Prologue

Amidst a clear black ocean, a young man laid upon the shallow surface of the water. His eyes closed as if he was dreaming.

Iman could feel his entire consciousness drifting, as if crossing an open sea to another island, but where he found himself was another destination entirely.

He closed his eyes and focused, calling every ounce of willpower he had to try and wake himself up. With a gasp, Iman opened his eyes, his senses assaulted by the sights and smells of a dark, foggy alleyway lined with cobblestone between two buildings made of inlaid bricks.

Looking at his hands and gasping in shock, he realized this body may not be his own.

Mustering his strength he tried to stand, but a pulsating headache hit him like an ice pick and a sharp pain in his gut held him back. He gritted his teeth and forced himself up, leaning against the cold, damp brick wall for support. As his vision cleared, he saw the gas street lamp flickering in the distance, casting eerie shadows on the cobblestone street.

"Where am I?… what happened to me?"

Iman's nose wrinkled at the stench of stale booze and rotting trash. He glanced down at his abdomen, his shirt stained a deep red. A knife wound glistened in the dim light, the blood oozing out like spilled wine.

His mind raced, trying to recall how he ended up in this predicament. Had he been attacked by some unseen assailant? Or had he stumbled upon something he shouldn't have seen? His thoughts were interrupted by a strange sensation, a warmth spreading from his core, like a healing balm.

"I was ….stabbed?" His voice trembling with shock and fear, he gasped as the wound closed slowly before his eyes, leaving nothing but a faint scar. Him flexed his fingers, amazed by the effect.

Gray propped himself against the alley wall for support and stumbled towards the street, his eyes scanning his surroundings. He saw shops with wooden exteriors and glass windows, their displays filled with mysterious trinkets and various antiques.

"Could it be… that I've transmigrated?"

Iman's headache intensified, as if something was trying to rip apart his head. He struggled to recall his name, his purpose, and his past. All he knew was that he was lost in a strange land, a realm filled with mystery and danger.

With a determined grit, he pushed his way through the fog in his head and towards the street, his heart pounding with a mix of fear and thrill. As he walked down the cobblestone street Gray could feel some his memories returning in fractured pieces like a broken puzzle.

…

He felt a strange sensation overcome him as he walked down the dark, foggy street. It was as though some unseen force was tugging at his very being, leading him towards a building that beckoned to him like a siren's call.

The passersby's paid him no mind as he made his way towards the structure, their eyes gliding past him as if he were nothing more than a mere shadow in the night. But Iman knew better. He could feel the weight of their gazes upon him, their unspoken thoughts trailing behind like ghostly whispers in his mind.

As he drew closer to the building, it became clear to him that it was no ordinary structure. It had an air of familiarity about it, as if he had known it in another life. And then he saw it - a small printing press at the end of the street, its windows aglow with warm, inviting light.

With a deep breath, Iman crossed the threshold of the building and made his way up its winding staircase to a room that felt like home. He took in the familiar surroundings - the faded black hair and blue eyes of the man in the mirror, the mahogany desk that had seen many tale's told upon its surface.

As he sat down at the desk, ink and quills at his fingertips, Iman couldn't shake the feeling that he was not alone. He rifled through the scattered notes and journals until his eyes landed on one that stood out from the rest. Its cover bore the name "Iman" in strange, unfamiliar letters.

With a sudden jolt, he was flooded with memories that were not his own. He saw the life of Grayson Wells, a young orphan who had been taken in by a local novelist named Frederick Mumps after his parents died in a ferry accident. He grew up in the local printing press owned and ran by Mumps, surrounded by the smell of ink and the clacking of machinery.

Working in Frederick's press he helped him with day to day tasks while also learning the art of writing from him as both he and his mentor grew older, eventually one of Frederick's novels he'd printed himself took off and Frederick became something of a local legend. With no known family to speak of, he celebrated his success with his young apprentice.

But the life of this apprentice had been cut short, snuffed out in a dark alleyway littered with trash and drenched it stale booze. Iman could not remember how he had come to inhabit Gray's body, nor could he remember the events leading up to his death. But one thing was certain - he was determined to find out the truth and maybe avoid an encore of his misfortune.

Feeling the energy drain from his body, he felt a wave of tiredness wash over him, climbing into his bed and letting his conscious slowly drift away.

…

As the morning light caressed the windowsill, Gray stirred from his slumber, his eyes flickering open to welcome the dawn. He heaved himself out of bed and began his daily routine.

"As this body remembers, Frederick is a deep sleeper, always lazing in bed longer than is necessary," Gray ruminated, his thoughts drifting to his aging mentor.

As Iman, now Gray, ventured down the hallway to Frederick's quarters, a sense of confusion clouded his mind, like a veil obscuring his memories. Yet, he persevered, his feet carrying him towards his destination with resolute purpose.

He knocked twice, his knuckles rapping against the polished wood. "Frederick, rise and shine, we have to open the press." Gray called out, his voice echoing down the hallway.

With a creaking sound, the door swung open, revealing a sight that shattered Gray's heart. Frederick lay sprawled across his desk, his lifeless body adorned with a ghastly wound that had spilt his blood across the room.

"F-Frederick?!" Gray gasped, his voice quivering with fear and shock. As he stumbled forward, his foot slipped in a pool of blood, sending him tumbling backwards against the wall.

"GAHHHH!"

Gray was distraught, his heart heavy with grief and sorrow. He let out a piercing scream, a cry that echoed through the upstairs hall and bled out onto the street ever so slightly.