Shisan hugged his body, shivering beneath the icy air of an isolated realm, surrounded on all sides by towering metal boxes that loomed like rusted monoliths. His breath fogged in the moonlit air, and though he was thankful the ragged prison clothes had traveled with him through the banishment, they did little to stave off the creeping cold.
Suddenly, the corner of his tattered shirt ignited in flickering purple flame — the same eldritch fire that had consumed him during his banishment. Eyes wide, Shisan ripped the shirt from his body and tossed it onto a nearby puddle. He stomped on it with desperation, but the flames only danced higher, growing more vibrant with each strike. He finally stopped, panting, as a gust of wind lifted the flaming cloth into the air, carrying it off like a burning omen.
"It couldn't possibly get any worse than this..." Shisan muttered, rubbing his arms for warmth as another gust of wind howled through the alley of steel.
He began to navigate the container maze, only to find himself looping back to the same place.
"What is this... illusory magic?!" he snapped. But then he paused, eyes narrowing. He'd been here before — not this place, but this feeling. Back home, he'd once been trapped in a similar labyrinth, cut off from his powers while racing against time to save a village of gnomes. Then, he'd relied not on strength, but strategy.
Shisan turned to one of the towering boxes, placed his hand in a chopping position, and struck with all his might. The box barely dented.
"Agh!" he cried, clutching his now broken hand, wincing and grinding his teeth as pain radiated up his arm. He glanced at the box, scowling.
"I swear that worked better back home..."
Gritting through the pain, Shisan examined the box more carefully. Four characters stood out to him: 1A1P.
He nodded slowly. "That... I remember."
Determined, he began walking the maze again, memorizing the sequences of letters and numbers like a thread of logic in a puzzle. He was enacting the Ariadne's Thread technique: mapping his path to escape by remembering each unique marker.
As he advanced through the maze, his foot struck something hard. The moonlight revealed a strange object lying in the dirt. He picked it up, turning it over in his hand.
It looked like a rune-bound bracer of blackened obsidian, thick and rugged like dwarven armor. Its surface bore no jewels, but glowed faintly with numbers in moving light.
"11:50PM," he read aloud, unfamiliar with the meaning.
He pocketed the strange device, sensing it had a purpose, even if he didn't yet know it.
The eerie stillness was broken by the sound of footsteps—light at first, then accelerating. Something was moving around him. Fast.
Shisan spun toward the sound—nothing.
Another sound—to his left.
Then his right.
Then all around.
"Come out!" he barked, every nerve on edge.
The footsteps stopped.
Then, the moonlight dimmed.
A shadow blotted out the sky. Shisan looked up.
A towering figure stood on a high stack of metal containers, her silhouette perfectly framed against the moon. Her long, flowing purple hair shimmered beneath the silver light. Crimson eyes, glowing with murderous intent, pierced the distance between them. She was clad in a sleek, midnight bodysuit with armored shoulder guards, the outline of a predator carved in steel. In her grasp, a barbed crimson spear glowed with a pulse of pure death.
Shisan's breath caught.
He smiled nervously, then bolted.
He turned corner after corner, stumbling over his own feet in the process, but the maze offered no safety. He glanced behind him, panting — she was gone. But as he turned forward, his heart sank.
There she was, calmly stepping out from behind a box.
He was too fast to stop.
The woman spun her lance with fluid grace and slashed.
Shisan saw it coming—just enough.
He dropped low, letting his momentum carry him into a roll. The strike passed overhead and carved clean through the containers beside them. The shockwave alone slammed him backward into the wall of a metal box.
His head cracked against the steel. Blood dripped down his face. Stars danced in his vision. He slumped.
The woman showed a flicker of surprise.
But then, silence again. Her face returned to its icy stillness.
She approached him. Step by step.
Shisan forced himself upright. Swallowed his pain.
"Tell me... were there more people like you in this world?" he asked, blinking blood from his eyes.
She stopped, spear ready.
"No," she said coldly.
Shisan closed his eyes. A bitter smile crossed his lips.
"I'm sorry, Yu Chan..."
Suddenly—his body felt warm.
The pain dulled. The air shifted. His weight changed.
Shisan opened his eyes.
He was in a bed.
White sheets. Dark walls. Warm lights.
He sat up slowly, heart racing, sweat clinging to his brow.
A bathroom door stood open nearby. He stumbled to it, gripping the counter. A mirror hung above the sink.
He looked into it.
And froze.
The reflection staring back at him was not his own.
It was a young man with short, messy dark gray hair.
"Huh?"