The room was dark and smelled rotten. The air was damp, heavy, and hard to breathe. The walls were cracked with patches of mold, and the floor was dirty with stains and broken pieces of wood. From one corner, water dripped slowly, each drop echoing in the silence. It wasn't the kind of place anyone would want to stay in.
"Ah… it hurts…" The words slipped out before I could stop them.
I tried to move, but the moment I pushed myself up, a sharp pain shot through my arms. My legs felt heavy, stiff, as if they didn't belong to me. Every joint screamed the moment I shifted. My back ached like I had been lying on cold stone for days, and even breathing made my chest hurt.
I clenched my teeth and tried again, my small hands pressing against the dirty floor. The surface was rough and sticky, scraping my palms as I forced myself to rise. My knees trembled, but the pain in them was so strong it felt like needles stabbing into the bone.
I could only manage to lift myself halfway before collapsing back down, gasping. My whole body burned with weakness, and even that small effort left me shaking.
I tried to push myself up, but pain shot through me so sharply that I froze. My whole body felt weak, like it might fall apart if I moved too much. I stopped and just sat there, breathing hard, hoping it would fade—but it didn't.
I opened my eyes wider, trying to see, but there was nothing. Only darkness. It wasn't the normal kind of dark, the kind you got used to after a while. This darkness felt heavy, pressing in on me from all sides. It wrapped around me, close and suffocating, as if it wanted to swallow me whole.
My breath started to come faster without me meaning it to. Each one was shallow and shaky, catching in my throat. I could hear my own heartbeat, loud and quick, echoing in my ears like it was the only sound in the world.
"Ah… ah…" My voice broke as the sound slipped out. It was small, trembling, and almost didn't sound like me at all.
I hugged myself, but it didn't stop the trembling. The cold of the room seeped into my skin, but what scared me more was the fear crawling inside me. My thoughts shook as much as my body. I didn't know where I was. I didn't know why I was here. I didn't know anything at all—except that the darkness was endless, and I was trapped in it.
I clutched my head as a sharp pain stabbed through my skull. "Ahhh…!" The cry tore out of me before I could stop it. It felt like something was breaking inside my brain, splitting me open from the inside.
Then—suddenly—a memory forced itself into me. It wasn't gentle. It struck like a hammer, flooding my mind with images I didn't understand. My head burned, every nerve screaming as flashes of sound, faces, and places rushed through too fast to hold onto.
I wanted to push it away, but I couldn't. The memory shoved itself deeper, drowning me. My body shook harder, my teeth clenched until my jaw hurt, and hot tears slipped down my cheeks.
"Stop… stop…" My broken voice spilled out in the dark, but the memory didn't stop. It crashed over me again and again, each wave sharper than the last, until I couldn't tell if the trembling came from my fear, my pain, or both.
The pain in my head was too much. It tore through me again and again until my body couldn't take it anymore. My thoughts blurred, my voice faded, and everything slipped away into black.
I don't know how long I was gone. It could have been moments, or it could have been hours.
When I opened my eyes again, I was still in the same darkness. My body felt heavy, but the sharp pain in my head had dulled, leaving behind only a deep ache. My lips were dry, and my throat burned as if I hadn't spoken in days.
I tried to move, just a little, and the soreness in my arms and legs reminded me I was still alive. The silence was the same, the smell was the same, and the fear that had buried itself in my chest was still there, waiting.
The memory came suddenly, breaking through the darkness.
At first, it was gentle. A little girl was surrounded by warmth—her mother's embrace, soft and protective, and her father's steady hand resting on her head. Their voices were calm, their smiles full of love. In that moment, she was safe, cradled by the simple happiness of family.
Then the memory shifted.
Flames devoured the village, smoke rising into the sky as screams echoed through the night. Shadows moved among the fire—men with their faces covered, carrying blades and striking down anyone in their path. Houses fell, people cried out, and fear spread like the fire itself.
Her mother pulled her close, shielding her small body, while her father stood in front of them, shouting for her to run. But his voice was cut short. Steel flashed, and both parents fell, their blood staining the earth. The warmth that once held her was gone in an instant.
Around her, neighbors collapsed under the attackers' blades. Families were torn apart, their cries filling the burning air. The masked men didn't stop at the adults. They seized children—boys and girls of her age—dragging them away without hesitation.
The little girl's voice broke into sobs, joining the chorus of wailing children. The village was filled with nothing but fire, fear, and the endless sound of crying.
She was dragged across the floor of the dark room, her small body pulled forward roughly by men whose faces were hidden behind cloth. Their voices echoed harshly in the air.
"Move these children! Push them down!" one shouted.
