The trapdoor slammed shut behind him.
A dry, nervous laugh escaped his lips — almost unreal — echoing faintly through the room.
A swarm of fireflies bathed the filthy walls in trembling light, casting living shadows across the cracked surfaces.
He staggered forward, his body still numb with pain.
Then his gaze froze.
What he saw tightened his chest.
A bed.
Not a pile of rags.
Not a cold stone corner.
A real bed.
Dusty, yes.
Worn by time, yes.
But standing. Solid.
Like an echo of a vanished world.
He limped closer and rested his fingers on it, almost afraid.
He inhaled.
Even the rancid smell of mold felt gentle compared to the dried blood, metal, and death still clinging to his skin.
A bed.
A shelter.
Proof that humanity had once existed.
He sat down slowly on the edge. The mattress creaked under his weight but held.
He closed his eyes.
One second.
Just one.
A fragment of peace.
A renewal.
He lay back. The mattress groaned again, a long, tired sound vibrating through the silence.
He didn't move.
For the first time since arriving in this hell, he allowed himself to let go.
Just for a second.
Just to breathe.
To calm down.
His eyelids closed on their own.
A strange warmth pulsed deep in his chest.
A flame.
Weak. Flickering… but alive.
Ready to fade.
Ready to be reborn.
Then everything collapsed.
No pain.
No cold.
No world.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
A flash tore through the inner night — brutal, white, imposed.
Fragments of memory exploded in his mind.
Everything blended together.
The burning desert.
Sand filling his lungs.
The howl of the mutant dog.
The dismembered survivor.
Blood.
Leveling up — one. Then two. Then three.
The tattoo.
The Voice.
The giant brain.
The corridor of doors.
The countdown.
The [Transcendent Heart].
Pain.
Loneliness.
The choice.
It wasn't just memory.
It was deeper.
As if something — or someone — inside him was trying to deliver a message.
You are not alone.
You never were.
You survived.
You evolved.
And this is only the beginning.
His breathing slowed.
His mind dissolved into the thick darkness…
…until a white door appeared before him.
Still. Silent.
Like an invitation.
The white door remained etched into his mind, even after he left it behind.
Is this death…? I feel light. I'm not afraid. I feel nothing.
It opened slightly.
A blinding white light spilled out. Almost unreal.
He stepped through.
The door closed instantly behind him.
When he opened his eyes, it wasn't darkness that greeted him — but a presence.
Someone was there.
A slumped silhouette, head tilted forward, one arm hanging loose, the other resting on a makeshift bow.
Seated on a chair cobbled together from planks and rope.
Exhausted — but alive.
He frowned slightly.
His left leg was immobilized.
A crude splint. Clean cloth. Tight bandages.
Treated. Not random work.
Someone… really took care of me.
His throat tightened as he studied the stranger.
About his age.
Black hair, too long, falling in messy strands.
A tired face, fine features.
Round glasses slipping down his nose.
He looked fragile…
But his hands bore the marks of struggle.
Of survival.
His gaze dropped to the stranger's right wrist.
A tattoo.
The number VI.
Level six…
He glanced at his own left arm. Hidden by his position — but he knew.
That was where the skills were.
A strange sensation tightened his chest.
A warmth he couldn't explain.
He wasn't alone anymore.
The stranger stirred, as if pulled from a heavy dream.
His eyelids fluttered open.
When he saw him… he smiled.
Not forced.
Not polite.
A real smile. Rare. Raw. Human.
"You're finally awake…" he whispered, relieved.
He stayed still, as if his body still refused to believe it.
Then he asked the simplest question in the world — one that cut straight through his chest.
"What's your name?" the stranger asked softly.
He froze.
The words wouldn't come.
His throat tightened.
"My name…"
A hollow void in his memory.
Nothing. Not a syllable. Not a letter.
As if this world had swallowed him whole and erased who he was.
"I… I don't know. I don't remember anything. Nothing before this hell. I'm looking for answers."
Silence settled in.
Not hostile.
Heavy with meaning.
He looked back up at him.
