**Chapter 2: The White World**

  The silence was overwhelming.

  No walls, no ceiling, no floor—just an endless white space. When the boy stepped forward, he heard no echo, no resistance. It felt like walking on nothing, yet he didn’t fall. The world around him was blank, like a canvas waiting to be painted.

  He looked around, but there was nothing to see. No doors, no people, no threats. Just the infinite white.

  And yet, for the first time since arriving in this unknown world, he felt calm.

  Then, it began.

  A spark of flame appeared in his palm, uncalled for. Startled, he tried to shake it off—but the fire didn’t burn. Instead, it obeyed. With just a thought, the flame grew, split, danced.

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  His heartbeat quickened.

  He closed his eyes, focused—and water flowed from the air, forming shapes, spinning slowly before him. Then wind, gentle at first, became a small storm in the space around him. Earth followed, pebbles forming beneath his feet, then growing into platforms.

  It was as if this world... obeyed him.

  Days passed—though time here had no meaning. He didn’t feel hunger. He didn’t sleep. But he never felt tired.

  He began to experiment. He studied the space like a scientist trapped in a lab of pure possibility. He created tools, then duplicated them. Eventually, he created clones—copies of himself. Not illusions, not shadows—but real, thinking versions. They moved, thought, and worked.

  And they were all him.

  Every clone was the original. Every clone felt what he felt. Every pain, every discovery, every memory—shared instantly. He could be in a hundred places at once, learning everything he could.

  He tested fire on himself, calculated how to burn only microscopic life forms. He tested healing. He tested structure, logic, and even time.

  Eventually, he learned to compress his magic, to concentrate it like energy. He created a door.

  He stepped through it.

  And in a flash—

  He was back in the prison cell.

  Everything was the same. But the food tray was still there—uneaten. The guard outside was frozen mid-step. The air was still warm from the volcano’s breath.

  For him, 2.5 years had passed.

  But in this world, only 12 minutes had gone by.

  He was stunned.

  He instinctively cast a teleportation spell—and vanished from the cell.

  Alarms rang. Guards panicked.

  “How did he use magic here?!”

  “No incantation...! That’s impossible!”

  They called him a demon, a threat.

  He didn’t stop to argue. He reappeared in the mountains beyond the prison’s re

  ach, wind in his face.

  His journey was only beginning.