The wind tore through the treetops, snapping branches and hurling them down like spears. I pressed myself against the trunks, waiting for the gusts to pass, then pushed forward again, teeth clenched until my jaw cracked.
The ground split beneath me. Roots ripped from the soil. Trees lay half-uprooted, the earth shifting underfoot with every step.
I fell, grabbed at the dirt, dragged myself up—and moved again.
Through the roar of the hurricane came a distant howl.
My head rang, but I kept walking. The wind slammed into my chest hard enough to lift me off the ground. I clung to roots and rocks, anything to keep from being blown away. I ducked, forced my way forward, choking on dust.
Every step was a battle. Let go even for a second, and I'd be swept away with the mud and debris.
My hands were in shreds.
The skin on my palms was gone. Nails torn off—ripped out along with the flesh.
Every time I grabbed a rock or root, dirt pressed into the wounds. Blood and a yellowish pus oozed out at once. My fingers cramped, joints ached as if they'd snap—but I didn't let go.
The world shrank to one ragged howl, and something twisted flew past—a spinning mass tearing chunks of earth from the ground and flinging them aside. I gripped the rock so hard my fingers locked in a spasm.
Bang!
Something struck my temple.
My hand rose.
But I barely felt it.
Everything went blank. It was like I wasn't here anymore. Like the body wasn't mine. Like I didn't exist at all.
My eyelids were so heavy…
***
A sunbeam pierced a gap in the shutters and stabbed right into my eye. I blinked, turned away, but the light insisted, hammering my face.
A dry croak tore from my chest. My throat clenched; breath came in ragged bursts. I pushed up on my elbows. My body felt like lead. Every motion came with effort, as if I was dragging a sack of stones.
My thick gut kept me from bending. My arms trembled, palms slipping on the sheets. I planted my feet, clenched my teeth, and forced myself upright.
Click.
My spine cracked; breath caught in another wheeze.
I sat up. Sweat rolled down my temples; the shirt clung to my back. My chest rose heavily, every motion sending dull aches through me.
The light hit my eyes. I sat there blinking, struggling to catch my breath.
"Where… am I?"
The words came out on their own. But the voice—wasn't mine. I glanced around the room, and my heart skipped a beat.
A small, dark room. Second floor of a private house. Shutters sealed tight, but a narrow slit of light still cut through—straight into my face.
A futon in the corner. The sheets stiff, caked with… everything. A computer nearby—black, dusty. Cabinets lined the wall.
I swallowed dryly, my lips sticking together.
"So it was all… a dream…" My voice came out hoarse, echoing strangely in the cramped room.
Of course. How could any of that have been real? Hit by a truck, waking in another world. A second chance, a new life. What a joke.
"Bullshit… ha-ha! Yeah… what nonsense… ha-ha-ha!"
The laughter tore out of me, broken and painful. My chest was hollow. Everything I'd seen, everything that had happened—it was all a dream.
Sob.
Tears came on their own, hot, rolling through the stubble, down to my lips. I tasted salt. My breath hitched; my throat tightened.
I shook my head, trying to chase away the haze. The blue sleeve of my tracksuit roughly wiped the tears off my face. My cheeks stayed wet, but at least I could see again.
I needed to pull myself together.
My old room. How long had it been? Ten years? More? I couldn't even remember. The walls, the smell—it was all familiar, and yet completely alien.
My eyes roamed the room.
My parents must be… oh. Right. Dead.
The memory flashed—a phone call, words about their deaths. And me just hanging up, saying, "I don't care."
Damn it. Stupid piece of shit!
But then… what time was it? Was their death part of the dream too?
My heart started to race. Panic crept in.
If not, then any second my brothers would burst in—and it would all happen again…
But… if it did… if I died again… then maybe…
Memories flared up—bright, warm. So sharply different from what was here.
I stood abruptly.
My knees cracked loudly. Pain shot up my thighs. I'd forgotten how weak this body was—the heaviness, the stiffness in every move. I turned to the door. I had to get out.
But the moment I took a step, my gaze fell into the dark corner I'd been avoiding.
"Huh?"
My heart pounded. My breathing quickened. My body trembled.
Is that… me?
A young man sat in the corner. His school uniform was neat. The body not yet bloated, but already softening. His glasses gleamed, brand-new. And his eyes…
The moment they met mine, I froze, rooted to the floor.
"Are you done?"
The voice wasn't mine. It was commanding. Cold.
I flinched, stumbling back. My spine hit the wall. My throat dried; breath rasped out.
The boy in the corner lifted his head. His glasses flashed. There was no smile.
"I said, are you done?" he repeated quietly, but with pressure, tilting his head slightly.
His hand, resting on his knee, slid lazily upward to adjust his glasses. The movement was slow, deliberate.
"W-what…" I croaked. My voice cracked; my dry throat betrayed me.
He shook his head slightly. He looked disappointed.
"I see."
He turned a little, lifted his hand. His fingers moved; his lips shaped words, cold and precise:
"Wind—arise and reveal yourself. Gather all motion. Intensify your current. Accelerate. Spiral into a vortex."
I felt my lips repeating every word, though I didn't want them to. The words forced themselves out. With each phrase, the darkness grew thicker.
The boy didn't move. His eyes were no longer on me.
My awareness faded. First sound, then light, then even the sense of my body. The words kept flowing—but I no longer knew if I was speaking them or only hearing them.
The light from the shutters dimmed. The walls wavered.
I tried to breathe—but couldn't. My fingers wouldn't move. My chest was hollow.
I can't breathe!
The last thing I saw was the glint of his glasses, shining green in the dark, and his lips forming the words:
"…Not yet."
***
I woke as if breaking the surface of icy water. My chest arched; my lungs burned. I sucked in a ragged gulp of air. It scorched my throat, came out in a wheeze—but I dragged in more, again and again, terrified it would stop.
My gaze caught on a sphere of dense wind.
It surrounded me on all sides, spinning in waves—layer upon layer colliding, surging. There was no gap, no seam—just one continuous shell.
Each new gust intertwined with the last, and the sphere seemed alive.
Everything the storm hurled at me—branches, stones, dirt—struck the surface and bounced away.
I didn't remember summoning it.
But I could feel the mana draining from me, pouring outward to feed its rotation. The barrier held only as long as the flow continued. The moment I stopped—it would shatter.
I raised my hand. It passed through the wind without resistance. Outside, I felt the violent pressure, the biting sting of sand and splinters. The barrier only protected what was within.
I didn't know what kind of shield it was or how it formed—but there was no time to think. I had to move.
At first, I walked carefully, feeling every shove of the wind. The barrier trembled, but held. I took a few more steps—still stable. Then I broke into a run.
Now I could move freely. The storm tore the forest apart, stones flew, the ground heaved—but inside the sphere, everything glanced away.
EXPLOSION!
A blast erupted somewhere ahead—massive. The ground convulsed. The shockwave flattened everything in its path; trees splintered, rocks flew, air turned molten.
A voice reached me through the ringing in my ears. Faint at first, almost lost in the noise. Then again—closer, sharper. I strained to listen, but the words scattered in the roar.
A shape moved through the storm. At first a dark blur—heavy, unsteady. I squinted, trying to make out its outline. The steps grew louder.
And with them—my name.
"RUDY!"
The sound cut through the ringing. I knew that voice.
Standing before me—was Paul.