It was a cloudy night in Singapore. People were rushing home. Businesses were closing for the day, and the streets were slowly thinning out. The city of dreams, in all its splendor, glowed beneath the night sky—its tall skyline, bright waterfronts, and familiar landmarks like Marina Bay Sands and the Helix Bridge standing out against the darkness.
A BMW moved steadily along Orchard Road. Inside, the passenger sat quietly, his shoulder resting against the door as he watched billboards slide past the window. The city lights reflected faintly on the glass, stretching and breaking apart as the car moved. For a while, he didn't really look at anything in particular.
Then his eyes snapped open.
His attention locked onto a massive display outside, bright enough to cut through the night, and a faint smile appeared on his face before he even realized it. He leaned forward slightly, as if getting closer might make the image clearer.
His father, seated beside him, noticed immediately. He followed his son's gaze, then glanced back at him, a quiet pride settling into his expression. He didn't say anything at first, letting the moment linger.
"Before we head back to the hotel, I wanted to show you both this," the driver said, grinning as he slowed the car just a little.
"Thanks, Jan. They're really pushing the World Chess Championship," The boy said after a moment. "Do you think there'll be a big crowd?"
"Of course," Jan replied. "With the diplomatic and border situation between your country and the World Champion's, there's a lot of international interest. The Singaporean Chess Federation wants to make the most of it."
The eighteen year old World Champion title contender suddenly went quiet. His eyes drifted past the car window, following the towering screen as it disappeared behind them. His own face had been there, quite large, placed right beside the reigning World Champion he would face the next day.
Tomorrow.
The word echoed in his mind. He exhaled slowly, not realizing he'd been holding his breath until then.
Thoughts churned until a warm hand rested on his shoulder, firm and familiar, grounding him.
"Hey. Chin up, champ," his father said. "Don't think about anything else. You're going to win. That's what matters. We all believe in you. Remember what the Prime Minister told you that day?"
He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head slightly.
"He told me to approach the match like a politician," he said. "Be relentless in going for victory. Don't be ashamed if I lose. As long as I do my best, nothing else matters."
His father laughed lightly and gave his shoulder a tap.
"That was pretty honest of him, for a politician. But he's right. You just do your thing. Leave the rest to us."
He met his father's gaze and nodded. The tension in his chest eased, only calmness and confidence remained.
"Thanks, Dad."
The car picked up speed, and soon they were pulling up at Hotel Phoenix. He stepped out into the cool air, the quiet hum of the lobby washing over him as he entered with his father and one of his main coaches from his team of seconds.
"Get some good rest after you check the lines for tomorrow," Jan said. "Call me if you need anything."
He nodded, exchanging a few brief words before they went their separate ways. As a World Championship contender, he had a large team with him, along with his family, all staying in separate rooms. Still, the corridors felt strangely empty as he walked alone. Naturally, the man everyone had come for was given a presidential suite.
He unlocked the door with the code, then swiped the key card at the entrance and stepped inside, pausing for a second as the silence settled. The first thing he noticed was a fancy bucket sitting on the table in the living room. Curious, he walked over and looked inside. A small note rested on top.
"Some chess-themed cookies from our hotel to the chess superstar! We wish you good luck for the match!"
The gesture made him smile. He reached for a cookie—then stopped, his fingers hovering in midair.
The briefing from the government agents came back to him, clear and annoying in its timing. Be careful. Don't take chances.
His expression shifted a few times before he sighed and let out a quiet snort.
"So what if the two countries are almost at war?" he muttered. "I'm just a chess player… Why be so paranoid?"
He stood there for a long moment, staring at the bucket. In the end, the young man decided not to risk the biggest opportunity in his life. He set it aside, washed his hands, and headed for a warm shower, letting the water run a little longer than usual.
After changing, he sat down at the desk where a chessboard had already been set up. His fingers brushed across the smooth wooden surface, familiar and reassuring. A genuine smile appeared on his face.
Opening the laptop, he plugged in the USB drive he always carried, and began reviewing his preparation for the next day—the start of a grueling fourteen-day World Championship.
His focus sharpened quickly as he went through his opening work, revisiting months of preparation done with his team. One decision lingered at the forefront of his mind.
"The first game is important. A win would give me momentum. A draw is safe.
A loss would put me on the back foot." He thought inwardly while tapping the corner of the desk.
