Chapter 1: The Incense and the Stranger

Kaelen woke up with a jolt. His eyes flew open, but everything was blurry. He tried to blink the fuzziness away, but it stayed. A moment later, a strange smell hit him. It was thick, like smoke, but also sweet. Not like any air freshener he had ever smelled in one of his corporate apartments. He hated incense. It always made his nose itch. This smell was no different. He felt something soft under his hands, and it also felt nice. This was not his bed. His own bed was firm, a good mattress because he had paid a lot for it. He needed good sleep so he could be sharp for work. This bed felt too soft, almost like silk. And it smelled like something flowery. He moved a hand, trying to feel around, and his fingers brushed against something slender. It was a wrist, thin and delicate. Too thin. And smooth. His own wrists were bony, kind of hairy. This was not his arm. A cold dread started to creep into his stomach.

He pushed himself up a little. His head throbbed. He also felt very weak. It was like he had barely slept in weeks. Or maybe he just felt weird because of the strange smell. He tried to push himself up more, but his muscles felt like jelly. He could barely move. This was not right. He was a fit man. He went to the gym four times a week. He ate healthy. He never got sick. He pushed harder, gritting his teeth, and finally managed to prop himself up on his elbows. His eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light in the room.

The room was small, and it was not his bedroom. There were no sleek, modern art pieces on the walls. No huge glass windows looking out over the city lights. Instead, the walls were made of rough, dark stone. There was a single, small opening high up, covered with something translucent that let in a faint, milky light. It was not a window. There were no lights either, no lamps or anything. Just the weird glowing thing. There was nothing on the walls. No shelves. No paint. It was just bare stone. This place felt ancient.

He looked around more, and then he saw them. Silken sheets. They were a deep, dark red, and felt incredibly smooth against his skin. This was definitely not his expensive Egyptian cotton bedspread. He remembered his own sheets, cool and crisp, a simple gray. These silk sheets were clearly soft. He ran his fingers along them. His fingers felt different. Smoother. More slender. Less... calloused. He looked at his hand. It was pale, with long, delicate fingers. Not his hand. His hands were strong, with short, neat nails. This hand had long, manicured nails, perfectly oval and pink. They were someone else's hands.

A wave of panic hit him. He tried to sit up fully, to pull away from the sheets, but his body just would not listen. His muscles burned with effort, but he barely moved. He felt an intense weakness. It was like he was a child again, trying to lift something too heavy. His breath hitched. What was happening? He closed his eyes, trying to clear his head, trying to rationalize this. This had to be a dream. A very vivid, very strange dream. He would wake up in his apartment, the sun streaming through his blinds, the smell of his expensive coffee brewing.

He opened his eyes again. The dim, stone room was still there. The incense still stung his nose. The silken sheets still felt alien under his skin. This was not a dream. He pinched himself, hard, on the arm, and a sharp sting pulsed through the thin skin. That hurt. This was not a dream. His mind reeled. He remembered going to bed last night after a long day at the office. A late meeting, then a quick dinner alone, and then sleep. Just like always. There was nothing unusual. No strange noises. No weird feelings. No hint of anything out of the ordinary. And now he was here. In this... this place. In this other body.

He tried to move his legs. They felt light. Too light. And they felt weirdly smooth against each other. He was wearing something simple, a thin, flowing fabric that felt like cotton. Not his expensive silk pajamas. This was not right. Nothing was right. He pushed off the bed, the red silk sliding away with a rustle. His feet touched a cold, smooth stone floor. It was polished, but still felt rough under his bare soles. He wobbled a little when he stood up. His balance was off. His body felt unfamiliar. It was shorter, he felt that too. Much shorter than he was used to. He was a tall man, 185 centimeters. This body felt much shorter, and his legs felt much thinner and also weak.

He stumbled a step, almost falling. He grabbed onto the edge of the bed for support. The fabric of the cover was rough, woven like something handmade. Not like anything he had ever seen in a store. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, trying to think. What was the last thing he remembered? Work. Deadlines. Emails. His boss, Mr. Henderson, complaining about the Q3 numbers. The usual corporate grind. He had felt tired, yes, but not ill. Not like this.

He looked down at his body, really looked. The simple garment was a loose, cream-colored tunic, tied at the waist with a simple rope. Not a single wrinkle. And beneath it, his body was... undeniably feminine. Small breasts, a slender waist, smooth hips. He raised a hand, running it over his chest. It felt strange. Wrong. Foreign. This was not his body. He was Kaelen, a man, a corporate executive, 35 years old. This body was clearly that of a young woman, maybe early twenties, perhaps even younger. He couldn’t tell for certain, it was too dark to see things clearly.

