A dull ache radiated through Sikja's head as a cold shiver gripped his whole body. His focus was almost numb, and it seemed useless against the agony. With every movement of internal struggle, it felt like his mind was shackled in a wisp of fog, sending a sharp pang of pain every time he tried to calm himself.
'This is bad—my head hurts!'
Sikja, still asleep, couldn't grasp his situation. It was a soaring burn, and even his joints were now badly throbbing in pain, as though someone had ruthlessly hammered them continuously.
Having suffered through a similar scenario while working, Sikja tried his best to focus in order to escape the void. However, while still in his reverie, whatever immaterial strength he could summon was as fleeting as time itself. He found his thoughts difficult to control or question. No matter how much he tried, he still lost his focus as random thoughts surfaced in his mind.
'Did I sleep while working? I'm still not done with my work… that bastard will nag if I don't complete it! Ahh, I'm such a joke!'
After a few minutes of struggle, the pain began to slowly mellow, allowing Sikja to gather a little of his strength—until he was finally able to move his limbs and then his eyes.
To Sikja, breaking free from his inevitable shackles felt like running a marathon to its very end, or rather similar to the sensation of drowning and finally bursting above the surface for air.
His vision was bleary at first the moment his eyes opened, causing him to grimace and rub them. It then softened into a faint white fog before finally clearing. However, his eyes still ached, and when he tried to glance sideways a sharp pang shot up his head. All he could do was look straight ahead.
Right in front of him was a massive round table made of gleaming white marble that reflected the light, with many eye-catching letters etched into it—strange, deep-black symbols.
Sikja sighed and closed his eyes.
'Seems like I am still asleep. I'm still in a dream...'
There was little time left for the submission of his document. If not for the agony he was in, he would have preferred to stay asleep for a bit while. The bizarre dream would soon end, and he would have to go back to his work tomorrow.
'I'll wake up soon and take a rest—work be damned...'
It was only natural for him to think that way, since he hadn't slept a wink for the past few days. But nobody could live without money; a person who doesn't work achieves nothing in life, which is why everyone had to work for their living.
These words could be called his self-motivation, and they had kept him sane from quitting his job all these years. However, having such a strange dream was unusual and he couldn't make sense of it; after all, it felt too real for the dreamlike state he was in.
Sikja slowly began counting numbers, then snapped his eyes open as he reached ten, hoping he was back in reality—but he was still in the unfamiliar setting and hadn't returned to his room.
'Ahh, the hell! What is going on?'
The last thing he remembered was writing his documentary while sipping his fourth cup of coffee. Still exhausted, he was taken aback by the unfamiliar place. He looked around, trying to get a sense of his situation, and searched for any clues in his confused state and the surrounding vicinity.
He narrowed his eyes, holding his chin.
'Hm… interesting, could it be?'
Although numerous explanations crossed his mind, none of them seemed right. The most likely culprit was the modafinil pills that he'd been taking for several days, finally catching up to him and messing with his head. He wouldn't have taken such an effective medicine if his colleagues, as usual, hadn't dumped all the work on him. Both factors contributed equally to his current state. Even though he was paid less at work, he accepted their requests without complaint, just to make things bearable for himself.
Sikja was completely swallowed in his own spiraling thoughts. He was frustrated, but strangely he remained fairly sane, considering the circumstances he was in.
'Rein… No. No, no.' As quick as the thought came, he knocked it down even faster. He didn't want to believe in all the foolish things like fantasy. However, it was important to collect information, even if just a little, and digest it. Though the problem was, he had no good ideas.
All he could think of was the image of sheep crossing a fence one by one. Sikja was dumbfounded and didn't know how to make sense of the situation.
With the last sheep jumping over his head, he concluded, and slowly returned back to reality, and somehow calmed himself. Well, it was good that he was back, but it was still a completely confusing scenario.
Taking a slow breath, Sikja confirmed he could finally move freely. He looked around. At the far right end stood a massive door, its surface engraved with golden patterns like veins. It was bigger than any door he had ever seen, and it seemed impossible to open by human strength. On either side of the door were monoliths shaped like women—perhaps goddesses. They were so realistically designed that he felt they might move at any moment.
