His legs gave out halfway down the stairwell.
No warning. One moment he stood firm—the next, gravity betrayed him, knees folding like wet paper as the world lurched sideways in a sickening tilt.
Sound smeared thin, the entire stairwell dragged through a narrow pipe, every echo warped and distant.
Arion saw the landing below. A body lay crumpled there, limbs twisted in unnatural angles.
The chest rose once—shallow, ragged—then stilled.
Well damn~… would not want to be that guy.
His voice made no sound in the stairwell. It only rang inside his skull.
Ahh…
Then it clicked.
That's… me.
The edges of the corridor bled away. Colour smeared like wet paint. The stairwell peeled back into a tunnel of blinding light.
He reached for the railing. Fingers closed on nothing. The pull swallowed him whole.
What—
Then came the bursts of blinding light.
The light sharpened and stretched into a tunnel that devoured everything. For a second he thought it was a hospital lamp glaring down.
Then the world tore open at the seams.
Colour bled into streaks. Lines of light whipped past so fast they stopped looking like light and started looking like damage. Space folded in on itself and flung him forward faster than thought could follow.
His body—or whatever ragged scrap of him remained—plunged through it, weightless yet crushed, pulled razor-thin.
Colour broke apart faster than his mind could hold it—red, violet, white, then glare.
The rush lasted only moments before the colours shattered like stained glass under a hammer. The tunnel of light collapsed, and the darkness ate him whole.
—— ❖ —— —— ❖ —— —— ❖ ——
At first it was just black. A flicker of relief almost touched him—until he realised the dark was alive.
They weren't shadows.
They had form.
Shapes stirred at the edges of his vision, but the more he tried to focus, the less they resembled anything his mind could name.
They crawled and twisted in absolute silence, and every time his mind tried to force them into something real, the image unravelled—leaving only the sickening certainty that he had stared too long at something that should never be seen.
Arion wanted to scream, but he no longer had that luxury.
The void pressed on him with the kind of pressure that smothered thought itself and squeezed his consciousness thin. Then came movement.
Something vast slid across him—slow, soundless, immense.
The dark rippled in reply—thousands of unseen presences stirring at once. He could not tell whether what he saw was real, or only echoes thrown up by his own fracturing mind.
More movement followed as the shapes pulsed, expanded, and fractured around him.
Somewhere beyond sense, the pressure echoed, ancient and cold. He felt it ripple through the void like a shiver down the spine of reality.
Then one stopped completely still.
Everything else churned, but this shape froze.
That was worse. Impossibly worse.
It turned.
Every nerve screamed for him to run, but he was merely a vulnerable speck of light within the incomprehensible void of darkness.
Then a hand stretched out.
His mind struggled to comprehend it—it did not seem to have physical form at all. Like an idea made manifest.
Dark and endless, fingers tapering into spears of pure absence. It did not move fast.
It did not need to.
Paralysis gripped him.
His thoughts buckled at the edges.
The hand drew near—
—and reality screamed.
A fissure of blinding light tore through the void, slicing it open from horizon to horizon.
The light flashed across the cosmic forms half-buried in the void, and the brief glimpse of them was enough to fracture whatever was left of his mind.
His consciousness shut down as the hand burst apart into static and ash.
Darkness shrieked into brilliance.
His vision returned only to be seared white—
—and then came the wind.
It roared against him, sky blazing above, a wild, brawling landscape waiting below.
He floated high above the world, staring down at a continent spread wide like a living map.
Plains rolled like an endless blanket of emerald. Rivers cut black seams across the land. Ridges jutted like bones through skin.
Clouds drifted lazily, casting slow shadows over patchwork fields. At the edge of sight, a pale coast curved until haze devoured it.
No highways. No towers. No buzzing lines scarring the sky.
Just raw, untamed earth—alive and whole.
What in the hell!?
He stared until his vision burned.
Then the fall began.
The fu—Am I… skydiving?
Air collapsed against him, shaking his very being. The view tumbled once—sky flipping into earth—then stabilized, locked steady on the rushing horizon.
The ground raced closer. Blades of grass sharpened into individual spears. White flowers stayed stubbornly defiant against the speeding wind. Heat shimmered upward in waves, warping the air like a mirage.
The fall lined him perfectly with a figure in the field.
Why is there a guy just lying there!? Does he wanna die?
Young. Still. Pale robe, dark shirt and trousers, arms limp with no motion in sight.
There was no time to twist aside.
Oh Physics! It's a dream! Yes, a dream!
