"You have to be kidding me."
Kamrik stared at the three men in his room.
Each wore his face.
The first was lean — almost unnervingly so. He looked more like Kamrik than the others. His hair was deep black, though under closer inspection it shimmered faintly navy. It was tied into the same long ponytail.
A navy coat covered him from neck to ankle, sleeves swallowing his hands. It was as if he refused to let light touch his skin.
His eyes were dark blue. Abyssal.
He smiled.
It was warm. Gentle. Almost painfully sincere.
One of the kindest smiles Kamrik had ever seen.
And that was exactly what made it wrong.
A deep-seated instinct warned him.
When he looked again, the differences surfaced.
The man's limbs were slightly longer than his own — perhaps by a centimeter or two.
The smile did not reach his eyes.
And those eyes…
They were not looking at him.
They were looking at his skin.
A chill ran up Kamrik's spine.
This wasn't kindness.
It was bait.
Before he could speak, a long yawn echoed from his right.
"Yaaawwn."
Kamrik turned.
Another version of himself floated horizontally in the air.
This one had deep purple hair and eyes. His body was gaunt — skin stretched tightly over bone, veins and blood vessels faintly visible beneath the surface.
Malnourished.
Yet his face remained strangely unaffected. No hollowness. No decay. Just bored indifference.
He gave Kamrik a languid glance, then slowly rolled in the air as if settling into invisible bedding.
"Young man."
Kamrik turned again.
The third figure stood firm.
Older.
Black stubble lined his jaw. His eyes carried fatigue — not weakness.
Experience.
He wore pitch-black armor polished to a muted shine.
At his side rested a black blade chipped and fractured from countless battles.
He looked like a hero.
No.
He looked like the kind of pathfinder they spoke of in legends.
The kind Kamrik had once dreamed of becoming.
Kamrik nearly forgot to breathe.
He failed to notice the knight's brows tightening.
The knight rested a hand on the pommel of his sword.
"Who are you?"
The words struck harder than expected.
Kamrik blinked.
Two black eyes devoid of light stared back at him. Deep within them flickered a dim ember — restrained, but ready.
He took a step back.
Only then did he realize his neck was damp with sweat.
The pressure rolling off the knight was suffocating.
Like standing before a high-tier mage who found you lacking.
The knight stepped forward.
Only then did Kamrik notice something else.
The armor was not worn.
It was fused.
Or perhaps… it was his skin.
The knight stepped again.
"I said — who are you."
The warmth from before was gone.
Only killing intent remained.
Kamrik's knees buckled.
He hit the floor, trembling under invisible weight.
Then—
A hand touched the knight's shoulder.
"Woah there, big guy. You're scaring him. He can't even talk."
The navy-coated one spoke.
His voice was smooth. Carefully measured.
The pressure vanished instantly.
Kamrik sucked in air violently.
His body shook. Sweat soaked through his clothes.
"Pathetic… tsk."
The blood-eyed man had already stepped away, distancing himself as though disgusted.
He shot Kamrik a look of pure disdain.
"I apologize, young man."
The knight knelt.
The hostility in his eyes faded into restrained guilt.
"I was rattled. It is… disorienting to see multiple versions of yourself in one room."
"Ain't that right!"
The navy-coated one chimed cheerfully, pumping a fist.
His eyes did not match the enthusiasm.
The floating one gave a lazy thumbs-up without opening his eyes.
The blood-eyed one gave a curt nod.
Kamrik lay on the floor, lungs burning.
"Yeah…" he muttered. "You could say that."
The knight extended his hand.
Kamrik reached.
His fingers passed straight through it.
Silence.
Something snapped.
The war. The hero dying. The world ending.
His vow.
His death.
That white world.
That agony.
The colors.
The memories.
The mana.
These four lunatics wearing his face.
And now they weren't even real.
What was real anymore?!
He began to laugh.
"AHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
It tore out of him — wild, unfiltered, borderline manic.
Tears streamed down his face as he clutched his stomach and rolled onto his side.
The four exchanged glances.
The blood-eyed one smirked, amused.
The knight's jaw tightened.
The navy-coated one observed quietly.
The floating one didn't move at all.
Kamrik stopped laughing abruptly and shot to his feet.
Face flushed. A vein pulsing at his temple.
"Who am I?!" he shouted. "Who the hell are you?!"
He pointed at the long-limbed one.
"Why are your arms longer than mine?! Why are you staring at me like I'm something to wear?!"
He jabbed a finger toward the floating one.
"And what is wrong with you?! Do you even eat?! Or do you just rot midair?!"
He swung toward the blood-eyed man.
"And you! You have a heart but don't have a heart! What kind of nonsense is that?! And your personality is shit!"
Finally, he faced the knight.
"And you! Intimidating someone the second you meet them?! Isn't a knight supposed to protect civilians?! Not intimidate them!"
His breath hitched.
"I'll say it again!"
He pointed at all of them.
"Who. The. Hell. Are. You?!"
He wheezed, vision swimming.
The floating one gave a slow, irritated yawn, as if this entire exchange had inconvenienced his nap.
Then, in unison—
"I'm Kamrik, young man."
"Well… they call me Kamrik."
"Kamrik."
"I'm Kamrik. Don't forget it."
Silence fell.
Kamrik slowly closed his eyes.
He really hoped this was just a dream.
Because if it wasn't… he was going to need a very long nap.