A deep rumble climbed through the mountain's spine, rattling the glass walls of the research facility perched on its peak. Sirens blared a half-second later, harsh and overlapping. Red lights strobed across metal corridors, catching the shine of lab coats and the smear of boot prints.
Technicians ran between terminals, voices cutting through the din. "Seal the lower chamber!" "Containment breach on Level Three!"
A datapad clattered to the floor in the chaos. Through the transparent panels, the night outside was chaos, the river beside the cliff boiling with white foam, lit by the red pulse of the facility's alarms. Wind screamed against the glass. The smell of ozone and burnt circuits bled through the air vents, sharp enough to sting the nose.
A low groan rolled up from the facility's foundation, deeper this time. For a moment, the entire structure seemed to breathe.
At the sub-gate of the seventh floor, soldiers in gray suits blocked a group of scientists pressing toward the exit. One of them shoved a trembling physicist back.
"Fall back to your departments! Nobody moves without orders!"
"We need to leave, damn it!" the scientist shouted, his voice breaking. "Didn't you hear? It's a Level Three alert!"
The sergeant's visor glowed red as he barked, "General's order. Door stays shut. Nobody leaves."
For a moment, no one moved. Alarms screamed without pause, lights flashing over faces drained of color. Somewhere deep below, the mountain groaned again, the tremor rippling through the floor.
"Shit. It's going to collapse," someone shouted. "Let us go, or all of us are dead, including you."
"Yes," another voice cut in. "Let us leave together before it's too late."
The sergeant raised his weapon and fired a blank into the air. The sharp crack silenced the room.
"Violate the order," he said coldly, "and dying under the debris will be the least of your concerns."
The alarms continued to wail on every level of the mountain facility.
On nine floors, soldiers and scientists clashed in panic. But on the tenth, there was only fire.
Flames crawled along the ceiling, licking at hanging wires. The air was thick with smoke and the bitter tang of burnt plastic. A man in a white lab coat pushed through the haze, his breathing muffled by a mask. The corner of a small diary peeked out of the pocket above his heart.
"Stop right there!" a soldier's voice cut through the noise. Five men in military gear emerged from the smoke, rifles raised. "Show your clearance and identification."
The man slowed, raising his hands. His voice came out steady, almost casual. "Easy, Deputy. It's just me."
"Mask off," the lead soldier ordered.
He obeyed, tugging the mask down. A calm face appeared beneath the dim light, pale skin streaked with ash, eyes clear and strangely gentle.
"Professor Samuel?" the deputy blinked, lowering his rifle slightly. "You don't have clearance for this sector. What are you doing here?"
Samuel took a slow step closer, the faintest smile softening his tone. "Why else would I be here? I came for Elizabeth. I won't leave her behind."
The deputy's shoulders eased. His voice lowered, though the alarms still screamed around them. "Your courage is admirable, Professor… but you should leave. This place isn't safe anymore." He reached out and patted Samuel's shoulder, half gesture of respect, half an attempt to guide him away.
They were just passing each other when a younger soldier's voice cut in.
"Sir, wait… what's that under his coat?"
Samuel stopped. His smile didn't falter. "This?" He brushed a hand against the front of his coat where a faint outline showed beneath the fabric. "Just my personal research log."
The deputy turned back toward him. "Let's see it, Professor," his tone was polite but firm. "Just protocol."
"Of course," Samuel replied. He reached inside his coat and drew out the diary, its cover streaked with soot.
The deputy took the diary and turned the first page.
"This—"
The sound snapped off with a wet pop as the pen pierced his eye socket.
Samuel's hand was already moving, stripping the knife from the deputy's belt in a single fluid motion.
Time seemed to stretch.
He pivoted, closing the gap to the nearest soldier before the first body hit the floor. With a single stroke, the blade opened a throat. Another heartbeat and it buried itself in the next man's chest.
The third soldier jerked his rifle up. For a breath, Samuel saw the barrel bearing on him through the smoke, then the knife left his hand. It spun once, twice, and buried itself in the man's neck. The shot still came, wild and deafening. Pain burned through Samuel's shoulder, but his body stayed in motion.
