I wake up.

  I’m on the bed—feel fantastic.

  Best sleep of my life, especially after countless loops of that damned cat.

  I scan the room, body humming with new energy. Reinvigorated. Alive.

  Also—making sure that freak isn’t still here. The one who laced my sweet, sweet dinner. Who does that?

  Freaks. That’s who.

  Freaks too strong for their own good. Or mine, apparently.

  The lab’s clear. No freaks. No sleep demons.

  I wait—maybe half an hour—just in case he’s lurking, doing something weird.

  Eventually, I climb off the bed. I’m still in my tattered nightwear—the same scraps I’ve worn since the ship went down. My makeshift sandals are gone. Bare feet now. The cold stone bites my soles.

  But underneath that chill, I feel it—mana, thick and slow, pulsing through the floor like a second heartbeat.

  Interesting.

  I scan the room cautiously, searching for a weapon—maybe a knife. Something sharp.

  But I stop halfway through the motion.

  ’Really? Gonna try this again?’

  Maybe diplomacy’s an option this time.

  Violence hasn’t exactly been winning lately.

  Doesn’t mean I trust him.

  But it might mean I wait—just a little longer—before I start swinging.

  On my way out of the room, heading toward the hallway, I catch a flare of light—reflection off a mirror.

  I stop. Naturally. Time to check out my handsome, sexy face.

  Except…

  I look like a homeless bum.

  No, worse—like a homeless bum aging in reverse and fast-forward at the same time. My hair, once mostly black with streaks of white, is now half white. Solid. Like winter started claiming territory overnight.

  Stress?

  Maybe.

  But that’s not the only thing.

  My eyes—they shimmer.

  Not fully. Not at first glance. But beneath the grey… there’s gold. Deep, hidden, coiled like something waiting.

  Am I changing?

  Curiosity nags at me, but survival—and escape—weigh more.

  I carry on.

  The hallway unfolds left and right, curved and endless, lined with doorways—dozens, maybe hundreds. The walls are covered in carved morels, detailed and strangely clean, each one a frozen moment in stone.

  One shows a dinosaur—familiar. Moso? Looks just like him.

  Another: a man locked in combat with a shadowy figure. That one feels… off. Familiar in a way I can’t quite name.

  More panels follow—dozens—each showing the same human, always mid-battle. Different monsters every time. What links them all is the light—sunlight. Halos bursting behind him like he’s some divine warrior, radiating judgment with every punch.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  But not all the carvings are epic.

  Some are… mundane. Quiet. A mother cradling her child. A father patting his son’s head. Families gathered around food. People cooking, cleaning, playing.

  Scenes of life. Ordinary ones.

  They stretch on for what feels like kilometers—though Hein would say miles. Why the States use imperial instead of metric is beyond me. Why they even have either system in this world is also beyond me.

  I head left, following the faint breeze.

  Doors pass me by—rooms long-abandoned. Some were bedrooms, others kitchens. One looked like a library—dusty, overflowing. I pause for half a second in front of a door labeled with a familiar icon.

  A restroom.

  Of course it exists. Of course it’s weird. No toilet paper, no plumbing, just a weird bowl and a bucket of something that definitely isn’t soap.

  I sigh.

  Modern conveniences—how I miss thee.

  This freak’s bathroom sucks.

  Probably.

  I don’t dare test it.

  I continue on, eventually reaching the exit, sun pouring in from outside. I feel it breach the boundary between inside and out—light floods my vision, blinding me for a beat. The cave had been dim, not dark.

  My eyes adjust.

  There he is.

  The same man, seated atop a tree stump about five meters in diameter, in a clearing circling the entrance—fifty meters in radius. The lawn’s surprisingly well-kept. Not cut, but nice. Natural. At the edge of the clearing, blackish stone obelisks shimmer with a faint pulse of blue mana. Like the ship’s ward—but different. Stronger, maybe.

  He’s meditating on the stump, back straight, facing me. Eyes closed. Full lotus. The panther’s nowhere to be seen.

  As soon as I step onto the grass, he speaks.

  “Slept well?”

  I almost snap—but barely stop myself.

  “Slept? Why did you drug me?”

  I ask, voice sharp and dripping with anger.

  “Drugged?—No.”

  “No? You didn’t? Or what—did I just fall asleep through sheer exhaustion, huh?”

  “Yes. You did.”

  I stare at him, hard. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even open his eyes.

  And somehow, I know he’s telling the truth.

  I sigh.

  I mean—it makes sense, doesn’t it?

  Only Swart knows how many loops I went through just to nick that damn panther. Never got proper sleep. Barely even rested. And I hadn’t eaten since the day before that loop started—spent every minute grinding to survive instead.

  Then I get a belly full of warm, perfectly-cooked meat, and a bed so cozy it could’ve been spun from clouds and whispered apologies. Of course I passed out. Even with a freak nearby. Even with his freakish, unknowable thoughts circling me like vultures.

  I shiver at the thought of what he might do.

  “…Fine. You didn’t drug me. Sure.”

