Alex woke up face down in a patch of damp grass, the air around him heavy and unfamiliar. His limbs felt sore, and his head throbbed like a drum. For a moment, he thought he was dead.
He slowly sat up, brushing off dew and soil from his clothes. The sky above was a deep orange, like a perpetual sunrise, but it lacked the warmth he associated with morning. Instead, the breeze was cool and quiet, too quiet. No horns, no distant hum of life. Just silence and the occasional call of a strange bird.
"Where the hell... am I?" he muttered, rubbing his temple.
Around him were trees he didn't recognize—tall, spiraling, almost crystalline—and mountains in the far distance that curved unnaturally like waves frozen mid-crash. He stood up and stumbled a few steps forward, trying to process what had happened.
The machine. The bullet. The voice.
"You have reached your destination."
Was this the past? The future? A dream?
He wandered aimlessly for what felt like hours, hunger gnawing at his stomach and dread sinking in with every step—until he saw it: a rundown shack, nestled between a small patch of trees and a creek. Smoke drifted from the chimney. Civilization. Or whatever passed for it here.
He knocked.
The door creaked open and a scruffy, lanky man with messy hair, half-tied in a bun, stared at him, squinting like he hadn't seen a visitor in years.
"Who are you?" the man asked, holding a wooden spoon like it was a weapon.
"I... I'm Alex. I think I came here in a time machine."
The man raised a brow. "Well, that's a first. Come in, Time Guy."
Alex stepped inside. The place smelled like burnt herbs and something vaguely edible. Books and crumpled papers were scattered everywhere, and one corner of the room looked like a child's attempt at building a chemistry lab. A single pot simmered over a small fire.
"I'm Kale," the man finally said. "And you're not in Kansas anymore."
"No kidding," Alex said, falling into a crooked chair. "Where am I?"
Kale stirred his pot and wiped his hands. "This isn't a time. It's not a place either. It's the place. The origin."
Alex gave him a blank stare.
Kale smirked. "Every world—yours, mine, the ones you dream about—they're all reflections of this one. Copies. Derivatives. But this one?" He thumped the floor. "This is the root. The birthplace of knowledge. The core of all things."
Alex laughed awkwardly. "That sounds... insane."
"So is building a time machine in your bathroom," Kale replied with a grin. "But here you are."
They shared a quiet moment, and for the first time in days, Alex felt something close to calm.
Kale passed him a bowl. "Soup. Don't ask what's in it."
Alex sniffed it and grimaced. "I was hoping for coffee."
Kale raised an eyebrow. "Coffee? What's that?"
"You've been alone for way too long."
Later That Evening
"So," Alex asked between sips of murky soup, "you said there's power here?"
Kale's eyes lit up. He got up and grabbed a notebook—worn, stained, and barely holding together. "Everything here revolves around one thing—Science. Or rather, the pursuit of it."
"Go on."
"There are three stages," Kale explained, drawing rough symbols in the dirt near the fire. "First is Question—the spark. The moment you ask, 'Why does this fall?' or 'Why do stars move?' Second is Understanding—when you try to solve that question, test, experiment, ponder. Third is Theory—when you combine both into a logical explanation."
"And what about proof?"
Kale leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "That's the final step. When you solve your theory, you create a Proof. And with Proof comes power. Literal, physical manifestation of the science you prove."
Alex stared at him, heart racing. "You're saying if I prove a theory, I get a power based on it?"
"Exactly. I'm working on a theory about why atoms have mass. If I can crack that, I'll be able to manipulate mass—give it, take it away, crush enemies with invisible weight."
Alex looked both awestruck and deeply unsettled.
"But there's a cost," Kale added, his voice dropping.
"What do you mean?"
Kale clutched his chest and coughed violently. Blood spilled from the corner of his mouth, staining the wooden floor.
Alex jumped to his feet. "Hey—hey! Are you okay?!"
Kale waved him off weakly. "It's fine... just a reminder. This world—it's not fair. It has one rule."
He coughed again. "Too much knowledge... the higher beings, they notice. They see you as a threat. They kill you. But if you have too little knowledge... the world itself devours you. You become nothing."
He collapsed into Alex's arms, wheezing.
"Knowledge... is everything."
Alex lowered him gently to the floor, his heart thudding in panic. "Don't die, man. You're the only person who's explained anything to me."
Kale gave a weak smile. "Relax... I'm just overclocked. Haven't slept in three days. You try calculating the Higgs field manually."
The next morning
Sunlight filtered through the cracked windows. Alex awoke on the floor, his body aching. He looked over at Kale, who was somehow still asleep, curled under a blanket of old lab coats.
Alex stretched and groaned. "Guess I'm doing chores today."
He cleaned up the dishes—or what passed for them—fetched water from the creek, and even tried his hand at warming up the soup from last night. When Kale finally got up, he sniffed the air and blinked.
"You cooked?"
"If you can call it that," Alex said, handing him a bowl. "Tasted like ash and sadness."
Kale slurped it happily. "Mmm. Gourmet ash. I approve."
They chuckled, and for the first time, it felt like maybe—just maybe—Alex wasn't alone anymore.
"You know," Kale said, leaning back, "we should set up a chore chart. I cook Mondays through Thursdays, and you—"
"You literally almost died yesterday. I'm not letting you near open flame until we make sure you won't fall face-first into the pot."
"I'm not dying until I win a Nobel Prize in the origin world," Kale muttered.
Alex smirked. "Deal."
That Night
Alex couldn't sleep. He sat by the fire, flipping through Kale's notebook. On the first page, in scribbled ink, was a single line:
"The World Will Fall."
He read it again and again, feeling a chill run down his spine. What did it mean? Was this world doomed? Was he too late?
He didn't have answers.
But he had a question.
And in this world, that was the start of everything.
or maybe , just maybe it wasnt