Closer.
WAKE UP!
Closer still—
OH SHIT—
—impact.
Followed by a massive surge of light.
…
Suddenly a chest convulsed.
Air slammed into lungs that had not drawn breath for hours—or ever.
"Huhhh—"
His ribs jolted, heart hammering too fast, too hard, but steady nonetheless.
"Haaahhh-hah… ha."
A sprawling landscape became a clear sky in a blink.
He groaned. The sound tore out raw, as though his throat had been scraped with sandpaper. Light burned his eyes until tears pricked the corners. He squeezed them shut, then forced them open again, blinking hard against the brightness.
The sky above was too clean. Blue without smog or haze. White motes drifted at the edges of his vision.
His body twitched. Muscles clenched and released on their own, like cables jolting back to life after long dormancy.
He groaned louder and rolled to his side.
"Ughh—what the hell just happened?" His voice cracked, rasping.
He pressed a hand to the ground and sat up slowly, every motion tight with protest, as if waking from a long, disorienting nap.
Tall grass swayed around him like a green sea. A strange hum threaded faintly through it—more felt than heard—vibrating through his being. He shook his head, trying to clear it. The sensation slipped away like faint vibrations.
The meadow ran wide in every direction. Dew glinted sharp in the morning light. Darker seams cut the land, maybe streams. A ridge of trees followed one such dip, leaves dancing in time with the grass.
Arion touched his face. The shape was right… but the texture was wrong. Smooth. Younger.
Huh…
He staggered toward a shallow pool and bent over it—only to be further surprised.
A stranger stared back.
Ten years younger. Clean-boned. No scar on the lip. No dark bags under the eyes. His hair was silver instead of black, hanging just above his eyes, rough but bright, catching the light even through streaks of dirt.
"Wha—" Arion tried to move as if someone else was in his way, yet the reflection tracked his motions. "Who the hell is this handsome guy?"
He splashed the water, creating ripples along its surface. Once settled, the same face appeared again.
His laugh cracked into something nervous.
"Haha… no way this is real, right?"
The reflection held with the same unknown face, its sharp, glistening eyes staring right back at him.
The dream refused to blur. Refused to break.
The silence pressed heavily. No traffic hum. No cable buzz. Only grass, the creak of branches, and birds calling notes he did not know.
The sound grounded him, dragging his thoughts back into focus.
"Wait… birds?"
Then one call struck familiar—three clear tones, bright as any flute he had heard.
Relief surged.
A bird. Something ordinary. Finally,
He turned toward the sound.
The bird perched on a branch. Two heads swiveled in unison. Two throats sang the same run of notes.
His relief cracked. Laughter broke half-mad.
"N-never mind."
—— ❖ —— —— ❖ —— —— ❖ ——
Thirst hit him hard. His throat scraped dry as desert sand. He forced himself upright, swaying in this stranger's body.
The faint sound of running water reached him. He fixed on it like a predator on prey, relief cutting through the haze. He started walking toward it.
Grass brushed his legs, damp against the coarse cloth of his trousers. His boots crunched the blades, faint pressure brushing his shins and arms as though the air itself leaned close, whispering secrets.
The further he walked, the stranger the world felt.
A flower along the path shifted colour when the wind touched it—pale blue one moment, sharp violet the next. He froze, stared, then forced himself on.
Insects hovered low over the grass, wings beating, but their flight left faint streaks of light in the air, as though the world remembered their paths.
He kept walking, muttering half-delirious: "I'm… just hallucinating. Yeah, just a little crazy in the head is all."
…
The shrubs parted. The river lay ahead.
Narrow, silver under sunlight. Flowing as if alive.
The current ran smooth beneath drifting petals.
He stood there, mouth slightly open, unable to make sense of what he was seeing.
Yet thirst won.
He ran over, crouched, and plunged a hand into the water.
Cold stabbed to the bone. He drank, greedy, desperate. The taste burned, sharp as frost, cleaner than anything from a tap.
He pulled back, panting. "Nothing strange. Just… small differences." His laugh cracked, eyes twitching.
"Except… Except rivers don't just say no to gravity!"
He watched as the river's current crawled uphill, defying the slope and gravity itself.
His breath caught as he ran a hand through his wet hair.
The last threads of hope snapped.
"No. This can't be… No, no, no—"
A thin, disbelieving chuckle escaped him.
"Ah… ha—haha."
Then the truth crashed in.
"AHH—"
He slammed his head straight into the river.
BLUP!
