A thin horizontal slit of light cut through the pitch-black void.
It widened slowly, uncertainly, as if the world itself was hesitating to return. Then, with effort, the sliver brightened.
Aren's eyes were opening.
Blurry shapes, dim outlines. Shadows shifted, undefined. He blinked slowly, vision swimming in and out of focus. A low groan escaped his throat—dry, hoarse, almost foreign in his ears.
His voice was there, but weak. A ghost of itself.
He didn't know how long he had been unconscious—or if what he'd woken into was even real. His chest ached with a dull, unfamiliar pressure, but his arms… his arms were worse. They were numb, tingling as if filled with ice and pins, lifeless and detached from his will.
But he could feel his toes. Distantly, yes, but the sensation was there.
He wasn't paralyzed.
Something soft cradled his back. Comfortable. Almost too comfortable.
A bed? He wasn't sure. His thoughts were foggy, scattered like dry leaves in a storm.
He inhaled deeply—instinct more than choice. The air was sterile and cold, but breathable. That gave him just enough focus to fight through the daze. His eyelids fluttered open fully now, clinging to awareness like a man pulling himself up from a frozen lake.
Glass. That was the first thing he truly saw.
He was encased in it. A pod. A smooth, transparent shell, large enough to fit his body but no more. The glass panel in front of him curved outward like a protective shield.
And embedded in that glass—mere centimeters from his chest—was a jagged shard of rock, sharp and dark, its point halted just short of piercing his heart.
There was blood.
Not much—but enough to know it had scratched him. A shallow cut along the center of his chest.
Then a voice.
Calm, smooth, artificial.
[VITAL FUNCTIONS RESTORED. POD OPENING.]
The panel hissed, unlocking with a subtle hum. The front of the pod lifted upward, rock shard and all. Cold air swept in like a sudden tide, rushing against his bare skin and seizing every muscle with shivers. He was naked—his entire body exposed to the freezing air of what looked like a subterranean chamber.
It took him longer than he liked to move. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself upright despite the protests of every joint. His fingers were skeletal, skin pale and almost translucent under the strange lights. His limbs lacked the muscle memory of strength—they trembled under his own weight.
The chamber was vast, shadowed, silent. A strange fusion of ancient cave and advanced technology. Smooth white surfaces blended unnaturally with jagged stone. The air was thin, damp. The floor beneath his feet was colder than the rest of the pod, biting into his soles. His breath came in foggy wisps.
His mind began to stir faster now, scrambling to make sense of things. He felt off. Wrong.
No injuries, beyond the scratch. But… something else was different.
He brought a shaking hand to his face. His fingers slid over smooth skin.
No beard.
His hair was longer, brushing past his shoulders—thicker than he remembered.
His heartbeat quickened.
He pushed himself to the edge of the pod, legs weak but working. A deep ache rested in his bones, like he hadn't used them in weeks—months, maybe. Still, he managed to stand. His balance was uncertain, like a foal standing for the first time.
The pod—sleek, seamless, alien—gave no clues as to its origin. It wasn't royal technology, nor anything from the Emblem Guilds. No logos. No indicators. No language. Just white metal and silence.
"Where… am I?" he murmured, voice rasping through his parched throat.
He tried again, louder.
"Where is everyone?!"
No answer.
"Val? Anyone? Can someone hear me?! I'm here!"
He shouted until his throat burned.
Then—
[VOICE RECOGNITION ACCEPTED.]
[Welcome, Your Majesty. Ask me anything.]
The voice was close. Crisp. Controlled. A perfect replica of the one he had heard back in the palace… before the sky turned red. Before the rocks fell.
His heart thudded against his ribcage.
"…What is this place?"
[Location system damaged due to seismic interference. Precise coordinates unavailable.]
A seismic event. That explained the rock in the glass. He looked up—the ceiling bore fractures, jagged cracks in the stone.
"Who are you?"
[My name is VALORIA. I am your personal guide. I am assigned to assist you.]
Valoria. A synthetic name. Yet oddly familiar. He nodded slowly, as if it mattered.
"I'm freezing. I need… food. Clothes."
Immediately, a compartment on the right side of the pod hissed open. A metal drawer slid out with a smooth mechanical motion.
[Please access the emergency clothing kit provided.]
He pulled it out with effort. Inside were tightly folded garments—simple black clothes of different sizes, durable and warm. Undergarments. Socks. Even lightweight boots. Everything was organized with military precision.
He dressed in silence. Each article of clothing helped stave off the cold. The fit wasn't perfect—he'd lost weight—but it was better than nothing. Beneath the boots was a folded backpack, surprisingly compact yet large when unfurled.
Before he donned the shirt, he examined the wound on his chest. Still bleeding, slightly.