The echo of gunfire faded. Four bodies dropped in sequence, their falls muffled by the roar of flames.
Samuel stood still amid the smoke, his breath sharp, eyes steady. Blood hissed where it met the fire-heated floor. He exhaled once, then reached to retrieve the diary from the ground, its pages unmarked by the surrounding chaos.
"They should've let me go," he murmured.
Flames roared behind him, feeding on the wind that tore through the shattered window. Samuel stepped over the bodies and climbed out through the nearby shattered frame, his boots settling on the narrow ledge outside. The cold bit into his skin. The air was thin enough to taste.
Below him, the mountain dropped for hundreds of meters before the valley opened. Far beneath, a river glimmered faintly, twisting like a silver thread through the dark. Clouds drifted between him and the ground, swallowing the cliffs and scattering the firelight from the lab behind.
The wind howled, dragging smoke and sparks into the sky. His coat snapped around him.
Any normal man would have trembled there: ten stories high on a mountain above an abyss—but Samuel's face stayed still. Only a trace of melancholy softened his eyes, like a man observing the collapse of something he once loved.
He exhaled once, then shifted his weight and began sliding along the outer ledge. The steel was slick with frost and smeared with ash, but his movements stayed precise, deliberate. He descended toward a lower floor, counting levels under his breath until he reached the seventh.
"I left it somewhere here," he muttered, scanning the darkened windows. His gaze fixed on one frame half-buried in smoke. "That should do."
He started toward it, gripping the wall for balance. Just as he reached the edge and leaned closer to peer inside, a burst of hurried footsteps echoed from within. Voices followed. Soldiers moving fast.
"I don't give a damn! Find him! We must not lose the research!"
Samuel froze against the wall. The voice carried over the crackle of fire and the wail of alarms, familiar and sharp. The State Minister of Science and Technology.
He's already here… they found out this fast.
"Minister, no need to panic," another man said, trying to sound calm. "We'll find him."
"Do you even know what he's stolen?" the Minister snapped. "That technology could push our state four decades ahead!"
A third voice, lower and angrier, cut in. "Then why didn't you tighten security before this?"
"We underestimated her research," the Minister admitted. "The moment I realized it, I came here myself to secure the base and transfer it to a high-security facility. Still, none of that matters if Elizabeth is secured. As long as she's safe, everything stays under control."
The name struck Samuel like a blow. Elizabeth. For a moment, the noise faded. Fire, shouts, alarms—all vanished into the hum of memory of a few hours earlier.
***
"Ellie, stop! Have you lost it? Why are you deleting your research?"
The monitors glowed against Elizabeth's face as line after line of code vanished. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, steady and deliberate.
"You don't understand, Sam," she said without looking up.
"I understand plenty! That work could lead to warp-drive in a few years! Do you know what you're throwing away?"
She turned, eyes fierce. "I admit you are a genius, but you never understood the Sage Equation. I've calculated it. It yields 176 Mega Electron Volt per reaction. That's an order of magnitude more than fusion. Ten times! And it's not fission; it's fusion!"
He blinked, stunned. "That's incredible. It's near- limitless energy."
She shook her head. "Limitless power is the most dangerous kind. I won't be another Oppenheimer. This would turn men into gods, and gods into monsters."
She took a small diary from the desk and held it close. Firelight flickered over her face as she stepped toward the burning pile of books.
"You'll destroy the diary, too?" Samuel's voice softened, irritation fading into something heavier.
"Yes, it's everything I am, but it has to end here." She stopped by the fire, tears catching the light. "Without it, no one can rebuild what I've erased."
Samuel's grip tightened on the knife hidden behind his back.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
Elizabeth turned, confusion flickering across her face. "Why are you—"
Steel flashed. The knife found her chest.
She gasped, eyes wide, disbelief breaking through the pain. "You… how could you…"
His face didn't change, but his breath did. Shallow, trembling, as if his lungs refused to believe what his hands had done.
