The First Transmigrat

I went to an inn.

Not because I was hungry—though the smell of roasted root vegetables and spiced meat drifting through the wooden shutters wasn't unwelcome.

But because this was what people did in fantasy worlds.The protagonist walks into a tavern, orders some food, and—bam—information falls into his lap.

Except reality was far more boring.

I sat in a corner seat, ordered something vaguely edible, and listened.

The people here gossiped. Loudly. Passionately. About everything that didn't matter.

Whose goat escaped into the river.What merchant's daughter ran away with a potter's apprentice.Which baron was possibly having an affair with a noble's cousin's maid's cousin.

After a while, I just stirred my stew in silence.

The food wasn't bad.Better than moss and spiritual deer blood, at least.

Still, in the past few days, I'd pieced together a decent picture of this world.

Its name?

Profound Turtle Realm.

…Yeah.

No reaction. Just a quiet sigh of disappointment.

I mean, really? "Profound Turtle"? What kind of ancient cosmic joke was that?

Apparently, I was currently on the Central Continent, the largest of the known lands. It was flanked by other regions:

To the east: Countless scattered islands, each with their own cultures, languages, and mythologies. Some were ruled by noble families, others by kings, and a few by strange councils made up of priest-scholars.Flourishing. Exotic. Fragmented.

To the west: A smaller landmass mostly composed of drylands and deserts. Knowledge about it was scarce. Trade was rare. Fewer still dared to cross the barren routes.

To the south: Nothing confirmed. A whole unexplored frontier.Rumors spoke of a distant land across the sea—rich with resources, untouched by empires.People called it "The Sleeping Continent."Hundreds of ships had tried sailing south. Only a handful returned.

To the north: The Frozen Plains.Barren, harsh, but filled with people.The northern lands lacked resources, but compensated with unyielding manpower and fierce resilience.No kings or nobles there—only three tribes ruled by tradition and might:The Ke, the Wein, and the Si.

The northern tribes were said to maintain a surprisingly peaceful relationship with both the eastern islands and the central continent—mostly through trade and shared enemies.

As for the Central Continent itself, it was dominated by two young empires.Their names?

The Solari Dominion and the Ember Crown Empire.

Both less than a century old. Ambitious. Competitive.Still feeling out the shape of their power like children trying to wear their father's boots.

Between them were scattered minor kingdoms, neutral cities, and so-called "free zones" where mercenaries and adventurers congregated.

The general tech level here?

Roughly on par with Earth's 12th century.Sailing ships, quills, ironwork, city-states, parchment scrolls.

No signs of cannons. No firearms. No gunpowder—at least none I'd seen yet.But given the sheer strangeness of this world, I wouldn't be surprised if someone, somewhere, was playing with alchemy and explosive minerals.

They had one sun.

One moon.

The stars appeared similar enough. Constellations shifted slightly from what I remembered, but the sky was still familiar.

Seasons came and went in much the same rhythm as Earth.

But it was still not Earth.

This world was slightly larger. The gravitational pull was different—barely noticeable, unless you paid attention to the way things fell.

Culturally, this realm was a patchwork quilt of beliefs.

In the Central Continent, the dominant mythology told of the Sun God—a solitary, radiant being who shaped the heavens and earth from nothing.

He created the sun first, then broke off a sliver of its essence to give birth to the moon—so that even in his absence, the world would never be blind.Then came the stars, scattered like sparks to light the loneliness of the night.

The Mother Earth rose from the void, created by his will to house life, and she birthed all living creatures from her soil and water.Together, they made balance—light and land, warmth and womb.

Most people here saw the sun as a god, not a star.

The Supreme Radiance.The Unyielding Flame.The One Who Walks the Sky.

Religious temples lined with golden mirrors and sun-shaped motifs weren't uncommon.

In contrast, the Northern Tribes believed the world was created by a god named Zhehai—a great serpent of time and frost who slithered across the void and carved the land with its body. They believed warmth was stolen from the sun and cursed, while the cold preserved truth and strength.

Their myths were stark, brutal, poetic.

Then there were the Eastern Isles, where every island seemed to have its own pantheon.Dozens of gods. Hundreds of spirits. Local deities and ancestral worship interwoven like kelp in the tide.

One island believed their ancestors were descended from starlight.Another believed the sea itself was a living mind dreaming the world into being.

Truth?

Probably none of it.

But belief had power in this world.And too much belief in the wrong thing could get you killed.

I finished my food, left a few copper coins, and stepped back onto the streets.

The town bustled. People moved like ants beneath a giant sun that watched them without blinking.

I pulled my hood up.

I was no god.

But I was not from this world either.

And somewhere deep inside me, the leech stirred.

The fragment world, the golden eyes, the cosmic threads—

They hadn't forgotten me.

And I hadn't forgotten why I was still alive.