Viran stood alone on the edge of a large building under construction. He wore an old safety jacket and had dust on his boots. His hands were rough from work. His mind was heavier than usual.
He was an engineer. Not rich, not powerful—but proud. He built roads and bridges, water lines and safe shelters. Not for kings. For poor people. People like his parents, who had walked miles for clean water.
A man stood beside him, dressed in a shiny black suit. His smile was smooth, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Just sign the paper, Viran," the man said quietly. "Say the road is safe. No one checks anyway."
"It's not safe," Viran replied, calm but firm. "The cement is bad. It will crack in two years. Maybe kill someone."
"So what? You'll get a bonus. A big one. Enough to live easy. Walk away. Forget the rules."
Viran shook his head. "I didn't become an engineer to fill pockets. I wanted to build something right."
The man's smile vanished. "Then you're making a mistake. One that'll cost you."
Viran didn't flinch. He turned and walked away, steps slow but steady.
That night, no one heard the scream.No one saw the body fall and in the morning, no one asked why a kind man who dreamed of helping others had died in silence.
They said he slipped. That he was stressed. That accidents happen.
But above the streets, the stars had seen the truth.
Darkness.
Not death.
Just floating.
Time didn't move. There was no pain. No ground. No sky. Just soft wind and a strange voice echoing in the void.
> Processing...
> Soul recognition complete...
> Memory match found...
> Rebuilding consciousness...
Then a light.
A gasp.
His chest rose with a sharp breath. He opened his eyes, and the first thing he saw was a broken roof above his head.
The smell hit him first. Rot. Dirt. Old sweat. His head spun. His body felt light, weak, hungry. He sat up slowly.
This wasn't the city.
He was inside a small hut made of straw and wood. Rain dripped from the ceiling. The walls were thin and cracked. The floor was just mud. Outside, he heard coughing. Crying. A baby whimpering softly.
He tried to stand but fell to his knees. His arms were thin. His clothes were rags. His stomach growled like a beast. He looked down at his hands—small cuts, scars, and skin darker than his old self.
And then it hit him.
This isn't my body.
He closed his eyes.Memories rushed in.
He saw a small village. Dusty roads. Wooden carts. Faces filled with hunger and fear. He saw boys farming, girls carrying water, men dying in beds too early.
He saw a life—poor, beaten, forgotten.
And yet,he also saw himself. Standing tall in a white helmet. Holding blueprints. Smiling in front of half-built homes.
Two lives. One mind.
Merged.
The new memories hurt. But he welcomed them. He now understood this body, this village, this pain.
"I'm not dreaming," he whispered. His voice was hoarse.
He didn't know how or why. But something—or someone—had brought him here.
To a place worse than his old world.
A world without roads.
Without water.
Without hope.
But in that moment, a fire lit in his chest.
"I don't need money," he said. "Or medals. Just give me a chance."
Outside, the wind howled.The village was dying.
But something deep inside him said—not for long.
Viran pushed himself to his feet, feeling the weight of two lives settle into his bones. His past was gone, but his mind was sharp. The engineer in him was still alive. Still thinking. Still planning.
He stepped outside the broken hut.The village was worse than he imagined.
▸Shattered houses lined the dirt roads, their walls barely holding together.
▸Smoke drifted from scattered fires where people cooked scraps.
▸Children sat on the ground, their eyes hollow, too tired to play.
▸A group of men huddled near an old cart, whispering in low voices.
▸The air smelled of sickness—of damp rot and unwashed skin.
A woman passed by, carrying a wooden bucket filled with murky water. Her hands shook as she walked. She couldn't have been older than twenty, but her face was lined with exhaustion.
No clean wells. No medicine. No hope.
His chest tightened.
The world had changed, but poverty hadn't.
A deep cough broke his thoughts.
An old man sat near a fire pit, wrapped in a thin blanket. His hands trembled. Beside him, a boy—maybe ten years old—rubbing his back, whispering softly.
Viran recognized the signs. Lung infection. Weak pulse. The boy was watching his grandfather die, knowing there was nothing he could do.
His jaw clenched.
A shout cut through the silence.
"New tax notice!"
Heads turned as two armored men rode into the village. Their polished chest plates gleamed under the sun which is an insult in a place where people starved.
