—— ❖ —— —— ❖ —— —— ❖ ——
His legs gave out halfway down the stairwell.
No warning. One step he stood—next, gravity folded his knees and the world tilted.
White pain split behind his eyes, sharp as a flashbulb exploding against bone.
Sound smeared thin, like the entire stairwell had been dragged through a narrow pipe.
He saw the landing below. A body crumpled there, limbs twisted in shapes no joint should allow.
His body.
The chest rose once, shallow, then stilled.
Well damn~… would not want to be that guy, he muttered.
His own voice came back hollow, blurred.
Ahh…
Then it clicked.
That's… me.
…
The edges of the corridor bled away. Colour smeared. The stairwell peeled back into a tunnel of light speckled with motes like fireflies.
He reached for the railing. His fingers closed on nothing. The pull swallowed him whole.
What—
Then, blasts of pure light.
The light bent sharper, stretching into a tunnel that swallowed everything. For an instant, he thought it was a hospital lamp—then the world tore open.
Colour bled into streaks. Lines of light whipped past him like stars dragged into rivers. Space folded in on itself and flung him forward faster than thought. Reds cracked into violet, violet burned into white, every hue colliding until the sight stabbed at his skull.
His body—or soul—plunged through it, weightless yet crushed, as though both a thread pulled thin and a stone forced through glass.
The rush lasted only moments. Then the colours shattered, dropping him into darkness so total it felt like drowning.
The tunnel of light collapsed.
Darkness ate him whole.
—— ❖ —— —— ❖ —— —— ❖ ——
At first, it was just black. Relief almost touched him—until he realised the dark was moving.
They weren't shadows.
They had form.
Shapes stirred at the edges of vision, but the more he focused, the less they resembled anything he knew. Angles bent wrong, folding into themselves.
Surfaces shimmered where no surface existed. They crawled and twisted in silence, and every time his mind tried to fix them into something real, the image unravelled—leaving only the sensation that he had looked too long at something forbidden.
He wanted to scream, but his throat locked. His chest barely rose.
…
The void pressed on him. Not weight. Not heat. Pressure—the kind that smothered thought itself.
Then came movement.
Slow.
Soundless.
Immense.
Something vast slid across him. Not close. Not far. It felt like a shadow of endless length sweeping over an ant. The instant passed, yet his bones ached as though the thing had noticed.
The dark rippled in reply—thousands of unseen presences stirring at once, like a tide of thought brushing against him. He couldn't tell if they were voices or echoes of his own panic, but they threaded into his skull like whispers through water.
More movement followed. Too many.
Shapes without name, outlines too sharp to belong, crowding the edges until there was no direction left—only wrongness above, below, within.
They pulsed, expanded, fractured. The dark itself seemed to breathe.
Somewhere beyond sense, something laughed. Not mockery—amusement, ancient and cold. He felt it ripple through the void.
Then one of them stilled.
Everything else churned, but this shape froze, fixed in place.
That was worse. Impossibly worse. Because only things that were real could hold still.
It turned. Toward him.
Every nerve screamed for him to move, but there was nowhere to move to. The dark folded inward, flattening perspective until space itself became an eye—and he was trapped inside the pupil.
A hand stretched out.
Not flesh.
Not bone.
An idea.
Dark and endless, fingers tapering into spears. It did not move fast. It did not need to. The void hushed as it reached, every other impossible thing bowing to the motion.
Paralysis gripped him. His mind was collapsing. His heartbeat stuttered once, twice, then stopped.
The hand drew near—
…
—and reality screamed.
A fissure of light tore through the void, slicing it open from horizon to horizon. The hand burst apart, dissolving into static and ash. The remaining shapes fractured, scattering like shards of glass in a ray of sun.
Darkness shrieked into brilliance.
His eyes seared white, thought blanked—
—and then came the wind.
It roared in his ears, sky blazing above, a brawling landscape waiting below.
He floated above the world, staring down at a continent spread wide.
Plains rolled like a blanket of green. Rivers cut black seams across the land. Ridges jutted like bone through skin.
Clouds drifted, casting slow shadows over patchwork fields. At the edge of sight, a pale coast curved until haze devoured it.
No highways. No towers. No buzzing lines across the sky. Just raw earth, alive and whole.
He stared until his eyes burned. Then the fall began.
Air screamed in his ears, shaking his skull. The view tumbled once—sky flipping into earth—then stabilized, locked steady on the horizon.
The ground raced close. Blades of grass sharpened in detail. White flowers stayed stubborn against the speeding wind. Heat shimmered upward in waves, warping the air like a mirage.