Blood touched her lips. Still, she smiled. Faint. Almost gentle.
"So it's true…" she breathed. "You're with the Shadow Order."
Samuel said nothing. His silence was an answer.
Her shaking hand rose and brushed his cheek, leaving a streak of red.
"I… I really loved you," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I thought you felt the same. To stay beside me as my husband for years, pretending to love me for so long…" Her breath caught. "You must be the one they called the Many-Face."
She swallowed hard. "Tell me. Isn't destroying my work… our work, aligned with the Shadow Order's goal? To maintain the balance of power. So why?"
He stared at her, every heartbeat heavier than the last. A tear slipped down his cheek and fell onto her skin.
"I can't let it be destroyed," he breathed. "Not even by you. It's our life's work."
Her voice thinned to a fragile thread. "What irony," she whispered. "For you to fall in love with the very thing you were meant to destroy… and for me to destroy the very thing I love."
A ghost of a smile touched her mouth. "Remember… power tends to corrupt…"
Her fingers slipped from his face, falling soundlessly.
"…and absolute power…" her voice faded.
For a long time, only the silence answered him.
He looked at the woman he once called his wife. A flicker of melancholy crossed his face before hardening into determination.
***
The memory dissolved with the taste of smoke in his mouth.
The icy wind tore at his coat, snapping him back to the present. He was still on the ledge, clinging to the mountain's skin, the fire raging behind the glass. Below, the river roared. His hand slid across his chest, slow and deliberate, feeling the familiar shape hidden beneath the cloth.
I can't let it loose into the world. But I can't let it be destroyed either.
His fingers curled protectively, almost tender.
Don't worry Eli, it will forever remain with me… along with the others.
The clatter of hurried boots inside the room pulled his attention.
"Reporting to Command. Professor Elizabeth is dead."
"What?" the Minister barked. "What about the others?"
"All deceased," the officer replied. "The last recorded log belonged to Professor Samuel. We also found the deputy general's squad. Judging by their faces, they were caught by surprise before death."
A sharp breath broke the silence.
"Damn it," the general growled. "Make sure there are no more errors in lockdown. No one leaves."
Another voice snapped through the comms, raw with frustration.
"It has to be the Shadow Order. Those lunatics."
"Move. Secure whatever's left!"
As the room emptied, Samuel eased through the smoke-filled corridor and slipped deeper inside.
A torn bag lay near the corner. He picked it up, shaking off soot and ash. Minutes later, he emerged in a military uniform, cap pulled low to hide his face.
He moved through the chaos like a ghost: past soldiers shouting orders, past flickering lights and falling debris, until he reached the shattered window of the fifth floor.
The cold wind cut through his coat as he stepped onto the ledge.
He stripped off the military uniform underneath it, revealing something completely different. A glide suit.
The bullet wound burned through his shoulder as he pressed the fabric down. Dark patches had already spread across the suit where the round had torn through. Anyone else would have been slowed by it, flagged instantly by pain or posture.
He wasn't just anyone.
Blending in was what he excelled at. A clean uniform, controlled movement, the right pace. Even wounded, he could pass. Even bleeding, he could disappear in plain sight.
He was standing on the ledge once more. This was the last part of his escape plan.
it was something completely different. Below, the mountain dropped into endless darkness. The river far beneath looked like a thread of silver light winding through the void. The wind tore at him, cold and violent. He looked back one last time and exhaled slowly. It was time to bid farewell to Samuel, the husband of Eli.
This life was over. The shadows, the lies, the blood spilled in the name of balance. He was done with it.
He would disappear. Not as a fugitive, not as a ghost, just gone. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere ordinary. Perhaps as a teacher, explaining the world the way he once wished it had been explained to him. Making students curious. Making them want to understand.
To show them how the universe worked. To guide them into its mysteries instead of pushing them toward violence.
The thought settled heavier than the wound in his shoulder.
