Haa...

  Haa...

  Haa...

  Kael jolted awake, his breath ragged and uneven, as though the air itself resisted his lungs. A sharp, indescribable pain seared through his chest, a cruel reminder of his uncertain fate. His mind swirled in chaos, thoughts colliding like storm-tossed waves. Was he alive? Had he survived the ritual? Or was this merely a fleeting illusion, a cruel trick played by his fading consciousness before death claimed him?

  Clenching his teeth against the throbbing agony in his chest, Kael forced his eyes to focus, scanning his surroundings. This was no familiar place. Gone were the cold, dust-laden stone walls of the ritual chamber he remembered. Instead, he found himself in a room crafted of polished wood, its warm grain catching faint slivers of light. It resembled a bedroom, simple yet strangely elegant, a stark contrast to the austere world he knew—a world where wood was a rarity, reserved for the wealthy or the sentimental.

  His gaze dropped to the floor beneath him. Not the hard stone altar he expected, but smooth wooden planks. His body, too, was different. No longer bare as it had been during the ritual, he was clothed in garments that felt foreign yet oddly fitting: a crisp white shirt, loose black trousers, and tall, sturdy boots. The ensemble carried an air of antiquity, a style he vaguely recognized as *Classic chic*, though such terms felt distant, like echoes from another life. But what seized his attention most was the dark pool staining the floor beneath him—a puddle of blood, its edges creeping outward. His shirt, once pristine, was now soaked crimson at the chest.

  A chilling hypothesis clawed its way into his disordered thoughts. This unfamiliar room, these archaic clothes, this blood—none of it aligned with the world he knew, the world where he’d performed the ritual. A single, staggering realization crystallized in his mind: *Perhaps I’ve truly crossed over. Perhaps I’ve traversed to another world.*

  Kael staggered to his feet, urgency overriding pain as he surveyed the room. His eyes darted across the space, taking in every detail. The air carried a faint scent of wax and aged paper. His gaze settled on a wooden table nearby, cluttered with books, scattered documents, and a single oil lamp—an artifact so antiquated it seemed almost mythical in his memory. In his world, even the poorest could afford an automated bulb. The lamp’s presence solidified his suspicion: he had not only crossed worlds but had landed in one less advanced, perhaps an era akin to the Steam Age, where oil lamps flickered in place of electric glow.

  Ignoring the lamp for now, his attention snagged on something else: a dagger, half-hidden beneath a wooden chair. He crouched, retrieving it with care. The weapon was no mere trinket—a sleek dagger, its blade spanning ten to fifteen centimeters. The handle was flat and elongated, adorned with intricate patterns that stirred a faint sense of familiarity, though he couldn’t place where he’d seen such designs before. His eyes narrowed as he examined the blade itself. A third of it was coated in a dark, ruddy stain. Hesitant, he brought the blade closer, his tongue brushing against the stain. The taste was unmistakable: salty, metallic, tinged with the rawness of blood. His blood, perhaps, or that of the body he now inhabited.

  A deeper unease settled over him as fragments of memory surfaced. The ritual—he had offered his own heart, a desperate sacrifice to cure the cancer gnawing at his brain. Kenl, his partner, had wielded a dagger eerily similar to this one, its handle carved with the same delicate motifs that had haunted Kael’s dreams. And now, this body bore a wound at the heart, inflicted by a blade that mirrored the one from that fateful moment. *A coincidence? Or something orchestrated?*

  His grip tightened on the dagger as he glanced at his bloodied chest. A shiver of dread coursed through him. Had some entity chosen him for a purpose unknown? And what of Kenl? The thought of his friend—his comrade through those fleeting but intense months—gnawed at him. Had Kenl been swept into this strange fate as well, or was he still in their world, perhaps fleeing the consequences of a ritual he believed had failed? Kael’s heart ached with uncertainty, but a part of him clung to hope. The ritual had succeeded, in part. He was here, alive in a new world. *If some force has granted me this chance,* he resolved, *I’ll live this life fully, meaningfully.*

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  His eyes roamed the room again, searching for a mirror. Curiosity tugged at him—he needed to see this new body, to understand who or what he had become. “Let’s see if this body’s as handsome as I hope,” he muttered, a wry smile tugging at his lips. The words had barely left his mouth when he froze, his reflection catching him off guard. There, in a small, tarnished mirror, was *himself*—or near enough. The same unremarkable face, the same tousled black hair, the same dark eyes that carried a hint of melancholy. Yet something was different. The weariness that had once hollowed his features was gone, replaced by a vibrant vitality. His frame was broader, his muscles more defined, as though this body were a perfected version of the frail, cancer-riddled man he’d been. A grin spread across his face, equal parts disbelief and delight. He lingered before the mirror, captivated by this renewed self, until he finally tore his gaze away.

