What is this feeling…? It's so painful… make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. I want it to be over.
The world for the once sleeping teen, Aemon, violently spun; his whole body felt as if it was stuffed into a blender that was set to the maximum preset. His mind racing, and chest heaving, he arose from the bed in a daze.
Too much, this is all too much, please make this end.
Aemon scanned the dark room with what little focus he could make of his consciousness. Every scattered article of dirty clothing in his messy room danced with the waves of his nausea.
Tripping over his feet several times, he finally made it to the main door of his bedroom.
"Mom… Dad… someone. Come."
But there just wasn't enough energy behind his voice to project the pleading words. With every deep breath, his throat closed more and more.
Like a zombie, he staggered down the main hallway of his house, trying to reach the bathroom. Vision fuzzy, and stomach-churning, he barely made it to the sink before letting out a stream of vomit.
"Ughh… what the hell is going on!?"
Spitting out the remaining puke that lingered in his mouth, he supported his body weight with only his scrawny forearms pressed against the countertop. Holding his breath, he looked down, watching the vomit leak into the drain as he turned on the faucet.
"Please, someone… anyone at this point!"
Through his cries for help, he glanced back at the overhead mirror, noticing something.
It wasn't his mirror anymore; hell, he wasn't even standing in his own bathroom.
The soft, blue paint finish of the walls was suddenly replaced with cracked concrete all around. That of a public restroom.
Rusted metal pipes and poorly done, exposed plumbing twisted along the walls. A flickering yellow light blanketed the area, and rickety wooden stalls filled with filthy toilets lined the back wall.
Gazing into the reflection, all that shot back was his mortified expression and his white, pasty skin.
Please tell me this is just one really, really bad dream.
The effects of the nausea subsided, his stomach felt still, and he was able to see clearly again.
Then, muffled jazz music could be heard in the distance.
Is that… music?
Aemon lightly cracked open the large wooden door to find not a hallway, but a bustling bar. The sound of clanking glasses and upbeat conversation filled the air while all sorts of odd-looking people chattered and danced.
Demi-humans filled the large dining area. Some with the qualities of felines, others like wolves. A lot of them were normal, but some of the ones who didn't have animal-like features were either dwarves or towering giants. Armored men leaned on the bar, taking bets on who could drink the most, while a group of robed, old men played a game of poker.
It was straight out of a fantasy world!
No… He's in the fantasy world.
This cannot be happening right now! No. No. No!
He slammed the door shut and backed away slowly, quivering with each step.
His brain was scattered, trying to piece together and make sense of what was happening.
But there was simply no logical answer.
His knees gave out, and he slid down against the cold stone wall. With his fragile hands gripping his hair and tears brimming in his eyes, he squealed:
"I want to go home…"
Aemon took in his surroundings of the tacky bathroom one last time before fainting. His body lay still on the frigid concrete with the only fading thought in his mind being:
Have I been transmigrated into another world…?
***
"Hey, kid, get up!"
Aemon awoke in a state of confusion. His brown, glossy eyes, bloodshot from his abrupt slumber, gazed at the large, bald-headed yet surprisingly heavily bearded man.
"Yeah, I'm talkin' to you…!"
He was angered and growing impatient. Aemon's oblivious expressions definitely weren't helping with the situation. With everything that had happened, it felt as if he had been hit by a truck.
"How many people am I going to find passed out on my bathroom floor this week!? This makes five! Five idiots couldn't control their drinking! Damn… I really need to start cutting people off."
Aemon blinked sluggishly, still sprawled out on the concrete with his back to the ground. Half of his confusion came from wondering how this man could just keep talking, and the other half came from wondering how a person could be so tall.
At first glance, even crouched down, he was almost as tall as Aemon standing straight up.
"Listen, I haven't been drinking. And honestly… I am as confused, if not more confused, on how and why I am here."
The aged man raised an eyebrow and replied:
"Ha! You are even more lost than I thought… What's your name?"
He stared at the loud man, then replied:
"My name…? It's Aemon."
Aemon forced himself back to his feet as he dusted off his backside. Slicking back his long, brown hair, he looked back in the mirror. There he was, with his pale skin, his brittle stature, and his eyelids baggier than ever before.
"You don't even look like you're old enough to drink. Come on out, son, let me get you some water. You aren't looking too hot…"
The solid wooden door creaked as the large man exited the room. This time, the light music was absent, and the lights were dimmed.
Aemon cowardly followed to the main floor of the pub.
"Yeah, I'm sorry I can't help you with anything more than just a glass of water! We're closing up, and all the food has been packed away. But luckily for you, you passed out at the best restaurant in Holvenridge! Even the water will make you feel like you're in your twenties! But wait… You don't look like you've even reached your twenties. What will happen when I give you this water?!"
Aemon giggled, playing it off as a light joke. When he reopened his eyes, he was surprised to find the man with nothing but a large glass of water and a very serious look. He kept talking despite the miscommunication:
"Yeah… what am I saying?! Anything from this establishment is only the best! And did I say it's the best in Holvenridge? That's an understatement! I, Gavriil, own the best restaurant in all of the world of Plandoria!"
It was odd that someone could be so self-absorbed yet so comforting at the same time.
Holvenridge? Plandoria? Gavriil? These names, are these places? No…
His frail hand trembled as he reached for the cup.
The looming realization kicked into his mind again. Aemon wasn't home anymore.
And he was very far from it.