Perhaps Eli had been right all along. Somewhere along his long journey as a spy among scientists, he had fallen in love with science. With questions that did not require killing to answer. With discovery instead of control. Understanding the universe felt cleaner than maintaining it with blood.
Karma had a strange way of catching up. A man could walk away from the past, but the past rarely returned the favor.
He was ready to escape when a brief flash of light flickered far below the abyss. His body reacted before his mind could. Every instinct screamed danger, but it was still too late.
The impact hit his chest with crushing force, pain tearing through him as the round punched in. Not the center but the right. His heart burst apart, heat and pressure flooding his body as time seemed to slow.
His thoughts sharpened, cold and precise, even as his body failed.
Head. Center of the chest. Spine.Any of them would have done the job. But he chose the right-side. Exactly where my heart is.
Only one person knew about his dextrocardia. The choice of target turned the bullet into a message. I know what you have been doing. And I have come to claim the debt of betrayal.
The ledge slipped away beneath his feet. He fell, body pitching forward like a broken kite, wind tearing past his face as gravity dragged him down into the abyss.
Ahh… My dear foolish brother, I have trusted you with my life more than once. Can't you just trust me for once?
He had hidden every piece of research. Locked it away instead of destroying it. Not to defy anyone, but because some things should not be erased, even if they could never be used. He had never intended to release them to the world.
Faces flashed before his eyes as darkness closed in.
An old man appeared first in his thoughts, the one who had shown him the wonder of science when he was young, and later became his first target as a spy. Another face followed, younger, bright-eyed. A brilliant twenty-two-year-old who talked endlessly about stem cells and viruses. Trusted him without hesitation. Then came a man in his thirties, an exceptionally gifted weapon specialist who had treated him like a brother. Someone who had believed in him enough to name his own son after him. Finally, Eli.
After betraying everyone who had trusted me more than their own lives, this feels fitting. To die at the hands of the one person I trusted with mine.
Life might have been wonderful… if I hadn't been a spy.
Above him, the facility burned. Below, the abyss swallowed him whole.
He closed his eyes, accepting the inevitable.
The chain around his neck slid free. The pendant in the trident shape swung upward, flashing once before gravity reclaimed it. He had worn it for as long as he could remember. It was a token from an old beggar in the Himalayan region whom he had once fed. For some reason he still wore it.
Then, a low vibration stirred inside him.
A sound older than memory.
A mantra awakening like a distant drumbeat.
"Om Tryambakam Yajamahe."
It deepened, resonating through his bones as darkness folded around him.
Then…
…hey…
…up…
***
"Wake up… wake up…"
The voice wavered through the dark like sound under water—distant, distorted, refusing to fade.
Samuel's eyelids fluttered. Pain throbbed in his skull, and the surface beneath him rattled with every jolt.
His eyes snapped open to the face of a boy kneeling over him, fair-haired and frightened, sunlight glinting on his tousled hair. "Young master… thank the heavens, you're awake. I thought you were gone."
Samuel jolted upright, his breath tearing through his chest. His lungs burned as he gulped for air. "Who are you?" he shouted, scrambling backward until his spine struck wood. The carriage rattled.
Memory slammed into him. The burning lab, the edge, the bullet. His hand flew to his chest.
"W-Why is my heart still beating? Where's the wound?"
His palm brushed smooth skin. No gash. No blood. His heart thundered.
"Young master, are you all right?" the boy asked, edging closer.
"Stop right there. I'm not your young master. I'm not even—" He froze.
The hand he lifted was wrong. Too light. Too smooth. No scars, no burn marks, none of the old calluses that should have been there. The skin caught the light like polished wood, veins faint beneath its surface. It looked delicate, mockingly so. A child's hand?What the hell… happened to me?
He lowered his gaze. Fine fabric wrapped his body, a tunic trimmed in gold thread, light and noble in design. His legs were shorter, his limbs frail. Panic crawled up his throat.
Two women stirred on either side of him. The one to his right wore dark leather armor fitted close to her form, streaked with frost and travel dust, her black cloak torn at the edges.
