As he walked, doubts still lingered in the back of his mind—Maybe this is a hallucination… maybe it’s just a dream. But the air felt real. The scent of soil and wheat, the ache in his legs, none of it felt imagined. And slowly, that flickering doubt gave way to something he hadn’t felt in a long time:

  Curiosity.

  He was no longer the man with the rope. He was an explorer now—of this world, and maybe of something more.

  After several hours of walking, he saw it. The entrance.

  It stood fifteen meters tall and at least five wide, carved from dark stone, weathered and ancient. Two men stood at either side, dressed in armor that looked worn but functional. Hugo slowed his pace and raised his hands as he approached.

  “I don’t remember much,” he began. “I woke up in a field. I’ve been walking ever since. I saw this gate and thought… maybe this is civilization.”

  He told them about Pablo and how he’d given him directions here. But, remembering Pablo’s advice, he kept the story of the book to himself.

  The guards exchanged confused glances. Clearly, this wasn’t something they were trained to handle. After a short, murmured conversation, they told him to wait while they called for someone of higher authority.

  One hour passed. Then another. By the third, Hugo was sitting on a stone ledge near the gate, tired but still alert, when he saw a figure approaching and froze.

  This was no man.

  The creature had scales where skin should be. A long tail trailed behind him, swaying with controlled balance. He stood tall, built like a warrior, but with an air of nobility. His eyes were sharp, intelligent.

  He stopped in front of Hugo and looked down at him.

  “What are you?” Hugo asked quietly. “You’re not human. Is it… some kind of condition? A mutation?”

  The creature raised a brow. “Have you never seen a Dragonborn before?”

  “A what? I’ve never seen anything other than humans that could talk.”

  The Dragonborn studied him for a moment, then spoke more seriously. “You’re not of this world, are you?”

  Hugo hesitated. “How can you tell?”

  “I couldn’t for all I knew you just lost your memories but now I do.” He glanced at the guards, then turned back to Hugo. “You’ll say nothing of this to anyone. Not yet. Come with me.”

  He motioned to the guards, who hesitated but obeyed. They removed Hugo’s restraints and followed behind as the Dragonborn led him into a nearby chamber—small, quiet, private.

  “My name is Morion,” the creature said. “And I’ll explain what I can. But understand this: experience will teach you far more than I ever could.”

  He stood near a small window, the afternoon sun casting strange shadows over his scaled face.

  “This is one of the largest islands in our world, but it is still just an island. It’s home to eleven intelligent species. Humans—your kind—are one. Dragonborn, like me, are another. There are others you’ll meet eventually. I won’t overwhelm you with details yet.”

  He paused.

  “Our king is an elf. Our queen, a very special human. Here, eye and hair color often signal mutations—abilities. Red hair, for example, usually means fire. Brown eyes? That person can manipulate the form of fire—lava, fireballs, controlled burns.”

  He tapped his own head.

  “Green hair—like mine—means nature. Red eyes allow me to manipulate existing matter. I can’t summon plants from nothing, but if they’re nearby, I control them.”

  Hugo nodded slowly, his mind racing to keep up.

  “What about me?” he asked.

  Morion studied him. “You’re... unusual. I’ve seen black-haired people. I’ve seen white-haired ones too. But both? That’s rare. People like you are called Harmonists—those born with two abilities.”

  He stepped closer, his voice dropping.

  “Your eyes are blue. I’ve never met anyone with them. But there are rumors that blue eyes are tied to time. What that means exactly, I don’t know.”

  He turned back toward the window.

  “From this day on, you’ll be known as Hugo the Black and White, with the Blue Eyes. No surnames here. That’s your name now.”

  Hugo blinked. “Wait—what about the outside? What happens if people find out I’m not from here?”

  Morion looked back at him, suddenly stern.

  “That’s exactly why you must tell no one. If people knew someone came from the outside, they might believe the outer lands are livable again. They’ll try to leave—and many will die. You understand?”

  Hugo nodded. “I do.”

