Adam woke up in an unfamiliar bed. The room was dim, the air cool against his skin. He took a sharp breath, and suddenly, it hit him—a flash of memory. His death.
His chest tightened. How am I alive?
A voice answered before he could make sense of it.
"I asked the same thing. No one survives that… but you did."
A man stepped into the room, medium build, dark-skinned, wearing a loose robe that hung from his shoulders. His expression was unreadable.
"My apologies," he added. "I am Iyan of the Third Fold, son of Igbo." He paused, waiting for Adam to introduce himself.
Adam ignored the invitation. "The others—what happened to them?"
Iyan's expression didn't change. Instead, he turned and walked away.
Adam threw off the covers and pushed himself out of bed. His legs wobbled, but he forced them steady. He hurried after Iyan, taking in his surroundings—a vast hallway with towering ceilings, the walls carved from something dark and ancient. The place smelled of earth and stone, like the inside of a deep cavern.
"What is this place?" Adam asked, trailing Iyan's steady pace.
"The Main Hall," Iyan answered.
"No, I mean—where are we?"
"Yes. The Main Hall." Then, as if realizing Adam's frustration, he added, "Ah. You mean location. That, I cannot tell you. But we call it D'sul. It means 'the soil.' You understand? D'Amoneht… D'sul."
Adam frowned. "You worship Amoneht too?"
Iyan hesitated, then shook his head. "I do not know what you mean."
Before Adam could press further, movement caught his eye—a familiar figure.
"Spam!"
Spam turned, his face darkened with exhaustion. Adam rushed to him, grabbing his arm.
"The others—where are they?"
Spam exhaled sharply. "Sorry, bud. They didn't make it."
The words hit harder than Adam expected. His grip on Spam's arm tightened. "We have to go look for them. They might still be alive."
Spam's expression hardened. "No, they're not. No one survives Sern. We're the exception, not the rule." He sighed, his voice dropping to something almost gentle. "You're dead now, Adam. Stay that way. Otherwise, you'll end up dead for real."
Adam pulled back. "I can't just—"
Spam clapped a hand on his shoulder, then let it fall. "The moment I'm strong enough to walk out of here, I'm leaving. Starting a new life. You should think about doing the same."
With that, he walked past Adam, leaving him standing there, alone.
Adam saw a child split.
One moment, there was one. The next, two—an identical copy standing beside the original.
His mind flooded with questions.
He searched for Iyan, the only one who might have answers.
He found him later, deep in meditation. The posture, the controlled breathing—it reminded Adam of the mind training Emac had taught him.
"You guys are Bakanna too?" Adam asked.
Iyan remained silent, unmoving. Adam waited.
When Iyan finally finished, he opened his eyes and rose smoothly to his feet.
"You ask a lot of questions," he said. "You should listen more. You might find answers without asking."
Then, he addressed the question. "I know of a Bakanna, but I am not Bakanna."
He pulled out a picture and handed it to Adam. The image showed a group training together—among them was a Bakanna, recognizable from the distinct patterns on his robes. Beside him, to Adam's surprise, was Iyan himself.
Adam furrowed his brow. "Wait… how long ago was this?"
Iyan pressed a finger to his lips, then gestured for Adam to check the back of the picture. Adam turned it over—and froze.
"Over a hundred years ago?" He looked up at Iyan. "You look young for your age."
Iyan didn't confirm or deny it. Instead, he changed the subject. "This is a place of learning. Since you're here, you might as well join a class."
Adam hesitated but nodded. He followed Iyan down a long corridor and into a classroom.
Inside, children sat cross-legged on the floor, their faces eager. At the front stood a teacher, an elder with silver-threaded hair. He nodded at Iyan before addressing the students.
"We begin today with the tale of Yi-Yang. Everything begins and ends with balance. But today, I will tell you a different story of Yi and Yang."
The room fell silent.
"Two friends trained under one master," the elder continued. "For years, they grew in strength together. But one friend grew impatient—he wished to put in the effort of one and reap the rewards of two."
Murmurs spread through the room.
"To make up for the power imbalance, the greedy friend sought alternative sources of power. And that power… corrupted him."
A heavy pause. Then, the elder smiled.
"Slow and steady wins the race."
Iyan stepped forward. "We have a guest today. He can make echoes."
Adam blinked. I can?
Iyan gestured for him to come forward. The students looked at Adam expectantly. He had no idea what echoes were, let alone how to create one.
After a few whispers from Iyan, Adam understood the concept—but still, he couldn't do it.
"Our guest isn't feeling well," Iyan said, unfazed. "How about some volunteers?"
Excited cheers erupted. Children ran to the front.
"How many echo types do we have?" Iyan asked.
A chorus of voices shouted, "Five!"
"Good. We only need five volunteers this time. The rest will have a turn another day."
Some children groaned but took their seats. Five remained.
"What is our first echo?"
A wave of overlapping answers filled the room.
Iyan chuckled. "Let's start with Mind."
One of the children stepped forward—and split.
A shimmering chessboard materialized before the copy. The two versions of the child played against each other, minds working in tandem.
In just eight moves, the original was checkmated.
The class burst into laughter.
"Come on," Iyan said with a grin. "Eight is better than two. He just needs more practice."
Laughter softened into murmurs of agreement.
"Next, Body Echo."
Another child stepped forward and split. The copy effortlessly lifted a gravity box—something that should have taken two hands—with just one.
Adam watched, his mind racing.
After the class Adam picked up the gravity box. He found it difficult to hold with one hand.
What exactly is this place? He wondered