One of the men is tall, well-fed, a smirk playing on his lips unrolled a parchment.
He cleared his throat loudly. "By order of Lord Drekis—"
People tensed.
"—every household will now pay double the previous grain tax to support His Lordship's expansion efforts. Failure to provide the amount will result in—" He paused, savoring the words. "Immediate punishment."
Silence.
Then, murmurs. Fear. Anger.
"This is madness," a farmer muttered.
"We barely have food for our own!" another whispered.
One of the guards chuckled. "Then you'll have to try harder."
Viran exhaled slowly. His fingers curled into fists.
It was always the same.The rich demanded. The poor suffered.
Nothing had changed or maybe it had.
Because now, he was here and he wasn't going to sit and watch.
Not this time.
Viran took a slow breath, his mind steady. His body was weak, unfamiliar, but his thoughts were sharp. He had faced men like these before who were greedy, arrogant, believing power came from fear.
But fear didn't build kingdoms. Knowledge did. Strategies did.
The village elders looked down, avoiding the guards' gaze. No one dared to speak. They had seen men beaten, homes burned, families destroyed for resisting taxes before.
Viran stepped forward.
A movement so small, yet suddenly—silence.
The guard raised an eyebrow. "You've got something to say, peasant?"
Viran ignored the insult. He scanned the parchment in the man's hand, quickly analyzing the tax figures. Too high. Not just unfair but also impossible.
He crossed his arms. "Your numbers don't add up."
The guard chuckled. "Doesn't matter if they add up or not. They're orders."
Viran shook his head. "No. They're an excuse to take what the village doesn't have."
A flicker of annoyance crossed the guard's face. "Watch your tongue."
"Or what?" Viran asked calmly.
Now the murmurs started. Quiet, cautious—but present. The people were listening.
The second guard shifted on his horse. "Tax is tax. Pay, or be punished."
Viran held his ground. "This village has no surplus grain left. You know that. So how do you expect payment?"
The first guard smirked. "That's your problem, not mine."
"No," Viran said, "it's yours."
The guards stared.
Viran turned slightly, addressing the crowd. "If they take double, what happens next? What do you eat tomorrow? What do your children eat the next day?"
Eyes widened. A few people looked at one another, realization sparking.
Viran pressed forward. "If no one speaks now, they'll come next month and demand triple. And the next month? Even more. You think starving quietly will save you? It won't."
A slow ripple of tension. A farmer clenched his fist. A woman tightened her grip on her child.
Viran turned back to the guards. "If you take more than they can give, they won't just fear you. They'll stop listening to you. And when that happens,your lord loses control."
The first guard shocked.
The second one shouted. "Enough." He reached for the sword at his hip.
Viran didn't flinch.But deep inside him—something stirred.
[Civilization Progress Detected.
Recognizing First Stand Against Systemic Oppression…
Processing…]
The words weren't spoken aloud.They echoed inside his mind.
Sharp. Cold. Impossible.
Then—
[New Module Unlocked: Governance Initiation]
Viran's breath got soft.
For the first time since waking up in this world—he wasn't alone.
Viran felt the world shift.
Not outside. Inside.
The voices of the villagers, the sneering guards, the cold wind—all faded.
Because something else had taken over.
Something vast.
Something alive.
[Civilization Core Activated.
User Identified: Viran Malek.
Status: Initiating First Governance Protocol.]
A screen flashed before his eyes. Not paper. Not ink. Light. Moving. Thinking.
The guards stepped back, eyes narrowing. They saw nothing.
But Viran did.
[GOVERNANCE PANEL]
Territory: Unnamed Village
Population: 247
Literacy Rate: 3%
Health Stability: Critical
Infrastructure: Primitive
[NEXT UPGRADE REQUIREMENTS]
▸Water Supply Expansion – Progress: 0%
▸Basic Education Initiative – Progress: 0%
▸Local Trade Development – Progress: 0%
[FIRST AUTHORITY BOOST GRANTED]
▸ Temporary Influence: 20%(Villagers will listen with curiosity, but not yet trust.)
Viran blinked, his heart pounding.The villagers were watching. Waiting.
The guards frowned. "What's wrong with you?"
Viran exhaled. Slowly.
He wasn't powerless anymore and now, it begins.
To be continued.....