  “The capital is three days away on horseback. Two, if you take a boat. When you arrive, go to the library. Ask for a man named Querve. He’s the only one you can trust with your full story.”

  Hugo took a breath, then asked, “Morion… you talked about abilities. But I have no idea how to use anything. Please… teach me. At least the basics.”

  Morion studied him for a moment, then nodded once.

  “I will. I have some affairs to settle. But after that… we’ll begin your training.”

  Morion called the guards and instructed them to prepare accommodations for Hugo during his absence. The guards, ever loyal, nodded and carried out his request without hesitation.

  Two days passed. In that time, Hugo became friends with the two guards. He learned they were brothers by choose who had joined the army to support their home the rest of their family, the orphane that with care and love raised them to the warriors they are today. It was either this or fishing—and they didn’t have the patience for that. Both had red hair: Peter had green eyes, while Andrew’s were brown. Despite not being blood-related, they looked remarkably alike—enough that Hugo hadn’t questioned their bond. Still, they were easy to tell apart due to their height. Andrew, a human, stood about the same height as Hugo. Peter, on the other hand, was a head shorter—stockier, with a grounded stance that hinted at something different.

  "I'm a dwarf," Peter had told him casually, and though nothing outwardly confirmed it—no exaggerated features or mythical flair—his posture and presence carried a weight that made it believable.

  The brothers spoke often about their home, their siblings, and their dreams.

  At dawn on the third day, Morion returned. But he wasn’t alone.

  With him was a female Dragonborn. They looked alike—perhaps they were related—but Hugo, still unfamiliar with their physical variations, didn’t want to assume.

  “This is my sister,” Morion said. “She’s a physiotherapist. Soldiers come to her after the healers regrow their limbs. She helps them remember how to use them—and their mutations. She has intimate knowledge of how each one works.”

  She seemed kind. Quiet. Slightly shy, but eager to help.

  As his lessons began, Hugo couldn’t stop the thoughts racing through his mind. This world was so new… and yet, it felt familiar. The language was identical to his own. The mutations resembled powers he had seen in comic books. The world’s aesthetic, its people, its politics—it all felt pulled from medieval Europe.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  These thoughts distracted him during training. Still, he listened, and after a month of hard work, he finally learned to control what Morion’s sister called his “black side.”

  They explained that his black hair gave him power over the energy of objects. He could accelerate decay or reverse it—less a combat ability and more practical. Most people with this power became repair specialists or forensic analysts. Some even worked with law enforcement, reading the energy signature of objects to analyze their recent physical history.

  But Hugo didn’t see it as magic. He recognized it immediately. This was entropy, a concept he had already mastered in theory. And now, he was being asked to master it in practice.

  His white side, however, was another matter.

  They told him it had to do with “waves” emitted by other intelligent creatures. Hugo tried—he really did—but he couldn’t make any progress. Every night, he sat alone, frustrated, wondering what these "waves" were supposed to be.

  He thought maybe it was a frequency—some invisible signal that his mutation could detect. But no. His bode detected nothing. No sound, no light, no fluctuation.

  One night alone in his chambers he thought back to his childhood. To his parents.

  What a tragedy that was.

  His mother… she was present, supportive even—but always distant. She didn’t know how to reach him, and by the time he was ten, she’d all but given up. She watched her son drift further away each year, unable to teach him, unable to understand him.

  But it was his father who left the deepest mark.

  An accident. Paralysis. Reduced to a shell of his former self—barely responsive. The doctors kept him alive, but every time Hugo visited, he could feel it: that desperate, crushing desire to end it. It wasn’t in words. It wasn’t in gestures.

  It was a wave.

  And then, the realization struck him like a lightning bolt.

  That’s what they meant.

  The “wave” wasn’t sound. It wasn’t magic. It was the subtle, invisible motion of intent—the flicker in someone’s eyes, the shift in their posture, the ache in their silence. An emotional frequency. A kind of living data only the deeply attuned could perceive.

  It wasn’t science. It wasn’t empathy. It was a third thing—something in between.

  From that moment, he saw things differently.

