That was the first thing he felt.
Not pain. Not fear. Just… cold.
It crept into his bones, wrapped around his tiny limbs, and pressed against his chest like an invisible weight. His breath came out weak and uneven, barely visible in the night air.
"…Where… am I…?"
His voice was small. Too small.
His eyes slowly opened.
Darkness.
A narrow alley stretched before him, choked with filth and shadows. Rotting wood, broken crates, and damp stone walls closed in from both sides. Somewhere far away, voices echoed—harsh, tired, and indifferent.
He tried to move.
His body didn't listen.
"…What… is this…?"
His hand—no, a child's hand—rose weakly into his vision.
Small. Fragile. Covered in dirt.
For a moment, his mind went blank.
Then—
Memories crashed in.
A different world.
A different life.
A different self.
Modern streets. Noise. Light. Life.
And then—
Nothing.
"…I died?"
The thought came naturally, as if there was no other explanation.
His chest tightened.
Reincarnation.
He had read about it before. Novels. Stories. Fiction.
Yet now—
"…Don't tell me…"
He forced himself to sit up, his small body trembling with effort. Every movement felt unfamiliar, like wearing someone else's skin.
He looked down at himself.
Torn clothes. Thin limbs. Bare feet.
"…An orphan?"
A bitter smile tugged at his lips.
Of course.
If this was a story, then he was nothing more than a background character. A nobody. A nameless child meant to disappear before the real story even began.
"…Tch."
His gaze lifted.
The alley stretched into a wider street beyond.
But something felt… wrong.
Very wrong.
The buildings were crude—stone and wood, uneven and aged. No signs of modern life. No lights. No technology. Only torches flickering faintly in the distance.
The air itself felt different.
Heavy.
"…This doesn't match…"
His brows slowly furrowed.
If this was the world he was thinking of—the one from the novel he once read—then this place… this time…
"…No."
It didn't make sense.
The setting was off.
Completely off.
That story took place in a developed era—kingdoms, academies, structured power systems. Not this… decayed slum that looked like it belonged to the beginning of history itself.
"…What is going on…?"
A faint unease crept into his chest.
Then—
"…—era of calamity…"
A whisper.
Soft. Distant.
But clear.
His body froze.
"…—war will consume everything…"
The voice was hoarse, like dry leaves scraping against stone. It didn't belong to the lively streets beyond. It didn't belong to the world of the living.
Slowly—
Very slowly—
He turned his head.
At the far end of the alley, half-hidden in darkness, stood a figure.
A man.
Tall. Lean.
A tattered cloak hung from his shoulders, swaying slightly in the cold wind. One eye was covered by a worn patch, while the other… watched.
No.
It didn't just watch.
It saw through him.
"…You can hear me," the man muttered, almost amused.
The boy's throat tightened.
"…Who… are you…?"
The man didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he tilted his head slightly, as if observing something interesting.
"…Strange," he murmured. "A dying child… yet your eyes aren't dead."
Silence fell between them.
Then—
The man took a step forward.
"…Do you know where you are?"
The boy said nothing.
Because he didn't know.
Because he wasn't sure he wanted to know.
The man's lips curved faintly.
"…This is the beginning."
"…The beginning of ruin."
A cold wind rushed through the alley.
"…The era of calamity," the man continued, voice low and steady. "An age where kingdoms fall before they rise… where heroes are not yet born… and where the world drowns in blood before it ever sees light."
The boy's pupils trembled.
No.
No, that was—
"…Impossible…"
His voice came out as a whisper.
That era…
That time…
It wasn't part of the main story.
It was—
"…Fifty thousand years… before it all begins."
The world seemed to stop.
Everything clicked.
The broken streets.
The primitive surroundings.
The suffocating air.
This wasn't the story he knew.
This was—
Before it.
His fingers slowly clenched.
"…You look like you understand now," the man said quietly.
The boy lowered his head, shadows covering his expression.
A random orphan?
A background character?
No.
That was wrong.
Completely wrong.
Because if this was truly that era—
Then even the smallest existence…
Could change everything.
His lips slowly curled into a faint, almost invisible smile.
"…I see."
When he raised his head again—
His eyes were no longer those of a dying child.
They were sharp.
Awake.
Calculating.
"…Then I'll survive."
The wind howled.
And in that forgotten alley—
At the very edge of life and death—
Something had just begun.