his scattered thoughts together. Stay calm. Just act like Louis Wright. Don't screw this up. But his stomach churned with nerves.

The man lowered his newspaper, revealing sharp blue eyes and blonde hair. "Louis Wright," he said, his voice cold and clipped. "I'm Vincent Harbor, a Guardian Detective with the Hub Order. They sent me to check on you. You haven't reported in two days."

Louis's heart skipped. Two days? He forced a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his neck. "Oh, uh, sorry, Vincent. I've been… swamped with stuff."

Vincent's gaze didn't soften. "Swamped? Your top priority is finding Mr. Gordon. You and eight others. He stole an artifact from our storage room. We even sent Punishers after him. It's a headache, frankly."

Louis managed a tight smile, eyes half-closed to hide his panic. I'll do my best, sir, he thought, his mind racing. This is bad. The driver and this lady can hear us talking about secret Hub Order stuff. Isn't that reckless?

The woman turned from the window, her blonde hair catching the sunlight, her blue eyes piercing. "No need to worry, Louis Wright. I'm a Punisher." She smiled faintly, and Louis froze. Can she read my mind? She nodded, as if answering his thought. "Not entirely. Only thoughts directed at me. I'm an Archetype Eight, Spiritual Dove. My abilities touch the mind. Vincent here is also an Archetype Eight, Iron Raven, with powers suited for combat."

Louis swallowed hard, unease crawling up his spine. He didn't say a word, just nodded, his hands gripping his cane.

Archetypes? What are those? Some kind of arcane gift bestowed by the gods themselves? He glanced at the driver, whose eyes met his in the rearview mirror, a faint, enigmatic smile curling his lips. Why's he looking at me like that? Does he know something I don't? Unsettled, Louis turned to Vincent Harbor, the Guardian Detective lounging beside him, his sharp blue eyes glinting with quiet authority.

"Uh… what artifact did Mr. Gordon steal again? I… might've forgotten," Louis admitted, scratching the back of his neck, his voice betraying a flicker of unease. Come on, Elias, you're supposed to be Louis Wright now. Don't mess this up.

Vincent's brow arched, one eyebrow climbing higher than the other, sharp enough to slice through the dim carriage interior. "Forgot?" he said, his tone laced with playful scorn that quickly hardened.

"I didn't realize the Hub Order trusted lower detectives with such sensitive intel." He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper. "The artifact is called the Lightweaver, a relic that bends the fates of its victims. Imagine this, Louis: in the wrong hands, Gordon could end your life with a single, malicious thought, your existence snuffed out like a candle in the wind."

Louis's stomach twisted, his fingers tightening around the cane resting across his knees. Kill me with a thought? That's… terrifying.

"That's beyond horrifying," he muttered, his voice barely audible over the clatter of the carriage wheels.

Vincent's lips twitched into a grim smile. "It's worse than you think. Only those ranked Archetype Five or higher can wield the Veil without consequence, and Gordon? He's a mere Archetype Nine. We suspect he plans to sell it for a fortune, which is why the Hub Order's on edge."

The woman across from them, her blonde hair catching the sunlight like spun gold, turned from the window. Her piercing blue eyes locked onto Louis, her faint smile carrying a weight that made his skin prickle. "No need to worry, Louis Wright," she said, her voice smooth as velvet yet edged with steel. "Mr. Gordon's artifact, cataloged as 1-431, is classified as extremely dangerous for lower archetypes. The Horror Cathedral has issued a bounty: compensation for any clues leading to him, and a greater reward for his capture."

Louis nodded slowly, stroking his temple as he processed her words. I'm supposed to chase a guy who can rewrite fate with a thought, and I'm just a detective who helps locals find lost cats?

This has to be a mistake. I'm not even Louis Wright, not really just Elias Jackson, stuck in this body, playing a role I don't understand. He forced an uneasy smile, his caramel-colored eyes flickering between Vincent and the woman. "I'm not sure I follow. Why am I going after Mr. Gordon? I'm just a low-rank detective. Isn't this a job for Punishers or Guardian Detectives?"

Vincent's sharp blue eyes glinted with a mix of amusement and impatience. He nodded toward the woman, his blonde hair catching the dim light filtering through the carriage window. "Samantha can explain."

Samantha turned from the window. "We're headed to the Eastern Horror Cathedral, where the Vacant Punishers are stationed. Louis, you've been selected for something greater. You'll drink a potion of any pathway and become a Starborn. Only then can you apply to become a Guardian Detective."

Louis blinked, scratching his chin as his mind scrambled to keep up. A potion? Starborn? Sounds like something out of those cryptic pages in Heaven's Spilling-Crucible's Past History.

"So… let me get this straight," he said, his voice tentative but curious. "You drink this potion, become a Starborn, and that puts you in the chain of Archetypes? Is that how it works, or am I totally off?"

"Not far off," Samantha said, her voice a soft, enigmatic lilt that hinted at secrets withheld. "I cannot tell you more until we reach the Cathedral." She cast one final glance at Louis, her piercing blue eyes glinting with unspoken knowledge, before turning away to gaze out the carriage window.

Louis sat in silence, his own gaze drifting to the window. The Cathedral? What's waiting for me there? His fingers tightened around his cane, the weight of Elias Jackson's confusion clashing with Louis Wright's fragmented memories.

I'm supposed to be hunting a traitor who can rewrite fate, and I'm still piecing this world together. He'd originally planned to head to Wilkers and Drinks, a tavern where a friend of the previous Louis Wright lingered a shadowy figure who might know something about Mr. Gordon.

It contradicted what he'd himself earlier today, he couldn't speak with anyone because he didn't know how Louis's personality is. However, he couldn't delay. Better to face the risk now than let it catch me off guard later.

The blazing sun hung high in the sky, its golden light softened by wisps of white clouds drifting lazily across it. Louis watched the streets as the carriage rolled past, each cobblestone path growing more extravagant and impossibly clean the further they traveled. The pristine sheen of Mindale's avenues, reflecting the sunlight like polished glass, sparked a flicker of intrigue in his chest.

Ten minutes later, the carriage lurched to an abrupt halt. The driver doffed his top hat with a curt nod. Louis, Vincent, and Samantha stepped out, and Louis's breath caught as his eyes fell on a towering structure before them a pristine black cathedral, its spires piercing the heavens like obsidian blades.

The Eastern Horror Cathedral. One of Mindale's four great cathedrals, its presence loomed with an almost divine weight. Louis's gaze traced the intricate symbol carved above the entrance: a scythe cradled against a full moon. He stroked his chin slowly, his curiosity sharpening.

This place… it's tied to the gods, to the Starborn, to everything I'm supposed to become. His heart quickened, a mix of awe and unease stirring within him.

Author's note: Hello, I'm Scatteredstars, the author of this story. If you've made it this far, thank you so much for reading! I know the early chapters can feel dense and a bit overwhelming with details, but I promise to streamline things moving forward. These first two chapters are my roughest work, laying the foundation for the world and story. From here, the pacing and clarity will improve significantly. Thank you for sticking with me, and I hope you enjoy the journey ahead!