After a long pause, he leaned back and closed his eyes for a second.
"Whatever," he murmured. "If I'm here to win, then I'll play to win. A draw's safer… but it's not my style."
;
He returnwere ed to his preparation.
Outside, the night sky slowly cleared. Only a handful of stars pierced the glow of the city, the rest swallowed by light. With the board in front of him, he played through countless possibilities in his mind, openings and variations unfolding one after another. The world around him faded away.
Then his brow furrowed.
A dull headache pulled him out of focus.
He looked around, confused. A strange drowsiness crept over him, his vision blurring, darkening. Within moments, the ache exploded into something far worse, as if pressure were closing in on his skull from every direction.
His thoughts scattered. His eyes struggled to stay open.
One moment, everything went dark.
The next, blinding light.
Strange, colorful patterns floated through his vision, twisting and shifting.
"Am I hallucinating? Did I eat something bad? No… what… what's happening?"
He tried to stand, to reach the door, to call for help.
His legs gave out.
His body hit the floor, unresponsive.
The pain went beyond sensation. Thoughts became distant, useless. Exhaustion flooded through him, heavy and overwhelming, his eyelids feeling like they were weighed down by stone.
For the first time, the thought crossed his mind.
I might die.
As his eyes began to close despite his desperate effort to keep them open, fear rushed in. The idea of not waking up. Of leaving things unfinished. Of leaving his family behind.
A single tear slipped from the corner of his eye.
As darkness threatened to claim him, he could vaguely see strange patterns wrapped around his body, converging at his wrist. Lines intertwined, forming a small, glowing emblem. He could not understand what this meant, or what was happening. He just wanted to somehow wake up from this nightmare that felt too real.
"Mom… Dad… I'm sorry," he whispered.
His body lay still on the floor. The room fell silent. The wind stirred the curtains. The laptop remained on, displaying a chessboard frozen in one of countless possible opening positions, pieces scattered across the floor in an unsettling arrangement.
No one was there to see it.
But it would only be a matter of time before the world did—turning the incident into the greatest unsolved mystery of modern times.
°°°
—Solmarch Empire, Hainar County.
A warm summer breeze drifted over Hainar County, deep within the Solmarch Empire.
The warmth came first.
Not pain. Not fire. Just something unfamiliar—like sunlight filtering through thick curtains.
Then weight.
A heavy pressure settled over him. Breathing felt wrong. Each breath had to be forced.
Darkness pressed in.
No—
not darkness.
His mind was awake, but fractured. Thoughts refused to connect. Images surfaced without warning.
Stone corridors.
High ceilings carved with unfamiliar symbols.
Voices speaking a language he didn't know—yet somehow understood.
Pain followed.
Not sharp. Not sudden. Something deeper. Something invasive. A splitting headache, as if two minds were being forced into the same space.
Get up.
The thought wasn't his.
Memories surged. Not one life—two. Colliding. Blending. Refusing to separate.
Stop—
The pressure spiked. White light flashed.
He screamed.
The sound tore out of him as his eyes flew open, his body jerking upright violently. The scream echoed off stone walls, ripping through the stillness.
Curtains billowed. A candle flickered wildly, nearly going out. The bed beneath him creaked, far too large, far too ornate.
Pain exploded behind his eyes.
He grabbed his head, fingers digging into unfamiliar hair, gasping as the room spun.
Where—
More memories crashed down.
Not his.
Yet unmistakably his now.
He caught a glimpse of himself in polished metal—features younger, sharper, eyes carrying a wary restraint he didn't recognize.
His scream faded into ragged breathing.
Beyond the thick stone walls, footsteps hurried closer. Voices rose. Doors flew open.
Inside the room, chaos reigned. Two maidservants stood frozen, shock written across their faces.
Two lives overlapped in one body, memories tangled together, neither willing to give way. His heart pounded as the truth slowly, horribly set in.
This wasn't a hospital.
This wasn't Singapore.
This wasn't Earth.
And this body—
This body wasn't his.
He lowered his shaking hands and stared at them in the dim candlelight.
Something was terribly wrong.
The pain in his head made that much clearer.
And then, amid the confusion, a thought surfaced—a thought so absurd that he could not believe it.
Perhaps… he was alive.
But somehow, not where he was meant to be.