  He noticed it in the guards—their light-hearted brotherhood. He felt it in the gentle patience of Morion’s sister as she guided him through therapy. And he sensed it—faintly, but undeniably—in Morion himself.

  Fear.

  The next morning, during training, he saw it again. Morion’s voice was steady. His movements, calm. But the wave was there—like a current under the surface.

  Hugo didn’t ask. If Morion was afraid of him, maybe pressing the issue wasn’t wise.

  Instead, they trained as usual—hand-to-hand drills, basic military exercise. And then it was his sisters turn. She was gentler with him patient a complete contrast to Morion himself but as the day went on, something happened.

  Morion reached for a low-hanging branch and focused, attempting to coax it into growing. Hugo watched closely. This time, he didn't just see it—he understood it.

  The movement was not magical. Morion’s manipulation of nature was biological. He was triggering growth molecules—sending them from his body into the plant, stimulating expansion and change.

  And suddenly… Hugo could feel it too.

  His black side altered the structure. His white side understood the behavior. Together, they let him reflect what Morion was doing—not by force, but by intuition.

  It wasn’t conscious. It wasn’t logical. It was instinct—like watching someone jump and realizing your body already knows how.

  Without thinking, Hugo reached down.

  And a patch of grass beneath him began to grow.

  The world paused.

  The guards stared, mouths open. Morion’s sister blinked, stunned. Morion himself took a step back.

  “What… was that?” Morion asked.

  “I think I understand now,” Hugo said softly. “What my harmonic side does.”

  “I can mimic the abilities of others. Not fully. Not perfectly. But enough to use a version of them.”

  He looked at his hands, still trembling slightly from the effort.

  “It’s like… knowing why someone is sad when they cry,” he said. “You don’t need to understand the science. You just feel it—and act.”

  The days passed. Morion and his sister left after all, the world didn’t stop because of him. Their responsibilities caught up with them, and so they departed—Morion for the capital, and his sister back to her home.

  Before leaving, Morion told Hugo to remain at the outpost a while longer, to train. When he returned, he promised, they would head to the capital together.

  And so, Hugo stayed. For two months, he trained daily with the brothers. They gave him armor and a weapon—nothing fancy, but enough. The outside was dangerous, unforgiving. One could never be too careful.

  One night, as Hugo sat reminiscing—thinking about how, had he not opened the book, he might’ve been attending some fundraiser or ceremony instead or even worst he would have followed through with his plan he heard something.

  Not a noise. The noise.

  The bell.

  He shot to his feet, grabbed his gear, and ran. He saw Andrew—who wasn’t on duty—already sprinting toward his brother, sword in hand, fire in his eyes, ready to protect his home and his family. Hugo followed them to the gate.

  That’s when he saw them.

  Monsters.

  Not creatures. Not animals. Monsters. Their forms twisted, unnatural—radiating bloodlust. He felt it in the air, thick and heavy, even more potent due to his white side. These weren’t beasts acting on instinct. They were here to kill, and not for survival. For sport.

  He saw Andrew already fighting, switching between his blade and mutation. A fireball flew—then a pool of lava erupted at his feet, magma rolling across the ground. The monsters' thick, scaly hides deflected most of it, but it slowed them down.

  Then Peter charged in, sword blazing. His green eyes glowed, and any object he touched heated violently—cutting through even the toughest hide.

  The brothers were a force of nature. Andrew held the front with wide, area-of-effect fire, while Peter cut down the stragglers with pinpoint strikes.

  But there were too many.

  Hugo knew he had to help. These two weren’t just comrades they were his first real friends. That bond pushed him forward.

  He charged.

  They saw him coming. Saw the look in his eyes. The resolve. The willingness to die for them.

  He focused.

  He tapped into everything—his memories, his training, his science, his grief—and let the connection guide him.

  First Morion’s ability. Growth. Everything green around him surged upward—roots, vines, leaves.

  Then Andrew’s. Fire. He pushed with everything he had, and the vines erupted into flame.

