A New World
Moscow, 2025
In one of the alleys of the Russian capital, Moscow, a young man stood with half his face covered in blood. His left hand clutched his right shoulder tightly, trying in vain to stop the bleeding. He had been shot.
He was twenty-five years old.
"Hehehe… am I going to die here?"
Leaning against the wall behind him, his body slowly slid down, leaving behind a thick smear of blood that added a new shade to the dull gray surface.
"Why?"
He asked himself that question.
In a moment of recklessness, he had gotten involved with a gang. He had justified his actions as boredom—claiming he didn't care even if he died. But now, standing at death's door, he finally understood the truth.
"I don't want to die."
Those were the words that escaped his lips, yet reality did not align with his wishes.
A gang member appeared, dressed entirely in black—gloves, mask, everything. The moment he saw Alexander leaning against the wall, he shouted:
"Found you, you bastard!"
Alexander looked at him and smiled, thinking this was the end.
The reason he had walked this path was his miserable life. He had always been alone. His father abandoned him after his mother died giving birth to him. Driven mad by grief, his father blamed him for her death.
Alexander believed those words.
Even though it made no sense, he accepted the blame, despite having no control over his own birth.
"What did I do wrong?"
"My mother died because of me."
"And my father abandoned me because of that."
As Alexander closed his eyes, surrendering to death, the gunshot never came.
He didn't die.
Slowly opening his eyes, he saw the gang member lying unconscious on the ground, his gun rolled away from his hand.
Standing nearby was another man.
He wore a long gray coat and a rounded hat of the same color.
No matter how hard Alexander tried, he couldn't clearly make out the man's face. It was as if something obscured his features.
"Who are you?" Alexander asked calmly.
Then he added, "Why did you help me?"
"And who said I helped you?" the man replied.
Alexander realized how foolish his question sounded. To cover it up, he repeated:
"Who are you?"
"That's none of your business."
His answers were irritating, making Alexander's blood boil.
"If you want to kill me, just do it."
The man simply put his hands in his pockets, staring at him with a strange smile.
"I don't want to kill you."
"I'll enjoy watching you bleed to death… hehehe."
"Bastard…" Alexander thought as he struggled to stay conscious.
"Then enjoy the show. But the rest of the gang will arrive soon. I doubt you'll get to see me die."
Despite his words, Alexander was afraid.
The man who tried to kill him had a gun.
This mysterious man had nothing.
Then how did he knock him out so easily?
"Do you want me to deal with the rest of them so you can live?" the man suddenly said. "Your little plan won't work on me."
"Damn it…"
Alexander clenched his teeth.
"You don't want to die."
"You're afraid of death right now."
Alexander was shocked.
It was as if the man had read his mind.
"...Yes. I don't want to die. So… will you save me now?" he asked honestly.
"Why did you get involved with them?" the man asked.
"Hehehe… because I was bored."
"Bored…"
The man muttered, then continued:
"Are you bored with your life?"
"...Yes."
"HAHAHAHA!"
The man burst into loud laughter.
Then he reached into his coat and pulled out a card.
Its edges were golden, engraved with intricate patterns. At its center was a golden clock, as if drawn with liquid gold.
"What am I supposed to do with this?"
Alexander looked at the card that fell beside him.
But the man had already disappeared.
"Dammit…"
He hesitated for a moment, then picked it up.
The clock hands moved.
His eyes widened in shock.
A golden light burst forth, swallowing him whole and illuminating the entire alley.
...
When Alexander opened his eyes again, he found himself staring at uneven walls.
He was inside a cave.
Pain consumed his very soul.
His body wasn't physically damaged, yet the agony was unbearable.
He groaned as he struggled to breathe, remembering the card.
It was still there.
The clock hands moved slowly, as if alive.
It was about the size of a tarot card.
"It must have done something to me…"
He slowly lifted his head.
The cave was narrow, barely wide enough for three people to walk side by side. Its walls were rough and jagged, filled with sharp and twisted protrusions.
"What is this place?"
Using one of the spikes, he forced himself to stand.
Then—
"What…?"
His face filled with shock.
"I'm shorter…!"
"What did that bastard do to me?!"
He lost his balance and fell, the pain worsening.
He raised his hands.
They were smaller.
The hands of a sixteen-year-old boy.
Something warm pulsed beneath his ribs.
When he touched it, he felt something solid under his skin.
Suddenly—
Memories flooded his mind.
Fragments.
Disordered.
A child living in a village at the foot of a mountain.
"These aren't my memories…"
"This isn't me…"
The child's name was Ritter.
His mother was Aria.
His father was Aiden.
Yet the emotions felt real.
"Why do I feel this…?"
Scenes continued to play.
The child grew—from six… to ten… to fifteen.
A simple life with his mother in a quiet village.
Then suddenly—
A crushing pain exploded in his head.
"AAAAAAAH!"
Alexander clutched his head, collapsing to the ground as countless memories surged into his mind at once.