This man had treated him.
Protecting someone wounded and vulnerable was a massive risk in this world.
Yet… he had done it.
"And you?" he asked. "What's your name?"
His expression shifted. His gaze drifted inward, as if searching deep inside himself.
Then he barely parted his lips.
"I don't know either. No memory of my name. Nothing from before this world. Like you — I'm looking for answers."
His tone hardened slightly as he added:
"This world… it isn't normal. It wasn't made for humans.
Where are we really?
Why us?
What's the point of all this?"
His eyes returned to him — heavier now.
"Tell me… do you know how long you were asleep?"
He frowned.
"I don't know… two days maybe?"
The other shook his head.
"No. Almost a week."
Then, more serious:
"I thought you'd never wake up. Sometimes I told myself you were already dead… just trapped inside your body."
He paused, as if the words still weighed on him.
"I kept you alive however I could. Water. Hunting. Fire. Keeping watch.
And I'm not even talking about the monsters that roam here at night…"
He sighed.
"I needed answers. And you… you were the only hope I'd found. So I kept you alive."
He stayed silent.
Those words weighed more than he wanted to admit.
The stranger clenched his fist, as if a muted anger still burned inside him.
"But I came to terms with it. Maybe you don't know more than I do.
Maybe we're just… trapped somewhere."
A shadow crossed his gaze. Then he calmed himself. Naturally.
Like someone who had learned control because he had no choice.
"But you're alive. And that's enough."
"Before we move, we need to lay everything out. We need to know exactly what skills we each have."
He raised his left arm and ran his fingers over his tattoo.
"My main skill is [Carpenter]. Category: Profession.
I made the bed. The chair. Everything you see here."
"I gain experience in two ways: by crafting items… or by killing monsters."
He handed him a crude bow, polished by use.
"I also have [Double Arrow] and [Basic Weapon & Tool Crafting (Wood)].
Thanks to that, I can make stuff like this. It's not perfect yet… but I'm improving."
Then he showed his right arm.
"I'm level six. Each level shows up here.
My skills are on my left arm. But something's off — I have three skills… yet only one shows. Something's wrong."
"Did you put points into Agility? Or are you more Strength-based?"
"Not really… I only have five. I don't even know what it really gives me yet."
He burst out laughing — honest, almost mocking.
"Hahaha! With that, you won't get far. But hey… it's still better than that pathetic shiv of yours.
At least you'll be able to hit the mutts from a distance."
He nodded, shifting into explanation mode.
"Agility gives speed. Accuracy. It's not nothing."
His expression grew serious.
"I've got 20 Agility. So the bow works for me.
The rest is balanced between 10 and 12.
Except Mana, Spirit, and Divine… those are zero."
"Same for me," he replied. "Balanced stats… except Agility. Like you saw."
They talked more. Stats. Choices. Limits.
He smiled without realizing it.
Despite the monsters. The dust. The exhaustion…
they laughed a little.
It felt good.
"Hey — since we're stuck in the same mess, how about we pick names?
So we can call each other from afar… or just recognize each other as more than 'hey, you.'"
He extended his hand.
Like a pact.
"For me, it's Yūshin. From now on, that's my name."
He took his hand firmly.
"And I'm Reiboku."
"You could've let me die."
"I thought about it. I was tired of sleeping on that damn chair."
Reiboku lowered his head briefly, as if burdened by something.
I made a mistake last time. Now I know what to expect.
He straightened.
They looked at each other for a second.
No need for more.
A few days passed.
When Reiboku finally stood again, his legs held.
The wind stirred the dust around them, drawing circles in the dirty light of the dying day.
Each grabbed their makeshift baskets.
More than luggage — fragments of their will.
"Let's go," Yūshin whispered.
He turned without looking back.
He opened the trapdoor.
A violent gust of wind hurled sand at them, slapping their faces.
Like a warning.
They had barely taken a few steps when a distant scream split the air.
Not human.
Yūshin stopped for a fraction of a second.
Then he kept walking.
Nothing here would give them time.
For now, their only objective was to move forward.