The size of the place was breathtaking. It was so huge that even if dozens and dozens of people were inside the room, it would never feel packed or crowded. The ceiling had numerous chandeliers hanging from it, made of colorful stones that looked like a rainbow, giving the space a feeling of elegance.
On both sides of the room stood six massive arched pillars at the corners, and many flags, emblazoned with different symbols, hung from the pillars, waving in the cold wind coming through the spacious stone windows. A total of seven flags were almost falling apart, bent down by the gusts of wind.
At the left end of the room was a staircase of about eight steps, etched in black and gold. Atop it stood a gigantic throne, carved in a golden hue. Its back was so high it almost reached halfway to the ceiling. A massive skull of a beast, with two twisted horns and jagged teeth jutting from its open mouth, was proudly displayed like a badge of honor.
That's when Sikja suddenly realized—"Why the hell is everything so massive?!"
He couldn't help but gasp at the magnificence of the place. It felt like a room fit for fantasy royals—easily the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Surely enough, he felt out of place too. After all, his entire twenty-six years had been spent living in a small, messy room he'd acquired after months of applying for a loan.
'Calm down!'
When Sikja thought he had seen enough of the strange things, his gaze shifted to a shiny mirror. Its frame was embedded with ruby stones that reflected the sunlight, and it hovered midair near the window, which had neither curtains nor glass.
"Huh...?!"
Sikja felt inexplicably terrified as he stood up abruptly. However, before his feet could fully straighten, his limbs protested with a soaring pain, causing him to temporarily lose all his strength and he fell uncontrollably, slamming heavily onto the cold black marble chair he had been sitting on.
Thack!
The pain did little to stop his thoughts, which still lingered on the sight he had just seen. Propping himself up, Sikja stood again and turned toward the mirror, walking closer to get a better view of it.
As he reached the mirror, Sikja slowly closed his eyes and opened them again. With a sweep of his gaze, he noticed himself in the reflection.
Sikja could only cross his arms in incomprehension, of what he was witnessing.
"So basically, it's like that, huh."
Snapping his fingers, he pointed at the mirror.
"Who is that again?!"
His banal appearance was nothing compared to the reflection staring back at him—a young man wearing a magnificent black academic jacket, edged in white and gold, with a collar so excessively red it was clearly expensive, and it complemented his overall appearance. Though, what really annoyed Sikja, was how the reflection copied his every awkward pose and twitch, yet somehow the man made it look good. On him, the same movements would've probably looked dumb.
"Damn you, stop copying me!"
However, what unnerved Sikja the most, was the young man's strange aura. He carried a presence so sharp that Sikja couldn't help but look at himself with confusion. A crimson crystal faintly shimmered between his collarbone, while two grey eyes—each with a small ruby pupil—glowed with cold detachment. His deep black hair completed his overall look. Strapped across his back with a leather belt hung a jagged black sword, as striking as the man himself.
Still, Sikja thought he wasn't that good-looking compared to him, though he clearly was.
"Wait..." he immediately gasped as he looked at himself, realising it had been him in the reflection the whole time. Countless helpless and panicked thoughts crashed into his mind.
Sikja thought back on the sights he had seen before: the place—in ancient fantasy style—and that floating mirror! It didn't make any sense. What the hell is actually happening!?
Having spoken of the circumstances he'd ended up in, he dropped to his knees, clutching his head. "Have I... reincarnated? No... no... this can't be."
Sikja began muttering various words, his head spinning as he clutched at his temples, trying again and again to make sense of it.
He clearly didn't remember his summoning. He had grown up reading and watching all sorts of fantasy novels and anime, though he'd never admitted how much he loved them, since he was often bullied for enjoying such things by his classmates in middle school. He had always told himself it was foolish to invest time in such fantasies. However, now... the very thing he hated to accept, he was living it — and he couldn't even begin to cope with it.
However he judged it, things were really bad.