About a week and some days ago—around the time when Orion's body first began reacting negatively to the oxygen levels in the air—signs that excessive oxygen intake had started to increase at an alarming rate. His breathing grew shallow, his lungs burned with every inhale, and a strange, unbearable itching sensation spread across his skin like invisible fire. Desperation soon took over, and Orion went frantically around town, seeking help from anyone who could offer even a shred of understanding or aid.
He approached adults— those he knew and those he didn't— and even traders who claimed to know a little about medicine, asking them for help. But none of them could give him any real answer, because they simply didn't understand what was happening to him. In truth, at that point, Orion himself didn't yet know that the cause of his suffering was an overdose of oxygen in his body.
He couldn't properly articulate his condition in a way that others could comprehend. Whenever he tried explaining that his lungs felt like they were burning from the inside or that his skin crawled as if something were eating him alive, people would stare at him with puzzled expressions. Since there were no visible rashes or marks whenever his skin itched uncontrollably, they began to suspect that his mind was playing tricks on him. Some even whispered that he might have consumed some strange mushrooms or was possibly losing his sanity.
There were even some who thought that he was cursed, as three years ago his adoptive father, Kay Warner, succumbed to a strange and unexplained ailment and hadn't recovered since.
In a last attempt for help, Orion visited the town's physician—the new doctor who had taken over after Kay became unavailable. However, even the doctor couldn't make sense of his symptoms. The medical and technological understanding of the time simply hadn't advanced enough to recognize the effects of oxygen toxicity, let alone understand the concept of oxygen levels or their potential dangers. To them, air was just air—neither a blessing nor a curse.
Ironically, that same lack of knowledge blinded them to the advantages of controlling oxygen levels. And so, Orion was left alone, his pain worsening by the day.
Then, by sheer stroke of luck—or perhaps fate—he stumbled upon a discovery that would change everything.
One late afternoon, exhausted and half-crazed from the itching, Orion found himself wandering near the outskirts of town. His breath came in short bursts as he ran, scratching at his arms and neck until his skin turned red. It was during one of these desperate moments that he tripped over a protruding rock and tumbled violently down a grassy slope. He rolled several times before coming to a stop near the edge of a strange, open field covered in lush, vibrant plants that swayed gently in the wind.
The fall had left him weak and dizzy. For a moment, he simply lay there on the ground, his mind blank, the world spinning. Then, slowly, he realized something unusual—the itching sensation had begun to fade, and the burning in his lungs had eased.
What the…? He thought, opening his eyes wide. A calmness washed over him, something he hadn't felt in days. He inhaled tentatively, then deeper, and though his lungs still felt slightly raw, the unbearable sting was gone.
Still, the symptoms hadn't vanished completely—only reduced. But Orion, intelligent as he was, quickly pieced together a possible explanation. Gathering what strength he had left, he staggered to his feet and ventured deeper into the field. The further he went, the more relief he felt, until finally, all the discomfort in his body disappeared completely.
He stood there in awe, surrounded by tall, green plants and wide-petaled flowers that shimmered faintly under the sunlight. The air here was lighter, gentler—breathable.
It didn't take him long to form a theory. He knew that plants generally release oxygen, not absorb it. So, if the air around this field had a more tolerable oxygen concentration, then something in the soil must be acting as a natural filter, drawing in and trapping the excess oxygen. The brownish layer at the base of the plants seemed to confirm his suspicion.
Back on his Earth, Orion had been more than just a boxer. He was also an intelligent and curious student with a natural affinity for science. He remembered a particular class assignment where they were asked to research what would happen to life on Earth if oxygen levels ever became abnormally high.
He recalled his findings vividly—plants in such a world would grow enormous and lush, but their base roots would eventually burn, blister, and decay from oversaturation. Meanwhile, humans and animals would grow stronger, faster, and larger, but at a cost: their skin would itch and blister, and their lungs would gradually burn from the inside.
Now, seeing the brown, blistered roots of the plants before him, Orion knew his theory was right— that some mineral in the soil bonded with excess oxygen, reducing its concentration in the surrounding air.
He had found his salvation.
Acting quickly, he took off his shirt, tore a strip from his innerwear, and dug into the ground to collect a handful of the soil. He smeared the mud onto the torn fabric, making sure it was evenly coated before pressing it gently to his nose and mouth. Then, cautiously, he stepped away from the field to test his creation.
To his relief, the symptoms did not return for the duration of time he stayed beyond the oxygen filtering perimeter of the field. The fabric—now coated in the special dust—was successfully filtering out the excess oxygen.
However, there was a problem. Breathing through the mud-smeared cloth wasn't pleasant. He could feel the fine dust particles entering his lungs, making him cough and wheeze. It was uncomfortable, and prolonged use could make things worse.
He needed a better version—something cleaner and less earthy in smell.
After a few moments of thought, an idea struck him. What if he dissolved the dirt in water, creating a refined mixture that could dry into a purer, less aromatic and particle-free layer? That could make breathing through it easier and safer.
Unfortunately, he had no water with him. In his frantic state earlier, he had left his home without food or drink, entirely focused on finding relief.
But fortune favored him once again. He remembered hearing the faint sound of flowing water when he was running before his fall—a spring, perhaps, not too far away.
Driven by that hope, Orion removed his undershirt completely, tore it in two, and packed a large lump of the special mud into one half, wrapping it securely. He tucked the smaller piece of fabric into his pocket, then put his shirt back on and began climbing out of the flowery plain, determined to find the source of the water.
After a short, grueling trek—his lungs still adjusting to the filter's dust and his steps growing heavier—he finally found it: a small, crystal-clear spring hidden between two large rocks, surrounded by thick shrubs.
A look of pure relief crossed his face. Dropping the mud-wrapped cloth to the ground, he crouched beside the spring, trying to figure out how to mix the mud and water without a proper container.
Thinking quickly, he decided to dig a shallow bowl into the ground with his hands. He used the broad leaves of a nearby shrub to line the hole, creating a natural barrier between his special mud and the regular soil. Then he added a handful of the oxygen-absorbing dirt into the improvised bowl.
Carefully scooping water with his palms, he poured it into the hole and began stirring with a small broken branch. As he mixed, the muddy liquid started taking on a smoother, richer texture. A satisfied smile formed on his face. The new mixture looked promising—exactly what he had envisioned.
Just as he was about to test it on the other half of his undershirt— the one he had pocketed earlier— a piercing scream ripped through the quiet air, startling the birds above. It came from somewhere beyond the shrubs.
Startled by how guttural and desperate the voice was, Orion dropped the branch and leaped to his feet. He parted the thick shrubs, peering through the leaves—and froze.
On the other side stood a young woman—Azalea—wearing only her undergarments, her expression frantic and terrified.
Who is that? Orion wondered. He had never seen her before, which was fair because he had never once ventured this far out of town before that day. But something about her— her flawless skin, her neatly kept hair, and the faint shimmer of jewelry around her neck—made it clear she wasn't like the other townsfolk.
Then he saw what had terrified her.
A large snake slithered through the grass, its tongue flicking in and out as it advanced toward her.
"A snake!" she screamed, backing up until her heel touched the edge of the spring, trapped with nowhere to run.
Orion didn't think—he simply acted. Without hesitation, he lunged through the shrubs, sprinting toward her as fast as he could.
All he knew at that moment was that he couldn't stand by and watch someone die.
If only he had known then that this single act of heroism—the decision to help a stranger in peril—would become the first domino to fall, setting off a chain of events that would lead him straight into the predicament he found himself in now.