  I step further into the clearing, scowl settling in.

  “But why should I let you train me? And even if I did—train me for what? I’ve got no reason to trust you. You sic your overgrown housecat on me, nearly kill me, then haul my broken body to your cozy cave like that makes us friends.”

  He stays silent, eyes still closed.

  “And you refuse to elaborate—how the hell do you even know my name? What else are you hiding? What exactly are you planning to train me in?”

  No answer.

  Just wind through the grass and the low hum of those obelisks.

  Of course.

  Always the cryptic types.

  He finally decides to bless me with his precious words.

  His eyes open—sharper than ever.

  “The promise… told me. I’ll tell you if… you lay a hand on me.”

  World record. Most words in a sentence—for this guy, at least.

  “What? What promise? Always these damned promises.”

  I narrow my eyes, studying him. No shift in his expression. No twitch. Just sitting there like a smug little oracle.

  I consider it—should I take him up on the offer?

  “…Fine,” I say at last. “I lay a hand on you. You better tell me.”

  I say it with confidence. Like I’ve got a plan.

  Truth be told?

  I have no idea how.

  He chuckles.

  “Good. I stand right here. Come and get me.”

  ’I promise I’ll show you what’s what, freak,’ I tell myself, trying to psych up. Trying to believe it.

  I drop into stance—ready to crush him.

  My body feels like it’s in peak condition, like it wasn’t even shattered to pulp the day before. Mana pumps through me, steady and hot, Level Four finally settling into my bones like it belongs.

  I don’t stand a chance.

  But I don’t exactly have a choice.

  “What’s your name?” I ask, just before we start—because I need a name to assign to this freak. Need something to curse when I lose.

  He doesn’t even blink.

  “Koln,” he says, relaxed as ever.

  Like this isn’t about to be a beatdown.

  Like this is a morning stretch.

  ‘This is gonna hurt,’ I sign, resolving myself.

  I channel every ounce of mana I can muster into my lightning-charged legs. I’ll be as fast as lightning—just as powerful—and maybe, just maybe, that’ll be enough.

  Arcs of electricity snap off me, zapping the ground, flinging up dirt and burning grass. My legs feel powerful enough to decapitate a building.

  I brace.

  Heels dig into the earth. Muscles pop with exertion. My body hums with power, lit by the glow of crackling lightning. The shimmer in my eyes burns more gold. My hair—whiter now, like snowfall creeping across a battlefield.

  Then—I launch.

  The ground craters behind me. A trail of light marks my path. My fist sharpens into a blade, a lightning spear shooting forward. I aim straight for his chest.

  But at the last second—I feint.

  Swing wide. Slide around. His back’s open.

  I strike.

  The air splits.

  Light explodes—engulfing the clearing in a flash of raw power.

  But then—

  No. Not a clean hit.

  Blocked.

  Deflected.

  I’m sent flying.

  I barely catch the ground, skidding hard, tumbling, dirt and mana flying. I stagger back into stance, chest heaving.

  He’s still standing.

  Didn’t even flinch.

  Didn’t even move, as far as I could tell.

  Just… swatted me aside like an afterthought.

  Like I was nothing.

  “Shit,” I mutter under my breath.

  ***

  I tried countless times.

  Didn’t land a single hit.

  Now I’m sprawled out on the ground, gasping, limbs trembling. Every breath tastes like metal. Lightning still crackles faintly along my skin, but it’s hollow now—spent.

  Maybe I’m a slave then. Entertainment?

  No—he doesn’t strike me as the type.

  Still, I feel it creeping in. That resignation. The kind you only get after your spirit’s been wrung out and hung to dry. How the hell is anyone supposed to beat—hell, touch—this monster?

  Is he even human?

  I hear footsteps.

  He’s walking over, looming above me again, the ever-aloof freak with that faint little smile like he’s watching a puppy fail to climb stairs.

  I feel sick.

  What perverse things is this man going to do to me?

  “Good. Very good,” he says softly. “The promise… will come true.”

  “…What are you going to do to me?” I ask, nearly giving up on the whole idea of freedom.

  He doesn’t hesitate.

  “I’m going to train you.”

  “For what?” I scoff. “Am I gonna be some combat slave or something?”

  That actually throws him.

  He blinks, confused—maybe even… offended?

  “You? A slave?” He shakes his head. “Never. I train you for the promise.”

  And just like that—he walks away. No elaboration. No explanation.

  I lie there for a while, too tired to move. But eventually, the thought creeps in.

  I could run.

  Right now.

  I force myself up—still shaky, but upright. I limp toward the treeline, dragging each step.

  The moment I try to cross from the clearing into the jungle—

  Blocked.

  Hard.

  A barrier.

  Figures.

  Fine. Just pump mana into it—disrupt the flow. Interfere. Easy.

  Nothing.

  No ripple. No feedback. The thing doesn’t even notice me.

  I try for an hour.

  Nothing.

  It’s like punching glass with a breath.

  Eventually, I give up.

  Too tired.

  I’ll find a way.

  Another day.