Dying twice in one day. That would be embarrassing.
…
The fall lined him perfectly with a figure in the field. Young. Still. A pale robe, dark shirt and trousers, arms limp with no motion in sight. No way to twist aside.
Closer and closer he came, begging to wake up.
Then—impact. Followed by a massive surge of starlight.
A chest convulsed. His chest.
Air slammed into lungs that had not drawn breath for hours—or ever.
Huhhh-
His ribs jolted, heart hammering too fast, too hard, but a steady beat nonetheless.
haaahhh-hah…ha
A sprawling landscape became a clear sky in a blink.
He groaned. The sound tore out raw, as though his throat had been scraped with sand. Light burned his eyes until tears pricked the corners. He squeezed them shut, then forced them open again, blinking hard against the brightness.
The sky above was too clean. Blue without smog or haze. White motes drifted at the edges of his vision like sparks.
His body twitched. Muscles clenched and released on their own, like cables being tested. He groaned louder and rolled to his side.
"uhh—what the hell?" His voice cracked, rasping. He pressed a hand to the ground and sat up slowly, every motion tight with protest, as if waking from a long, disorienting nap.
The field swayed around him, tall grass shifting like a sea. A hum threaded faintly through it—more felt than heard—vibrating against his bones. He shook his head, trying to clear it. The sensation slipped away.
The meadow ran wide in every direction. Dew glinted sharp in the morning light. Darker seams cut the land, maybe streams. A ridge of trees followed one such dip, leaves moving in time with the grass.
He touched his face. The shape was right… but the texture was not. Smooth. Younger. His hair fell silver into his eyes, rough but bright, still catching light even under streaks of dirt.
He staggered toward a shallow pool and bent over it—only to be further surprised.
A stranger stared back. Ten years younger. Clean-boned. No scar on the lip. No dark bags under the eyes.
"Wha—who the hell is this handsome guy?" His laugh cracked into something nervous.
"Haha… no way this is real, right?"
…
The reflection held. The dream did not blur.
The silence pressed heavily. No traffic hum. No cable buzz. Only grass, the creak of branches, and birds calling notes he did not know. "Wait… birds?"
Then one call struck familiar—three clear tones, bright as a flute.
Relief surged. A bird. Earth enough.
He turned toward the sound.
The bird perched on a branch. Two heads swiveled in unison. Two throats sang the same run of notes.
His relief cracked. Laughter broke half-mad. "Never mind."
—— ❖ —— —— ❖ —— —— ❖ ——
Far above, a winged woman rode the air. Her silhouette cut sharp against the bright sky. Beside her glided another form—larger, older, weightless with patience.
The elder tilted its head toward a brighter patch of haze in the distance. The woman followed its gaze. She saw only a far stretch of landscape. Yet the air pressed differently against her feathers, tension humming in her wing-bones.
"You also sense it?" she said. "The essence shifted strangely just now."
The elder did not answer. Silence was enough.
She noted the phenomenon, adjusted her wings, and returned to her patrol.
—— ❖ —— —— ❖ —— —— ❖ ——
On the ground, thirst pressed hard. His throat scraped dry. He forced himself upright, swaying in this stranger's body.
The faint sound of running water reached him. He fixed on it like a predator on prey, relief cutting through the haze. He started walking toward it.
Grass brushed his legs, damp against the coarse cloth of his trousers. His boots crunched the blades of grass, faint pressure brushing his shins and arms as though the air itself leaned close.
The further he walked, the stranger the world felt.
A flower along the path shifted colour when the wind touched it—pale blue one moment, sharp violet the next. He froze, stared, then forced himself on.
Insects hovered low over the grass, wings beating, but their flight left faint streaks of light in the air, as though the world remembered their paths.
He kept walking, muttering, half-delirious: "I'm… just hallucinating. Yeah, just a little crazy in the head is all."
…
The shrubs parted. The river lay ahead.
Narrow, silver under sunlight. Flowing as if alive.
The current ran smooth, the surface broken by drifting petals.
He stood there, mouth a gape, unable to compute what he was seeing.
The river crawled uphill, defying the slope and gravity.
Thirst won. He ran over, crouched and plunged a hand into the water.
Cold stabbed to the bone. He drank, greedy, desperate. The taste burned, sharp as frost, cleaner than anything from a tap.
He pulled back, panting. "Nothing strange. Just… small differences." His laugh cracked. "Except… rivers don't just say no to gravity."
His breath caught. The last strings of hope and sanity snapped. "No. No, no, no—"
Truth crashed in. His chest seized. His throat scraped dry.