  A wall of fire ignited between them and the beasts. It didn’t stop the creatures—but it made them hesitate.

  And that was all they needed.

  Andrew reinforced the blaze. Peter’s blade lit like a torch. Together, the three of them fought—Hugo mimicking where he could, improvising where he couldn’t.

  Two hours passed.

  Fifty bodies lay scattered beyond the wall.

  And finally… silence.

  The gate closed. They slumped to the ground, breathing hard, soaked in sweat and blood. Their muscles were done. Their weapons dull.

  But then Hugo remembered.

  “Pablo is out there. Alone. Unprotected.”

  The brothers froze.

  They knew.

  But their bodies were broken. They couldn’t move, let alone fight.

  “Listen,” Peter said, catching his breath, “I know you’re worried. We are too. But going out now would mean death—for all of us.”

  Hugo clenched his teeth. He knew Peter was right. But that aching, burning need to protect the man who had shown him only kindness… it wouldn’t go away.

  “We’ll go,” Andrew said. “Three hours. Rest. Then we move.”

  They slept. And when the sun broke the horizon, they rode.

  They reached Pablo’s farm just after sunrise.

  What they saw would haunt them forever.

  Dead monsters everywhere. Blood soaked the dirt. Limbs—some human, some not—lay scattered. The carnage was immense.

  They approached the house. They found him.

  Pablo, torn to pieces, barely breathing. Blood leaked from every part of him. His chest heaved, each breath shorter than the last.

  “Well now,” Pablo said, voice hoarse but calm, “this is a surprise.”

  “Don’t talk,” Hugo said. “We’ll burn the wounds, stitch you up, bring a healer

  “No, son.” Pablo cut him off. “I’m already gone. Don’t know why I’m still here.”

  “I’m sorry, Pablo,” Hugo said, voice cracking, “I am so sorry if only I had been here I could have prevented this, I could have saved you”

  “Listen boy this world is unforgiving, you will see death, you have to embrace him, the inevitability of it is something you will have to came in terms with”

  “It is not death I fear, but the void it leaves behind, I came to this world and you gave me everything you could spare, clothes, food, guidance, without you I would have died”

  “It was a journey, you know. My life. I saw things most won’t. Did things I’m proud of. And now…” He coughed. “Now I take the final step.”

  “But I have so much to tell you, saw much to saw you, I have a mutation now, friends…”

  “You’ll tell me eventually,” Pablo said, smiling weakly. “When we meet again. Save the story for then…”

  He didn’t finish. The breath left his lungs.

  And didn’t return.

  Hugo was angry, devastated, something broke inside him, he didn’t know what death meant up until that moment

  The brothers stood behind him, silent. The guilt was unbearable. They wanted to say something—anything—but the grief Hugo radiated made it impossible to speak. And so they left him went around to see if any beast was still roaming both so they could release their anger and to give Hugo time to morn.

  Hugo stayed with Pablo crying his heart out, vouching to never let anything like that happen again. He dug the grave himself. With bare hands, blistered palms, and quiet tears, he laid Pablo to rest and then he went inside the home to investigate. He wanted to know more about the man. He saw metals and armor, tools of war. Pablo was no farmer or at least he used to be something else, it was logical, the carnage left outside couldn’t have been the work of a simple farmer. As the sun was setting and they were leaving, Hugo turned to the brothers.

  “Did you know?” he asked. “What he really was?”

  Peter nodded solemnly. “Out here, to become a farmer, you have to meet strict criteria. You need a water, earth, or plant-based mutation. You need to master it. And you need at least ten years of military service.”

  Andrew added, “It’s the reward generals get when they retire. A chance to live outside, in the open, instead of behind the walls.”

  Hugo stared back at the ruined farm, the grave, the smoldering battlefield.

  “What a reward,” he muttered.

  Peter sighed. “It’s not for everyone. Most generals fight a lot, for them it is a way of life, something with which they cannot depart from and so they have a choose either retire inside and live a quiet life or stay outside and keep fighting. For them, farming’s not retirement. It’s the next battlefield.”