Clayton bolted into his dorm like he was being chased, slamming the door behind him and leaning against it to catch his breath. The sign on the door read "A-52," carved with some fancy glowing runes that looked straight out of a fantasy movie. His new place was insane—a luxury apartment that made his old Seattle penthouse look like a budget motel. Marble floors, crystal lights that floated without wires, and furniture so sleek it practically screamed money. It was the kind of place Clayton Antigonus, the merchant's son, would call home, but to Clayton, the guy from Earth, it felt a bit much. He liked things simpler, quieter.
He flopped onto a plush couch, his fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on his knee, his mind racing faster than he could keep up. That's what ADHD did to him—thoughts bouncing around like ping-pong balls, especially now. "What the hell is going on?" he muttered, trying to piece together the last few hours. First, he was in his penthouse, reading a novel, then that crazy pain hit, his tablet glowed like it was possessed, and—bam—he was here, in Vyrith. At first, it felt like a weird dream, then maybe a prank, but now? It was too real. The air smelled different, sharp with magic, and his deck pouch, warm against his hip, pulsed like it had a heartbeat.
His head spun, memories crashing into each other. He was Clayton, the 23-year-old hedge fund hotshot from Earth, lonely despite all his success. But he was also Clayton Antigonus, 17, heir to a merchant family that dealt in Arcane Stones—those shiny gems worth more than gold. Both lives felt like his, but they didn't fit together. "This isn't a dream," he said, voice shaky. "It's too much, too… alive." The clash of identities was overwhelming, and his vision blurred. The next thing he knew, he was out cold on the couch.
When he came to, sunlight poured through the crystal windows, and his head felt clearer, like the fog had lifted a bit. "Okay, get it together," he told himself, sitting up. "This is Vyrith, from Arcane Gambit, that novel I read a while back. But who am I? Clayton or Clayton Antigonus? Both feel like me, but how?" It wasn't like the transmigration stories he used to binge—guy dies, wakes up in a new world, done. He'd lived here for 17 years, with memories of Vyrith's markets, his father, and the Arcane Academy. It was like he'd always been both people but only now realized it.
He shuffled to the bathroom and caught his reflection in a gilded mirror. "Whoa," he said, startled. The guy staring back looked like a teenage heartthrob—long, wavy black hair, hazel eyes that cut like knives; a sharp jawline; and a lean, pale body "Guess my brain's still playing catch-up," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. It was Clayton Antigonus's face, but the tired, wary look in his eyes? That was all Earth Clayton, the one who'd learned people always let you down.
The dorm was next-level. A floating crystal orb dimmed or brightened when he waved at it, and shelves held fancy bottles—Essence Vials, his father's trade goods—that could boost a Cardweaver's focus. The bed was piled with silk pillows, too soft for his taste, but it screamed House Antigonus, the family that ran Vyrith's Arcane Stone market. Clayton flopped onto it, staring at the ceiling, trying to sort out his mess of a mind.
"I read a ton of novels," he said to the empty room, "so Arcane Gambit is kind of blurry. I remember the big stuff—duels with magic cards, like Arcane Bolt or Counter Trap, and the Veilbreakers, those creepy Cardweavers ." Living as Clayton Antigonus gave him a leg up—he knew Vyrith's vibe, the academy's rules, and how Arcane Stones powered everything from duels to buying fancy deck pouches. "I don't know everything, but I know enough to not totally screw this up," he decided.
His wrist device—a slick mix of magic and tech, like a smartwatch on steroids—chimed. A message popped up: Orientation Ceremony, Grand Auditorium, one hour. He tried to nap, but his brain wouldn't quit, spinning through every possible disaster. His anxiety kicked in, whispering he'd never fit in, just like on Earth. He was surrounded by people here—servants, classmates, his father's business partners—but still so lonely it hurt. The only thing that ever felt right was a challenge, the rush of outsmarting someone, and the Arcane Deck was all about that.
The alarm snapped him out of it, and he grabbed his deck pouch, its warmth calming his nerves. Twenty cards waited inside his Novice deck, ready to be shaped for whatever came next. His father's money had gotten him a top-notch pouch, runes and all, which made drawing cards smoother. He hadn't messed with his deck yet, but he could feel its potential—cards like Mind Fog or Arcane flash, waiting to spark.
Clayton headed out, weaving through the academy's corridors, all marble and glowing sigils. Other students laughed and showed off their pouches, but he hung back, his old habit of keeping people at arm's length kicking in. He wasn't alone, not with all these kids around, but he might as well have been. The thought made his chest tighten, but he pushed it down, focusing on the challenge ahead.
"Hey, Clayton, let's head out together!" A cheerful voice broke through. He turned to see a girl with short auburn hair and a grin that felt too bright for his mood. Her deck pouch was plain, no merchant-level bling, but she carried herself like she owned the place. "I'm Lila," she said, matching his stride. "House Antigonus, right? Bet you've got some shiny Arcane Stones in that pouch. Ready for orientation?"
Clayton blinked, caught off guard. His pessimism screamed she'd just let him down eventually, but her energy was hard to ignore. "Uh, yeah," he said, his voice flat, fingers fidgeting with his pouch. Lila kept talking, something about her first duel, but Clayton's mind knew that no one is simple here; everyone is running an angle. So, what's yours?