The next few days were a blur of sensory overload and profound disorientation. He was five years old. His name, he quickly gathered, was Adav. His family, merchants, lived in a sprawling, old house near Pune. His "mother" was a kind woman named Kamala, and his "father," a stern but fair man called Ramnath, oversaw a modest but thriving textile and dye business.
Adav, the 21st-century architect, feigned the quiet, observant nature of a shy child. It was, he realized, the only way to cope, to gather information without drawing suspicion. He sat, listened, absorbed. He learned the rhythms of the household: the clatter of the kitchen in the mornings, the hum of looms in a back room, the distant shouts of street vendors, the prayers at dusk. Every piece of data was fed, unknowingly at first, to the nascent system in his mind's eye.
The Codex. That glowing word had not vanished. It was there, a constant, silent companion. At first, it was just a jumble of lights, a confusing kaleidoscope that would flare and dim with his emotions or thoughts. But as he focused, as he consciously tried to understand his new reality, the jumble began to coalesce. He discovered he could, with a silent, almost involuntary command, bring up that translucent overlay. It wasn't a voice, not in his ear, but a direct input into his consciousness, like data streaming into a processor.
His first conscious command was born of desperation. He needed to know when he was. He focused, wishing, willing the answer.
[HISTORICAL DATABASE: ACTIVATING. QUERY: CURRENT YEAR?]
A moment of silent processing, then:
[INFORMATION: YEAR 1904. LOCATION: PUNE, BOMBAY PRESIDENCY, BRITISH RAJ, INDIA.]
The revelation hit him with the force of a physical blow. 1904. Not 2047. India. Not a sovereign nation, but a colony. The British Raj. His homeland, under the heel of another empire. The implications were staggering, terrifying, exhilarating. His memories, the precise knowledge of a future that hadn't happened yet, became his most potent weapon.
He began to feed the Codex voraciously. He devoured his father's ledgers, columns of meticulous script detailing transactions in rupees, annas, and pies. He learned the names of suppliers, the prices of raw cotton, the demand for indigo. He listened intently to conversations about the British administrators, the local zamindars, the rumblings of discontent from the nascent nationalist movement.
The Codex processed it all at impossible speeds. He'd "read" a newspaper, its columns filled with news of Viceroy Curzon and the Russo-Japanese War, and as his eyes scanned the text, the [Historical Database] module would flash, integrating the information, cross-referencing it with the memories of 2047. He'd grasp the fundamental economic principles of 1904, the existing trade routes, the nascent industrialization, the overwhelming British dominance.
He was a silent observer, a sponge, absorbing every detail. The world of 1904 was raw, unrefined, full of inefficiencies. To Adav, the architect, it was not merely a historical period. It was a problem. A colossal, complex, and incredibly fragile structure, waiting to be redesigned.