Past eleven at night, the city showed no sign of quieting down. The glass towers blazed with lights, and even the narrow alleys hummed with traffic and voices. Prosperity wrapped the district like a glowing shell.
But every world has its shadows.
On the outskirts of this bright metropolis lay a slum—an area swallowed by darkness. Here, the buildings crouched low to the ground like broken teeth, electricity was a luxury, and many homes didn't even have proper wiring. One such house, its door hanging crookedly and left unlocked, stood like a ghost of a dwelling. Cracks riddled its walls, and its roof sagged under years of neglect. A stagnant ditch in front of it released a foul stench that clung to the night air.
Inside, the room was even more miserable. A single collapsed cabinet leaned pitifully against the wall, and a bed made of mismatched metal pipes occupied the corner. On that makeshift bed lay Arya, dressed in the blue-and-white stripes of hospital clothing. Her body was thin, weak, and unmoving.
Her dull eyes fixated on the red aviation obstruction lights blinking atop the distant skyscrapers. A stray thought slipped through her mind—a desperate, almost humorous curiosity. If I stood up there and looked down… would the world look beautiful? Would it feel peaceful?
Her long hair clung to her forehead, damp from sweat, and she brushed it aside with difficulty. Her cracked lips curled into a faint, bitter smile. In her imagination, she could almost feel the cool wind of that skyscraper brushing past her face.
Arya was twenty years old.
Five years ago, she had a warm home and loving parents. They weren't wealthy, but they were comfortable, content, and together.
But fate chose a different path the night of the car accident.
A drunken rich young man crashed into their vehicle. Her parents died on the spot. Arya survived—with irreparable damage to her spine. Her legs were paralyzed. The young man paid compensation and disappeared without consequences.
The relatives she trusted—her grandmother and uncle's family—took her in. They cared for her for five years, slowly gaining her trust. And then they stole everything: her parents' inheritance, the compensation money, and even the savings she had left. After stripping her clean, they vanished.
Three days ago, the caregiver hired by her doctor—someone she believed she could rely on—betrayed her as well. They worked together to take the last of her funds and dumped her in this slum to die unnoticed.
"This is an abandoned room," the caregiver had told her coldly. "Even if you die, no one will find you for a year."
And so, Arya lay here without water or food for three days. Her body trembled weakly. She no longer had the strength to cry or rage. She waited, quietly, for death to take her.
"You all got what you wanted," she whispered, her voice hoarse and barely there.
She closed her eyes.
Just as her consciousness began slipping into darkness, voices broke through the silence outside the door.
"Are you sure it's here? The door isn't even locked."
"Yes, yes! I saw a well-dressed man and woman leave this place a few days ago. They must've hidden something good here."
"There'd better be. If there's nothing, I'll make you regret it."
Footsteps approached. The door creaked open.
Arya forced her eyes open slightly and saw two men—one tall and thin with shifty eyes, the other shorter, stockier, and sporting a scar across his cheek. Their presence alone made it clear they weren't decent people.
"This is your 'good stuff'?" the scarred man roared.
SMACK.
His hand swung across the tall man's face.
"W-well, she's something… right? Maybe she can be sold for money."
"Sold? She's wearing hospital clothes! Someone dumped her here to die. You know how many of these cases the Federal Hospitals produce every year? Garbage! Let's go. This is just bad luck."
He spat toward Arya, turned around, and stomped away.
Even though they had spoken of her with disgust, Arya didn't feel humiliated. She was too exhausted to care.
She closed her eyes again.
But then—a cold, emotionless mechanical voice echoed in her mind:
[After discussion between the Will of the Kalim World and the Will of Blue Star, humans aged 18 to 55 will be forcibly transported to the Kalim World to alleviate population pressure on Blue Star.]
"What the hell!?" the scarred man's voice overlapped with the mechanical announcement.
Before Arya could process what was happening, her body seemed to lighten. The cold metal under her vanished. The world spun.
And then she landed on something soft.
A fresh wooden scent filled her senses. It was comforting—clean—so different from the suffocating stench she knew so well.
Arya opened her eyes.
The pitch-black ceiling of the slum house was gone. Above her was a gently glowing, warm yellow light set into a ceiling made of solid wood.
She turned her head slowly, absorbing the unfamiliar surroundings. The room was about twenty square meters with a slightly curved structure. Dark green, swirling patterns decorated the walls, floor, and ceiling in intricate designs she could not recognize. She lay on a straw-padded bed. A low table stood beside it, roughly half a meter tall.
Above the table hung a small oil lamp, burning quietly. But instead of flame, tiny golden star-like particles drifted inside it, swirling in a gentle, hypnotic rhythm.
There was a round glass window on the wall. A wooden door remained tightly shut.
Was this place… the "Kalim World" mentioned earlier?
She looked around again, comparing it in her mind to the slum shack she had been lying in minutes ago. It was cleaner, brighter, and less miserable—but apart from that, it wasn't miraculous. She let her head sink back onto the straw bed.
Her body had gone three days without sustenance. Even thinking was exhausting.
She closed her eyes again.
The mechanical voice returned.
[Welcome to the Kalim World.]
[The Kalim World is a dangerous land filled with fiends, magical turbulence, Mana Tides, volatile weather, and dense ambient mana.]
[To survive, remember these rules:]
[1. Your Shelter, equipped with a Magic Shield, is your only safe place. Upgrade it whenever possible—the higher its level, the stronger the protection.]
[2. Everything must be earned by your own effort. Nothing will come for free.]
[3. Your Magic Desk has numerous functions. Mastering it will greatly ease your survival.]
[4. You have a seven-day protection period. Powerful beings will not actively attack you during this time. Use this chance to explore and gather resources.]
[5. Supply chests may spawn randomly anywhere on Kalim. These contain food, water, and useful materials—but do not rely on them too much.]
[6. Nighttime in Kalim is extremely dangerous. Return to your Shelter before dark or face the consequences.]
[7. Only the Shelter owner may enter it unless invited. No one can forcibly break in.]
[8. To help you begin your life here, you will receive: one basic magic spell, one awakened Talent, and one E-grade tool of your choice.]
[Finally: The distance between Shelters varies. You may be ten meters apart or ten kilometers apart. Resources will be contested. Struggle—and survive.]
Silence returned.
Magic… Talent… a tool…
Her heart fluttered faintly—something she hadn't felt in a long time.
Could she actually survive here? Even with paralyzed legs?
Magic was a power beyond her world. What if—just what if—her Talent allowed her to stand again? Or defend herself? Or simply endure?
The thought ignited a tiny spark in her fading spirit.
Arya forced her eyes open again, breathing shallowly.
Her gaze settled on the low table she had previously dismissed.
Or rather—
The Magic Desk.
Her first step toward survival.
Her first hope since the accident.
Her first choice in this new world.
And perhaps, the beginning of reclaiming her life.