  But questions lingered, heavy and insistent. *Why this body, so like my own yet not? Another coincidence, or another piece of a grand design?* The answers eluded him, circling his mind like vultures. With a sigh, he decided to act rather than dwell. If someone were to enter this room and see the blood, the dagger, they’d draw dangerous conclusions. He moved to a wardrobe, selecting a fresh white shirt to replace the blood-soaked one. But as he fastened the buttons, a sudden wave of dizziness crashed over him. His vision blurred, his steps faltered, and the room spun like a ship caught in a tempest.

  Yet there was a pattern to his stumbling—a deliberate rhythm, as though an unseen hand guided his movements. One step right, colliding with the wooden wall. One step back, then left. His body lurched forward, collapsing onto the bed with a graceless thud. Unable to resist, Kael sank into the mattress, his consciousness slipping into darkness.

  ---

  He awoke in a void—an endless expanse of inky black, stretching into infinity. His awareness drifted, untethered, sensing the world around him yet seeing nothing but shadow. Panic flickered in his chest. “Where am I now?” he whispered, his voice swallowed by the abyss.

  No answer came. Before he could grasp the depth of this darkness, bubbles began to rise, shimmering faintly from every direction. Some were large, others small, each one pulsing with an otherworldly light. Drawn to them, Kael extended his consciousness, peering closer. He gasped. Within each bubble were scenes—vivid tableaux of people, places, and events, like fragments of a film reel frozen in time. “What are these?” he murmured, awestruck.

  An impulse surged within him, alien yet undeniable: he wanted to draw these bubbles into himself, to absorb them. The thought wasn’t his own—it felt implanted, a command whispered by something beyond his understanding. *Could it be the entity that brought me here?* The notion was bold, reckless, but Kael was beyond caution. “Fine,” he sighed. “I feel these bubbles will help me. Let’s do this.”

  With a resolve born of instinct, he expanded his consciousness, enveloping the bubbles like a net cast over a school of fish. A radiant white veil materialized, encircling them, growing thicker with each passing moment until it resembled a solid wall. Then, with a sudden lurch, the veil contracted—slowly at first, then faster, compressing the bubbles into a single, luminous orb. Within that orb, the scenes flickered and flowed, an endless stream of moments and memories.

  Kael’s awareness sharpened. He envisioned himself taking form, and the void responded. Tendrils of shadow coalesced, weaving together to craft a body—jet-black, wreathed in wisps of dark mist. It was both beautiful and terrifying, a silhouette born of nightmare yet strangely familiar. He tested its limbs, marveling at their fluidity. “It’s made of this place’s darkness,” he mused, “yet it feels almost human. I can sense the air, even breathe—or is that an illusion? Some trick of the mind?”

  Questions piled upon questions, but his focus returned to the orb. Stepping closer, he reached out, his shadowed hand brushing its surface. A warmth surged through him, fleeting but profound, before the orb melted into his arm, traveling upward with deliberate slowness. As it reached his chest, a halo of light erupted, bathing the void in brilliance. Kael surrendered to the sensation, letting his consciousness merge with the orb’s essence.

  The light faded, and with it, the void began to fracture. Cracks spread like spiderwebs, and the shadowed body dissolved. With a deafening *boom*, the entire space shattered, fragments vanishing into nothingness. Kael’s awareness surged back to reality, the final traces of the orb’s energy coursing through him.

  ---

  *Haa.*

  A heavy breath escaped him as his eyes fluttered open. Kael sat up, his gaze drifting to the window. Moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting a serene glow across the room. A quiet peace settled over him, tempered by a dawning clarity.

  “I understand now,” he whispered, a smile tugging at his lips. “Those bubbles weren’t just memories of this body—they were more. They’ve shown me this world, its truths, its secrets.” Laughter bubbled up, wild and free. “Haha! I’ve absorbed them all, and now I know.”

  Kael leaned back, the weight of his journey settling into his bones. He was no longer just a man out of place. He was a wanderer in a new world, armed with knowledge and purpose.

  His adventure, he realized, was only just beginning.