"AHHHHH—"
He slammed his head straight into the river.
Blup-blup-blup
Bubbles burst as he yelled into the current, words lost to the flowing water. His skull went cold. Lungs shrieked for air. He tore his head up, gasping, water streaming from hair and shirt.
And froze.
Droplets hovered above him, sprays of vapour glimmering in the sun. Bubbles clung mid-air instead of sinking.
They hung there like glass beads, trembling between existence and collapse. Light fractured through them, scattering rainbows across his face. The world stood still.
For a moment, even the river seemed to hesitate—caught between flowing and watching.
As soon as he reached out, they scattered, falling and merging back into the current.
His heartbeat kicked, wild. He blinked hard, as if clearing static from his vision.
Did that just happen?
Shocked, he succumbed to curiosity and splashed like a child trying to recreate a magic trick. Again. Nothing. Another. Still nothing.
Frantic, he scooped, slapped, shouted—the river stayed calm. The silence mocked him, a soft whisper beneath the rush.
Like an anime mage, he spoke strange incantations to persuade it.
"Aqua rise! Splash formation! Hydropump!"
Nothing. Water clung ordinary.
He tried again until his arms shook, shirt heavy, hair plastered silver to his brow. The air smelled sharp—metallic, alive. Tiny shivers ran through the river as though it laughed at him.
Breathing heavily, he finally collapsed on the bank, defeated. Mud sucked at his sleeve. His pulse thudded dull in his ears. Lying there, he stared at the blue sky, chest rising slowly, thoughts dissolving like foam.
Moments passed in silence.
…
—— ❖ —— —— ❖ —— —— ❖ ——
No… was it? It has to be. It's the only logical conclusion.
"It was me," he whispered.
The thought rooted deep. He sat up, legs folded.
"I triggered it. My outburst made it happen."
Eyes shut. He reached inward.
A tingle flickered faint, like static under the skin. A current ran along nerves, through muscle. Not blood. Not heat. Something else.
It's… circulating. Like electricity. A circuit.
It was barely there, but definitely there. He focused, and the flicker grew.
Branches, splits, reconnecting loops mapped through him. His mind snapped into patterns: Current. Resistance. Pathways. Nerves as wire. Muscle as conductor. Body as a living circuit.
"Two energies," he muttered. "Mine… and the other one—something outside. It was present in the river. A reaction born when both touched."
He crouched again, hand out.
The tingle surged. He forced it down his arm, into his palm. Fingers burned.
Maybe…
Just maybe…
But this time the river answered.
The hairs along his forearm lifted; the air clicked.
Mist coiled upward, vapour gathering around his hand. Heatless. Unreal. His chest seized.
"Phase change… liquid to gas. Endothermic shift without thermal input. Hydrogen bonds disrupted, entropy increasing with no energy source."
He focused on the process. The vapour collapsed, droplets forming. They hung above his palm, trembling, steady.
A shapeless body of water floated there.
He laughed, breathless. "Impossible. A violation of the Second Law! Gah, forget it! Laws mean nothing if you can casually bend them."
He thought about shaping the water, and the water obeyed, morphing into a clean sphere.
The sphere trembled in his palm. A fist-sized globe of water, impossibly floating, scattering sun across its skin. For a second he grinned like a lunatic.
I did it.
…
He wanted more. He drove the current harder down his arm—circuits straining, nerves screaming. Fingers burned like nails under nails. The water warped, ripples crawling its surface.
Then a droplet fell, hitting his palm.
Pop!
Explosion.
The sphere detonated in his face with the force of a fire hose. The blast caught him square in the mouth and nose, lifting him off his feet. He flew backward like a ragdoll, legs flipped skyward; he hit flat on his back. Mud splashed up his sides, water pouring over him like he'd just lost a wrestling match with the river itself.
He groaned, choking on mud.
"Ahhh, son of a—damned water balloon from hell—" He hacked, spat, then wheezed, "Circuit overloaded… the damn thing blew the line…"
Every nerve in his hand screamed. His chest burned where the force had smacked the air out of him. He rolled onto his side, coughing until his ribs ached.
When the pain ebbed, he lay there, staring up at the cloudless sky. A single drop of water hung above his brow, refusing to fall—until it finally did, smacking him in the face for one last piece of disrespect.
"Died by getting folded by some stairs. Gained a new handsome body. Figured out magic. And got my ass handed to me by a ball of water."
He let out a long sigh.
Eventful. Painful. But… Promising.
—— ❖ —— —— ❖ —— —— ❖ ——