Around her, the cries of children filled the room—loud, desperate, and broken. Some called for their mothers, some for their fathers, but none of their voices found an answer. Fear and sorrow tangled together, rising into a chorus that shook the chamber.
Chains were brought out, heavy and cold. One by one, the children's ankles were seized and bound. The iron clamped tight, cutting into soft skin, the sharp clink of locks closing ringing through the darkness. With every chain fastened, the crying grew sharper, until the room was nothing but weeping and the sound of metal scraping against stone.
The leader stepped forward, taller than the rest, his face hidden but his presence heavy. His voice was low, filled with command and anger.
"Hold them still," he ordered. "If they struggle—strike them down."
At once, the men obeyed. Rough hands shoved the children to the ground, forcing them into silence. Their cries turned into muffled sobs, small and broken, as fear swallowed every sound.
Days turned into weeks. Almost a month passed inside that dark place.
The children were beaten and kicked whenever they resisted. Their small cries were met with strikes, and soon even the strongest of them no longer dared to fight back. Water and food were scarce, barely given at all. Hunger clawed at their stomachs until the pain became normal.
The stench in the room grew unbearable. They were not allowed outside, not even to relieve themselves. The floor itself became fouled with urine and waste, the smell mixing with the rot that already filled the chamber. The children sat chained in it, their bodies weak, their faces pale, too frightened to cry out loudly anymore.
The men never cared. They would walk in, check the chains, shout their orders, and leave again. No voice other than those men's was ever heard. No family, no villagers—only the harsh commands of masked strangers.
Over time, the endless cruelty broke the children. Fear crushed their spirit, and slowly they became obedient, too afraid to move without permission.
One day, the leader spoke while counting them. His cold voice carried clearly through the room.
"Eighteen boys. Eleven girls."
The little girl heard those words. She remembered the numbers. She remembered the despair.
The memories played again and again inside the little girl's mind. The fear of those days, the punishments they suffered, and the way the adults struck them down whenever they resisted—all of it replayed clearly. Her body shook harder as the pain of the past mixed with the terror of the present.
One by one, the children were taken away.
The masked men would come into the dark room, unchain a child, and drag them outside. The others could only watch, their small bodies trembling, their eyes wide with fear. Cries filled the room each time—pleading, begging—but it never stopped the men.
And those who were taken never returned.
The room grew quieter with each passing day, the number of children shrinking steadily. At first, there had been twenty-nine. Now, each time the door opened, the fear deepened, because everyone knew someone else would disappear.
The sound of chains, the sound of weeping, the sound of footsteps dragging a child away—those became the only rhythm of their days.
Six months passed inside that dark room.
Of the twenty-nine children that had once been chained there, only sixteen remained—eight boys and eight girls. The others had been taken away one by one, dragged out through the heavy door and never brought back. Their cries still echoed in the minds of those who survived, but the sound of their voices had long vanished from the room.
The little girl's body trembled as the memory lingered. Yet, suddenly, something strange happened. Another memory surfaced—different, familiar, but clearer than all the rest.
It wasn't the memory of the child. It was the memory of the soul inside her body.
The scene shifted. A man in his mid-twenties appeared. His life was simple, normal, nothing like the terror of this place. He lived in a small town, walked the streets freely, spoke to neighbors without fear. His hands carried the marks of work, his days filled with the ordinary struggles of life. There was no darkness chaining him down, no screams filling his ears.
This was real. These were the true memories of the soul that now lived inside the girl's body.
The memory of the man's life played on until its final moment. He saw himself again, in the modern world, facing death. The sharp pain, the sudden darkness, and the cold silence of his last breath—it was all clear. That was where his life had ended.
And now, he was here.
In the body of a little girl.
Her name was Naviga. A child with striking red hair and red eyes, but inside her burned the weight of two lives. The fear and pain from the little girl's memories—the chains, the punishments, the endless cries—those scars wrapped tightly around her soul. And now, his own despair joined them, mixing into something heavier than either life alone.
Naviga's body trembled as the emotions collided. The torture she had suffered in the dark room, the hopelessness of children taken away and never returning, and the man's fear of his own death—all of it pressed down, threatening to crush her.
What was she supposed to do now?
She did not know why the children had been abducted. Were they meant for cruel experiments? To be slaves? Or worse, toys for some unseen master's amusement? The thought alone made her blood run cold.
But an even greater question gnawed at her. Where was this place? Was she still on Earth? Or had she been thrown into another world entirely?
And above all—who had placed her in this body?
Who was the one that turned her into a pawn, a piece to be moved on someone else's board? Whose hands guided her fate now.
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