My name is Sennin Cyprus. At the tender age of eight, my intellect already greatly surpasses me. While my mother hails me as a rare genius, I have begun to learn that the truth is stranger than she realizes.

Partway through age five, peculiar memories began to surface in the form of distorted dreams. Slowly, these memories multiplied, alongside unnatural accelerated intellectual growth. Though it would not be until near the end of age six that I gained an awareness as to why.

While I was playing with other kids, a runaway cart horse trampled me, plunging me into a coma. I am told that I slept for nearly four days, but to me, it felt like a single fleeting moment.

And it was during this dream-like moment that something truly peculiar unfolded. 

Like being transported, I was suddenly standing in a vast open grassland when a disembodied voice appeared, stating that he would be my guide to remembering what I had lost. Initially, I was startled and not a little bit scared. But as he continued in his explanation, fear changed to confusion, and confusion turned to utter bewilderment. 

The voice stated that my name was originally Huebert Mazur, a man from another world, dead and born again.  Refusing to elaborate, it continued to explain that a significant change awaited me, where my past and current selves would slowly start to collide more and more. Battling for dominance until eventually resulting in the birth of someone new—someone who would simultaneously be both and neither of my “previous” selves. 

Before I could prod any further I was whisked away and back to consciousness.

Upon waking up, it seemed the  so-called transformation had begun. The once previously jumbled mess of unintelligible information that plagued my mind slowly started to become more clear, more comprehensible, more natural. 

Though the scope of what I can recall is limited mostly to memories of books and the knowledge they held, I still find myself holding feelings of longing that I cannot quite yet understand. 

It is hard to quantify exactly how much I am changing, or have changed already. Because despite being a mutated collage of two people, at the end of the day I just feel like…myself, whatever that now may be or mean. 

The most notable thing I can recognize is that I have slowly become obsessed with the need to study and learn about the world around me. It is difficult to determine whether this is the natural curiosity of a child, or the awe of someone in a new reality. Though my ability to remain detached and view myself as a child is unusual in itself.

Nevertheless, I am still a child, so my progress has been limited to using children’s books and my unusual intelligence to try and accelerate my intellectual development.

Learning to read is a slow and tedious process. Despite my early mastery of speech, written language remains a challenge, and my proficiency is basic at best. To be honest, my struggle with it has become utterly frustrating.

“Sennin!” an authoritative voice called to me from below. 

“Coming!” I called back as I hurriedly tidied up the pile of books scattered across the floor before leaving my room and stepping into the hallway.

I live with my mother, Yara Cyprus, in a village on a rather isolated island surrounded by a dense and endless fog. From what I am able to understand, we exist as part of a larger empire that rarely intervenes.The villagers occasionally speak of something called the Octennial, a mysterious government visit that they treat as a taboo topic. Thus it is only mentioned in whispers, and when I try to ask I am quickly hushed and dismissed. All I know is that the last Octennial occurred when I was quite young so I don't have any personal memories of it.

As I descended down the stairs and into the kitchen, my mother awaited. She was a tall and youthful looking woman with flawless, pale skin and long silver hair that curled at the ends": Noticing my presence, she paused from her cooking, turning with a warm smile to greet me. 

“Good morning my dear” she softly spoke

When she turned, her hair shifted, revealing long, slender ears tapering to a swallowtail-like point and striking lilac-colored eyes. The familiar warmth of her presence enveloped my chest, and I responded with a smile.

“Good morning, Mother.” 

Even though I may now have strange memories and knowledge of someone other than myself, one thing remains unchanged. This is, and always will be, my home.