A new wave of nausea rose in his throat. He stumbled again, backing away from the bed. He just needed to get out of this room. He needed fresh air. He needed answers. He looked around for a door. There was only one apparent exit, a simple archway on the far side of the room. It just led into what looked like a small stone hallway. The hum of servers, the roar of city traffic, the constant chatter of his office. That was his reality. Not this. Not this dim, silent, stone prison. He walked towards the archway. His steps were clumsy, uncoordinated. This body did not respond the way his did. His muscles ached with every movement, as if he had just run a marathon without training. This was completely bizarre. He had no clue what was happening.

He made it to the archway and peered into the hallway. It was just as dimly lit as the room, with flickering lights further down. The walls were rough-hewn stone, like the room. It felt cold, too, despite the strange incense smell. He stepped into the hallway. This felt like some kind of monastery. He remembered seeing pictures of old monasteries in books. This place felt ancient. Isolated. And strangely quiet. Too quiet. There should be sounds. People talking. Footsteps. But there was nothing. Only the faint, sweet smell of incense, and the dull throb in his head. And the growing sense of dread.

He shuffled along the hallway, his bare feet making soft, slapping sounds on the stone floor. He needed to find someone. Anyone. To ask what was going on. To tell them that there had been a mistake. That he was Kaelen, and he needed to go home. He passed several other archways, all identical to the one he had come out of. They seemed to lead to other small rooms, all dark and silent. This place felt empty. It felt wrong. He reached a corner and turned, the hallway continuing straight ahead. He heard a very faint sound now, like water. A gentle lapping, or perhaps dripping. He followed the sound, hoping it would lead him to someone, to something that made sense.

The sound grew louder as he walked. He felt a cool breeze on his skin, a welcome relief from the stuffiness of the room. He turned another corner, and finally, he saw it. A larger opening, leading to what looked like a central courtyard. The light here was brighter, a soft, diffused light, like early morning before the sun was fully up. He walked towards it hesitantly, his new body feeling heavy and tired. He stepped out into the courtyard.

It was a small, enclosed space, open to the sky above. In the center was a shallow basin, carved from the same dark stone as the walls. Water pooled in it, reflecting the milky light from above. The sound he had heard was the gentle gurgling of water flowing into the basin from a small spout along the wall. Around the basin, there were rows of potted plants, strange and exotic, with wide, dark leaves and flowers that shimmered with faint, ethereal colors. He had never seen anything like them. They felt like they belonged in a dream.

He walked towards the basin, drawn by the water. His throat felt dry, his lips parched. He needed a drink. He leaned over the edge, feeling the cool stone against his hands. The water was clear, almost perfectly still, reflecting the light like a mirror. He looked at his own reflection. And then his breath caught in his throat.

It was not his face.

The face staring back at him from the water was delicate, with high cheekbones and a small, pointed chin. Long, dark hair cascaded around it, framing a pale forehead. The eyes were wide, a deep, startling violet, fringed with long, dark lashes. Her nose was small and straight, and her lips were full, a soft, natural rose color. It was a beautiful face, to be sure. But it was not his. He had a strong jaw, a wide nose, and sharp, intelligent blue eyes. His hair was short, dark, and almost always styled back from his forehead. This face was utterly alien. It was the face of a young woman.

His mind screamed. This was not a dream. This was real. He had transmigrated. The thought, cold and sharp, cut through the fog of confusion. He had read about such things in fantasy novels, in online forums. People transported to another world, into another body. He had always dismissed it as fiction, as silly escapism. But now, here he was. It was happening to him. To Kaelen. Except he wasn't Kaelen anymore. He was... this. This delicate, unfamiliar female.

The realization hit him with the force of a physical blow. He stumbled back from the basin, his heart pounding in his chest. A cold sweat broke out on his skin. This wasn't some elaborate prank. This wasn't a nightmare. This was his reality. His world, his life, his body – all gone. Replaced by this. By this stranger. And the memory of his own face, the one he had seen in the mirror every morning for 35 years, seemed to fade, replaced by the startling, beautiful, and terrifying image of the woman in the water. He was trapped. Trapped in a new world. Trapped in a new body. And he had no idea why, or how, or what to do next. The pungent, sweet scent of the incense around him now felt suffocating. He lifted a hand, this foreign, slender hand, and touched his cheek. The skin was impossibly smooth. It was real. Too real. He looked back at the reflection in the basin, and the delicate, unfamiliar face stared back, its violet eyes wide with a dawning, chilling realization. He was not Kaelen. He was not himself. He was someone else entirely. And this was just the beginning. There was nothing he could do. He couldn’t go back. He could only go forward. Wherever that was.