The other, to his left, wore a forest-green hooded outfit reinforced with steel plates at the shoulder and thigh, a bow and quiver resting beside her.
Then his gaze caught a shimmer of metal beside him. A sword lay there, flawless, reflecting the dim light of the cart. He snatched it before anyone could move.
"Wait!"
"Careful!"
"Stop!"
Three different voices sounded at the same time.
Samuel ignored them and turned the blade toward himself.
The reflection staring back was of a child no older than six. Pale skin. Soft silver hair. Eyes the color of dawn after rain, and a wound on his forehead. His breath faltered.
A tremor ran through him. Then, pain cracked through his skull, sharp and blinding.
What's going on? Am I hallucinating? Perhaps dreaming? Do the dead even dream?
Thoughts raced through his mind as he tried to make sense of what was happening. For some reason, he felt certain he had heard Sanskrit chanting just before he lost consciousness. The memory lingered, faint but persistent.
His hand moved to his neck on instinct. He felt a chain. He pulled it out, and his face froze. It was the same trident pendant he had been wearing for years, even decades. The same weight rested in his palm. The same markings pressed into his skin. Recognition came instantly, and with it, uneaseOnly this pendant remained the same, but everything else had changed.
The trident represented Lord Shiva, the ancient Hindu deity who is associated with destruction and time. His thoughts faltered.
Did I…?That can't be right. Reincarnation felt absurd.
Perhaps this was a dream formed in his final moments. But that explanation failed just as quickly. Why would his mind create the faces of unknown people? Hallucinations drew from memory, not strangers.
Another possibility crossed his mind. Brain extraction. Preservation. Transfer. The idea collapsed under its own weight. Such technology was far beyond current scientific capabilities.
The only logical conclusion was reincarnation, yet the act itself lay beyond any physical law he understood.
"Young master, did the House Ignis succession seal trigger some memory?" the boy asked, his voice tight with excitement as he leaned closer.
Samuel glanced down at the pendant, then back at the boy.
"This… pendant…?" he asked, doubt creeping into his voice.
"Don't disturb him. Give him a moment," the woman in dark leather said, her tone firm but strained.
"Do not disturb? Silvi, you're supposed to be his personal guard. You could not even protect him, and now you tell me not to panic?" the boy snapped, voice cracking with fear.
"I… was careless," Silvi whispered, shoulders sinking.
"Stop blaming her, Milo," another woman said, stepping closer. Her green leather armor creaked softly as she knelt beside Samuel. "Who could have imagined that his own grandfather would poison him with a soul-erasing toxin? It is a miracle that the young master survived at all." Her eyes swept over him, assessing. "If it's just memory loss, we're already extremely lucky." She broke into a cough.
"Stop talking, Anne," Silvi chided. "You'll worsen your wound. And if anything happens to you, who will care for the young master?"
"None of this would have happened if not for that damned Crown Prince," Anne hissed under her breath. "He has always hated how close our master is to the Second Prince."
Samuel let their voices blur as he forced his thoughts into order.
Medieval clothing. They keep calling me young master. I am injured. There is a Crown Prince. I am poisoned. And…
His gaze shifted past them. Behind the carriage, a formation of mounted riders followed in disciplined silence. Their armor gleamed beneath the evening glow. The cavalry moved like a single living machine, ironclad knights astride obsidian steeds veined with crackling blue light. Crimson capes snapped behind them like banners of blood and storm.
A cool gust swept up the cliff road. Samuel felt the grit of dust sting his cheek, heard the rhythmic clatter of hooves pounding against stone. Each impact of their hooves sent a soft vibration through the wooden carriage beneath him.
His stomach tightened.
An icy shiver threaded down his spine.
This… is a medieval world. And I am escaping along a hilly road. But those glowing patterns on the armor. Those horses. Something feels wrong.
A breath hitched in his throat.
God… did I reincarnate? And right in the middle of a royal power struggle? Damn! Was being betrayed and killed not enough to pay my karmic debt? Do I have to reincarnate to suffer again?