Bubbles burst as he yelled into the current, words lost to the flowing water. His skull went cold. Lungs shrieked for air.
He tore his head up, gasping, water streaming from silver hair and shirt.
And froze.
Droplets hovered above him, sprays of vapour glimmering in the sun. Bubbles clung mid-air instead of sinking.
They hung there like glass beads, trembling between existence and collapse. Light fractured through them, scattering rainbows across his face. The world stood still.
As soon as he reached out, they scattered, falling and merging back into the current.
His heartbeat kicked, wild. He blinked hard, as if clearing static from his vision.
Did… that just happen?
Shocked, he gave in to curiosity and splashed at the water like a child trying to recreate a magic trick.
Again. Nothing.
Another. Still nothing.
"Damnit!"
Frantic, he scooped, slapped, shouted—the river stayed calm. The river's quiet seemed to mock him beneath its steady rush.
Like a mage from one of the games he used to play, he started throwing incantations at it.
"Aqua rise! Splash formation! Hydropump!"
Nothing. The water clung and fell like ordinary water.
He tried again until his arms shook, shirt heavy, hair plastered silver to his brow. The air smelled sharp—metallic, alive. Tiny shivers ran through the river as though it laughed at him.
Breathing heavily, he finally collapsed on the bank, defeated. Mud sucked at his sleeve. His pulse thudded dull in his ears. Lying there, he stared at the blue sky, chest rising slowly, thoughts dissolving like foam.
Moments passed in silence.
…
—— ❖ —— —— ❖ —— —— ❖ ——
No… was it? It has to be. It's the only conclusion that makes any sense.
The thought rooted deep. He shot upright, legs folding beneath him.
Eyes shut. He reached inward.
A tingle flickered faint, like static under the skin. A current ran along his nerves and through his muscles. Not blood. Not heat. Something else.
It's… circulating. Like electricity. A circuit.
"It was me," he whispered.
"I triggered it. My outburst made it happen."
It was barely there, but definitely there. He focused, and the flicker grew.
Branches, splits, and reconnecting loops mapped themselves through him. His mind snapped into patterns—current, resistance, pathways; nerves as wire, muscle as conductor, body as a living circuit.
"Two forces," he muttered. "Mine… and something outside. The river gave it shape, but it wasn't coming from the river itself."
Arion crouched again, hand out.
The tingle surged. He forced it down his arm, into his palm. Fingers burned.
Maybe…
Just maybe…
But this time the river answered.
The hairs along his forearm lifted; the air clicked.
Mist coiled upward, vapour gathering around his hand. Heatless. Unreal. His chest seized.
"Phase change… liquid to gas? Endothermic shift without any obvious thermal input. No reason for the bonds to be giving way this cleanly. Entropy should have been screaming."
He focused on the process. The vapour collapsed, droplets forming. They hung above his palm, trembling, steady.
A wavering mass of water hovered above his palm.
He laughed, breathless. "Impossible. A violation of the Second Law… Gah, forget it! Laws mean nothing if you can casually bend them."
He fed the transfer through it more carefully, and the wavering mass drew itself into a sphere.
The sphere trembled in his palm. A fist-sized globe of water, impossibly floating, scattering sun across its skin.
His mouth split into a grin before he even realised it.
I did it.
He wanted more. He drove the current harder down his arm—circuits straining, nerves screaming. His fingers burned as though nails were being driven through them.
The water warped, ripples crawling its surface.
Then a droplet fell, hitting his palm.
"Ah—"
Pop!
The sphere exploded, detonating in his face with the force of a fire hose. The blast caught him square in the mouth and nose, lifting him off his feet. He flew backward like a ragdoll, legs flipped skyward; he hit flat on his back. Mud splashed up his sides, water pouring over him as though the river had just thrown him on his back and won.
He groaned, choking on mud.
"Guh! Son of a—" He hacked, spat, then wheezed, "Circuit overloaded… I pushed too hard and blew the bloody line…"
Every nerve in his hand screamed. His chest burned where the force had smacked the air out of him. He rolled onto his side, coughing until his ribs ached.
When the pain ebbed, he lay there, staring up at the cloudless sky. A single drop of water hung above his brow, refusing to fall—until it finally did, smacking him in the face for one last piece of disrespect.
He lay there with a flat, exhausted look on his face.
"Died. Gained a new handsome body. Figured out magic. And got my ass handed to me by a ball of water."
He let out a long sigh.
Painful. Ridiculous. But promising.
Well, as long as I don't kill myself first…