Part 1 — Waking Up in the Wrong Place
Cold.
That was the first thing that reached his consciousness.
Not the kind of cold that bit into skin. Not the shiver brought by rain or wind. This cold came from beneath his back—solid, unmoving, indifferent. Like lying on stone that had forgotten warmth long ago.
Argha let out a weak groan. The sound startled him. It was hoarse, unfamiliar—like the voice of someone who had just survived a long illness.
His eyelids felt impossibly heavy.
Still, he forced them open.
The sky greeted him.
A deep, oppressive purple. Thick.
Motionless.
It wasn't night as he knew it. There were no stars. No moon. No sense of living light. The color simply stretched endlessly above him, like a massive bruise covering the world.
His chest tightened for no clear reason.
"Where… am I…?"
The words slipped out, barely louder than breath.
He tried to inhale more deeply—and immediately choked.
"Kh—hk!"
The air was dry, abrasive. His throat burned as if he'd inhaled dust from a collapsed building. The smell of old stone and rusted metal filled his lungs. He turned his head on instinct, then froze.
Turn away to where?
Argha rolled onto his side. His palm pressed against the ground.
Rough.
Sharp.
Cracked stone bit into his skin. The small sting made him pause. Strangely enough, it calmed him.
I can still feel pain… so I'm not completely gone.
Breathing heavily, he pushed himself upright. His head felt light, but a dull throb lingered at his temples—like the echo of a nightmare that refused to fade. When he stood, his knees wavered. His body tensed, ready to fall—
But he didn't
.
He remained standing.
Argha looked around.
Ruins.
Half-collapsed stone structures loomed in silence. Massive pillars lay broken, like the remains of ancient bones. Cracked roads were buried under debris and dull, lifeless shards of metal. No lights. No signs. Nothing that suggested life had ever been here.
No sound.
The silence was unnatural. Too clean. Too absolute.
"…Where am I?" he muttered.
His voice sounded small—almost inappropriate in a place this vast.
He tried to remember.
Home.
A faint image surfaced: a narrow room, a thin mattress, the scent of cheap soap. The image dissolved the moment he reached for it, like fog slipping through his fingers.
Work.
A desk. A screen. Faces passing by without ever really seeing him.
Blurry.
His chest tightened.
Argha pressed his fingers to his temple. His breathing grew uneven. There was a hollow feeling inside him—not pain, not panic.
Emptiness.
"I…"
The word hung there.
"Who… am I?"
The answer didn't come as a memory.
It came as certainty.
Argha.
The name clung to him, solid and unshakable—the last remaining anchor.
Then another truth surfaced. No images. No sound.
Earth.
He knew it was home. A world with blue skies. With noise. With life that was exhausting, loud, and real.
This place was not that.
Then… how did I get here?
There was no memory of travel. No light. No dramatic pain.
Only the sensation of falling—far, endlessly—
And waking up somewhere he didn't belong.
Part 2 — A World That Doesn't Answer
Argha took a cautious step forward.
The sound of his shoes echoed strangely through the ruins, traveling too far, lingering too long. His body felt lighter than he remembered—lighter, yet responsive. Each movement felt precise, as if his body knew what to do even while his mind lagged behind.
This is still my body… right?
The thought slowed his steps.
Then—
DING.
The clear sound rang directly inside his head..
Argha flinched. His shoulders tensed, his heart jumping. In the empty air before him, a translucent blue light materialized, forming a floating interface—too clean, too orderly for a world this broken.
He stared at it, brow furrowed.
Name: Argha
Origin: Earth
Class: Alone Hunter
"Hunter… Alone Hunter," he murmured.
It didn't sound like a title.
There was no pride in it. No honor.
It felt like a designation—something assigned without his consent.
His gaze dropped.
No special abilities. No immediate advantages.
His chest felt hollow for a moment.
Then his eyes returned to the final line.
All abilities can be learned.
Argha stared at those words.
There was no surge of hope. No dramatic relief.
Only a small, quiet thought surfaced—honest and simple.
So… I'm not finished yet.
A faint vibration rippled through the ground.
He almost ignored it.
Then came the sound.
Low.
Wet.
Heavy.
Argha's body froze before his mind could react. His shoulders locked, breath caught in his throat. From behind a collapsed structure in the distance, a pair of yellow eyes ignited in the darkness, fixed directly on him.
There was no hesitation in that gaze.
It was the look of something hungry.
He didn't know this world.
Didn't know its rules.
Didn't know what it truly meant to be a Hunter.
But one thing was painfully clear, down to his bones—
If he stood here waiting for answers,
this world would not wait for him.
The creature stepped out of the shadows. Its body was low, twisted, unmistakably inhuman.
Argha drew a short breath.
Not to calm himself.
To prepare.
And in a world that did not care whether he lived or died—
Without welcome.
Without guidance.
Without answers—
Argha's journey truly began.