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Part I

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Nine stared at the ceiling of the thatched roof hut that was now his home in a dazed-like state.

This was wrong.

He was wrong.

The body he wore was too small. He was short, his hands were tiny, and he was weak.

He was...

He was...

He was a child, or at least, he was in the body of one.

Nine remembered being left behind. The planet was set to detonate and he held the bomb. His teammates were long gone, their missions completed.

He was unwilling, but there was nothing to be done. It was over in a blink of an eye.

And now he found himself here.

Staring at the ceiling of a thatched roof hut.

In the body of a child.

"Toby, is everything alright?"

There was a woman standing over him with a worried gaze.

Her hair was white, and her skin was like copper. Her eyes were a warm brown, softened with kindness and lined by shadows.

Nine was charmed, and unfamiliar emotion welled up inside him.

"Toby?"

Nine stared at her.

She stared back.

Slowly, he nodded, the movement not unlike a doll.

The woman pursed her lips and kneeled down beside him.

She reached toward him, and Nine instinctively flinched away.

There was suddenly a look of distress on the woman's face.

"Toby, please. I need to check the wound."

It was then that Nine realized there were bandages wrapped around his head.

His own hands touched the wrapping and he frowned.

The woman furrowed her brows. "I think it's time to visit the healer again."

Before Nine could stop her, she picked him up like he weighed nothing, tucked his head against the crook of her neck, and left the hut.

What the hell is happening?

---

The healer lived on a busy street.

Nine knew this because he and the woman had passed several market stalls and shopfronts and there were what looked to be hundreds of people wandering around the area.

While the woman carried him, he noticed the rural buildings and unfamiliar architecture reminiscent of the Great Void, a period historians knew little about and was only known to have existed a thousand years before the ancient Empire of Rhine.

"..."

Fuck.

He was a time-traveling body snatcher.

The healer's clinic was situated in a small building at the very end of the street.

The woman knocked on the door a couple of times.

"Healer Ludia, are you in?"

"Madam Arcadia..."

A man appeared and frowned at them. He looked more like a drunkard than a medical practitioner.

"How may I help you on this fine morning?"

It was not, in fact, a very fine morning for this man.

The woman, Madam Arcadia, was undeterred by his attitude and tightened her hold on Nine.

"There's something wrong with Toby. I know you said there would be some disorientation from the head wound, but he's not responding properly."

The man looked at him.

Nine blankly stared back.

A few seconds passed in silence before the man opened the door wide.

"Come in."

The woman thanked him and carried Nine inside.

They were led up a set of stairs to a room with pillows on the ground and a low wooden table.

The woman set him down on one of the pillows and the man sat behind the table.

"What's wrong with him?"

While the woman recounted everything wrong with him, Nine found himself staring at the window.

The view overlooked the busy street and the people.

It was so very confusing to Nine, who was a soldier in the Interstellar Age of ZEFRE-2B9.

There was no peace during this era. Ever since the discovery of space travel, numerous wars have broken out all over and across millions of galaxies. The home planet was long ago abandoned, and the Great Migration took place thousands of years before Nine was even born.

And now he was here, in a time long forgotten, trapped in an ancient past where humanity hadn't yet suffered the destruction of the home planet.

"-oby?"

Was that the name of the body?

Why did it feel familiar? He felt as if he heard of the name before.

When he turned his attention back to the man and woman, he saw that both of them were looking at him in concern.

Nine tilted his head.

The man opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and then closed it once more.

He looked like a gaping Andromeda Whale.

"Toby, do you know who I am?" the man asked.

Nine blinked. He shook his head, no.

The man pointed to the woman. "Do you know who she is?"

Again, Nine shook his head.

The man pinched his lips together. "Do you know who you are?"

"..."

The room fell silent.

"I think I see the problem, now."

The woman glared at the man. "You think?!"

"Okay, okay," he placated, "Calm down. So there's some memory loss. That's natural with head wounds. Toby, look at me."

Nine looked at the man.

"Focus on my hand, alright? I am about to take a quick scan so hold still for a moment."

Nine did as he was instructed.

A warm glow appeared on the man's hand. Nine was fascinated by the glow. It pulsed like a heartbeat and felt so different from a ray gun.

The man turned off his glowy hands and looked as if he swallowed a lemon.

"What's wrong with him?" The woman demanded.

"Listen," the man started, "I don't want you to freak out..."

Nine stood up and made his way over to the window. He watched the people down below with interest.

The sky was blue, the air was clean, and the sun was in the sky.

