The First Transmigrat

It had been five days since the battle with the tiger. Five long, aching, blood-drenched days.

Kaiser lay flat on his back in the cave, stripped down to his makeshift undergarments, his body covered in healing wounds and bruises. The pain had dulled, but only slightly. Every time he inhaled deeply, something in his ribs pinched. A reminder of how close to death he'd come. His shoulder was still swollen from the bite. The scar was forming, ugly and jagged.

"Thank god I was in my bear form," he thought grimly, staring at the dark, uneven ceiling of the cave. "If I hadn't transformed... I would've been ripped apart. No question."

Outside, the wind hissed gently through the forest trees. The occasional rustling of leaves reminded him he was never truly safe, never truly alone. The cave wasn't exactly cozy, but it was familiar now—an extension of his survival. His domain, however temporary.

Next to him, resting on a flat rock, was the white core he had found buried deep inside the tiger's chest. Smooth. Cool to the touch. Glowing faintly in the dark.

It was different from the Lumian core—which sat now, half-drained, on a patch of dried moss.

And different from the red crystal, which the old man had once told him to eat.

That one had done... something, at least. Maybe not what Kaiser expected, but when he thought back to the final moments of the fight—his transformation stretching just long enough, his body holding on past the breaking point—it had helped.

He rolled onto his side, wincing as his shoulder protested.

"I should be dead."

But he wasn't.

Day 115

Still recovering.

The forest outside had gone strangely quiet. The usual chirping, rustling, distant howls—gone.

Kaiser sat with his back against the stone wall of the cave, chewing on a strip of dried meat, expression grim. He only ate meat now because he had no choice. He hated it—the texture, the smell, the act of killing—but after the tiger, his body demanded it.

Even now, the dull ache in his limbs reminded him that regeneration needed fuel.

The old man—his silent, gruff companion—sat near the fire, muttering to himself in their broken, mixed-up language. He had cooked today, as always. Better than Kaiser could, and now, familiar enough that the younger man didn't worry about poison or tricks.

He'd kept all the English writing hidden. No cans, no salt packets with lettering. No careless mistakes.

Not anymore.

Day 120

Recovery, slowly, gave way to routine.

The cave became a shared home, quiet but not hostile. Every day, Kaiser talked with the old man, testing new words, learning sentence structures, mimicking tone. It was frustrating. Like walking in a dense fog with only a candle.

But progress was progress.

His wounds had begun to fade. He could stand without wobbling. He could walk with less pain. He could even stretch, cautiously, without something tearing.

The tiger's memory haunted him. Not its roar or the sheer size of it—though that was terrifying—but the feeling of that battle. The wild, desperate struggle. The intensity.

He had won. Somehow.

He was alive.

The tiger wasn't.

Day 125

Fully recovered.

Stronger than ever.

Kaiser stood shirtless near the forest's edge, flexing his fingers, testing his range of motion. He'd grown, physically. A few centimeters taller. His body bulkier, more muscular, a mix of hard-earned strength and whatever magic lingered in that red core.

He could feel the difference. Movement was smoother. His grip, stronger. His senses—sharper.

But the bear form…

That was the true test.

He whispered the trigger in his mind. Felt the response.

A warm surge.

He closed his eyes and let it happen.

Fur erupted across his arms, shoulders. His bones shifted. His spine elongated. Claws replaced nails. In seconds, he stood a towering beast—full black fur now instead of the prior mottled shade. Sleeker, yet more intimidating. His claws longer, curved like daggers. The air seemed to hum around him.

The transformation no longer hurt.

It was second nature.

But this time, something was different.

He wasn't fully animal.

He could feel a strange control, like a midpoint. Not full beast. Not full human.

He flexed again.

His semi-form had emerged.

A hybrid of human intellect and beast strength.

He grinned.

With a roar, he lashed out at a nearby tree—thick, wide, age-old. His claw slashed through it. The bark split. The tree tilted and crashed to the forest floor in seconds.

He approached a large stone boulder next, curious.

One strike.

The rock cracked—but his paw hurt. Blood dripped slowly. He pulled back, frowning.

Pain.

He watched the wound—deep, raw.

Then, slowly, like melting snow, it began to knit together.

Regeneration.

"The red crystal's doing?" he wondered, staring at his hand.

He hadn't noticed it until now. But it was clear. He wasn't the same as before.

He returned to the cave that evening, tired but satisfied. The old man raised a brow but said nothing.

Kaiser didn't speak either. Just dropped the day's catch, sat down, and stared at the white core again.

Day 127

Morning mist rolled through the forest.

Kaiser ventured out again, this time farther than before. The white core tucked safely into a pouch against his waist. His heart thumped—not from fear, but anticipation.

He needed to know.

What could it do?

The red one had pushed his limits. The Lumian core gave him his transformation. This—this might be the next step.

He reached a quiet clearing. The trees thinned here, light streaming through like golden spears.

He stood there for a while.

Listening.

Breathing.

Then he pulled the white core from his pouch.

It felt… heavier today. Almost pulsing.

He closed his eyes and shifted—his form towering again in full bear shape. Claws glinting, fur shimmering in the morning light.

Without hesitation, he raised the white core.

And swallowed it.

At first—nothing.

Just a cold chill sliding down his throat.

Then—heat.

Pain.

Ahh—!

It hit his stomach like fire.

Kaiser dropped to his knees.

The trees around him blurred. His breath caught in his throat.

He clutched his chest—his heart pounding like a war drum. His vision blurred. Everything spun.

He screamed—a deep, guttural, inhuman sound that rattled the forest.

Light exploded behind his eyes.

Then darkness.

He woke up lying in the grass, face-down, trembling.

The birds were gone. The clearing silent. Not even wind.

His claws dug into the dirt.

He pushed himself up slowly, gritting his teeth.

Everything hurt.

But…

He was still in bear form.

He looked at his paws. Then his arms.

His fur had changed.

Not just black now—there were veins of silver running along his limbs. Barely visible, like threads of light under the surface.

He could feel something inside him had shifted.

Not physical.

Something deeper.

Emotional.

Mental.

He tried to speak—but the words caught.

Not from pain. From clarity.

His mind was clearer than ever.

He could hear birds miles away. He could feel vibrations in the ground. Every rustle of grass. Every heartbeat nearby.

He stood up fully.

And wept.

Not from pain.

From feeling.

All the rage, fear, loneliness—the bottled up silence of the past 100+ days spilled out in a flood of emotion.

Tears streamed down his furred cheeks.

"I'm alive," he whispered.

The wind stirred around him, almost in answer.

He fell to his knees again.

"I'm alive."

And he was changing.