But Toby...

Where had he heard the name before?

Then it came to him.

Toby Calypto.

Nine was not in the past, but rather, in an alternate reality parallel to the historical events of his world.

Or rather, he was in a story set in the era of the Great Void, inspired by the Tragedy of Rumeo and Joliet.

And this body he was in, the body he snatched from a child, was Toby Calypto, the useless cannon fodder villain.

---

Fiamma Arcadia was a woman with a temper akin to her namesake, yet, despite her vigilance that often warded off her numerous suitors, it still didn't keep her from putting her trust in the wrong man.

It started when her husband disappeared several years ago, leaving her with their son.

Fiamma couldn't fathom why. She searched for him and his whereabouts but found nothing. One day the man she loved existed, and the very next day, it was as if he was a figment of her imagination.

Fiamma thought she and her son could weather the days together without her husband. They still had plenty of money left over from both her and her husband's savings.

She went back to her mending work and when her son was old enough, he was hired out by the local farmers as a mouser.

Toby was much too small despite Fiamma's efforts. He was seven now, but he didn't look it. Their meals were not as extravagant as they used to with her as the sole breadwinner, but she and her son never starved.

Nevertheless, Toby became popular among the farmers as an excellent mouser.

He was tiny and could fit into tight spaces where mice and rats liked to hide, and he was clever, with nimble hands and quiet footsteps.

Fiamma was so very proud of her son.

But then, there was an accident at the farm, and a beam hit Toby's head. The farmhand responsible for the accident promised to pay for the treatment, and thankfully, the wound was small.

Toby was asleep for only a day when Fiamma started to notice the changes in her son.

How could she not?

Her son was a quiet little boy, but there was light in his eyes that showed how happy he was.

Their little village was quiet, but the people were content and lived their days in peace.

The villagers were good and they took care of each other, and rarely was anyone mean-spirited.

It was everything Fiamma wanted in her life before she married, and it was her missing husband who brought her here and made her fall in love with this place tucked away by mountains and trees.

And then her son woke up with no recognition in his eyes when he looked at her, and it felt as if he was no longer content with the life they built in this little village.

Rather, there was nothing in his eyes. No spark, no glimmer. It was as calm as pond water, stagnant and lifeless.

---

They returned to the hut in silence.

Nine wasn't sure what the man had told the woman, but whatever it was, it clearly made her unhappy.

She was still holding him in her arms. He admired her strength. Lugging around a child the length of her torso could be difficult, and she was a very slight woman.

She placed him down on a bed and then wrapped him up with a blanket.

Nine blinked, his head peeking out from beneath the soft and fluffy blanket, and he stared at her with concern.

Then the woman smiled, her lips drawn into something unbearably soft and gentle, and Nine felt as if all the air in his lungs had left him.

"It's alright, Toby. Mama's here."

She reached out with her arms, arms that were warm and large as they encompassed him.

"Mama," Nine said without prompt, his face pressed against the crook of her neck.

She smelled like something sweet and musky, and it was a scent fitting the warmth she offered him.

"Yes, darling?" she responded, her voice thick with something Nine couldn't decipher.

"Mama," He repeated again.

"I'm here, darling. What's wrong?"

"Mama..."

"Oh, darling. What's wrong? Does your head hurt?" She fretted over him anxiously, encircling her arms around him.

Nine shook his head.

Gods, please forgive him for his sins. This child was innocent and gone too soon. In his place was a broken soul meant for death.

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[....... In the fifty-eighth year of the Interstellar Calendar of ZEFRE-2B9, Soldier 9A1420H5 -ZT4 committed the crime of body-snatching and transmigration. His punishment will be pending upon his return .......]

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The author has something to say:

This chapter is brought to you by Plenty by aeseaes.

The playlist for this story is on my profile. Each song is dedicated to a chapter, and they're all in order, so if you're interested, feel free to check it out ^^.

In the spirit of Nanowrimo, I decided to write a story loosely inspired by The Tragedy of Rumeo and Joliet, except it won't be a tragedy because tragedies make me sad, and the main character is Tibalt and not Rumeo and Joliet. And also mercenaries and magic are a thing.

Feel free to scream at me in the comments to update each day ^^. The peer pressure will do me good for once... ha ha ha...

I plan for this story to be a first draft--meaning I will be continuously writing with no edits--and revisioning may take place later on if I end up liking the story enough. I apologize beforehand for any mistakes and I am happy to receive any feedback and corrections for grammar/spelling/etc.

Happy reading!