[Additional support available. Please access the medical compartment on the left.]
Another panel opened, revealing two metal cases. He grabbed the first—heavy, utilitarian. Inside was a compact but thorough first-aid kit. He disinfected the scratch, applied an adhesive seal, and took a moment to breathe as the sting faded.
The rest of the supplies—water bottles, nutrient bars, a metal canteen—went into his pack. He drank greedily from one bottle, then stopped himself. Too much too fast would do more harm than good. The ration bar tasted like sweetened berries and crushed nuts—oddly pleasant.
As he grabbed the canteen again, something caught his eye.
His reflection.
He froze.
It wasn't just weight loss.
His face—his entire face—was younger. Much younger.
He looked like a boy. A fifteen-year-old boy.
His eyes, his cheekbones, his nose—still his, unmistakably. But unaged. Restored. Youthful. Wrong.
"What… happened to me?"
[Unknown. No signs of cellular degradation. Biometrics report a healthy status.]
He staggered back, dizzy with disbelief.
"I'm… younger. Why?!"
[VALORIA does not have access to temporal medical files. No corruption or abnormalities detected.]
"…Okay. Calm down."
[VALORIA is incapable of emotional distress, Your Majesty.]
"I wasn't talking to you."
A pause.
[Understood.]
He sat on the floor for a moment, breathing deeply, hands over his face. Then Valoria's voice returned.
[May I suggest opening the secondary lockbox?]
The second container had no obvious latch. Seamless. Sealed.
"How do I open this?"
[Place your hand on top. Royal handprint authorization required.]
He did so. The surface lit beneath his palm, scanning quickly. The mechanism engaged, gears within humming softly.
Inside were two items: a dagger and a wrist device—both crafted from the same obsidian-colored alloy. Smooth. Stark. Otherworldly.
He lifted the dagger. Simple hilt. Minimalist. But expertly balanced. The blade felt like it weighed nothing. Sharp enough to split air.
Then the bracelet. A polished band with no buttons, no markings.
"What's this?"
[That is SENTINEL. A multipurpose tactical interface. I can transfer to it for continued support. Shall I initiate transfer?]
"Yes. Do it."
[Place your finger on the band.]
He complied. The bracelet lit up. So did the pod. Streams of energy pulsed between them.
[ERROR. POD DAMAGE DETECTED. UPLOAD WILL BE INCOMPLETE. Estimated data loss: 60%. Proceed anyway?]
"Damn it… Yes. Proceed."
The lights pulsed, flickering between blue and white, then dimmed.
[Transfer complete. VALORIA is now active within SENTINEL.]
He slid the bracelet onto his wrist. It snapped closed and adjusted to fit snugly.
"Can I remove this?"
[Yes. Removal and control tutorials are available upon request.]
"Later. I need to get out."
[Scanning environment. Detecting airflow… calculating potential exit path.]
A shimmering trail appeared—like a ribbon of light guiding him upward.
"Wait… how am I seeing this?"
[SENTINEL interface is now synced with Your Majesty's optical nerve. Visual data is projected directly to your retinas. Can be deactivated upon request.]
"No. Leave it on."
[Confirmed.]
"Anything else I need to collect?"
[POD ZERO-ONE has delivered all available assets.]
He secured the pack on his back. Heavy, but manageable. He tried calling on the Bright Dragon—his Emblem—but nothing answered. No heat. No glow. No wings.
Dormant.
The trail led upward—toward a cracked ceiling and a faint breeze. He studied the terrain, mapping footholds and cracks in the wall. Slowly, carefully, he began to climb.
Each movement was deliberate. Weak arms. Sore legs. But determination overruled pain.
Every few meters, he wedged himself into place, locking position with his back and legs, resting his arms.
Higher. Steadier.
The air changed subtly—fresher, warmer. Light filtered through.
And after nearly an hour—
Daylight.
He saw it.
A thin shaft of sunlight piercing through the rock.
A way out.
And maybe—just maybe—answers.
⁂
When Aren finally emerged from the narrow crevice, the sudden rush of fresh air hit his lungs like an unexpected storm. His body, still weak and trembling from exhaustion, gave out beneath him almost immediately. He dropped the heavy backpack onto the cracked earth and collapsed onto his back, staring up at the fractured sky through the scattered canopy.
His breath came in ragged gasps, each inhale sharp and shallow as if his lungs were unfamiliar with the taste of freedom. For a long minute, he lay there, feeling the cool, rough dirt beneath him, grounding him, reminding him he was alive—somehow.
Gradually, his breath slowed, steadied. He pushed himself up onto one elbow, then carefully rolled to his side before sitting fully upright. The weight of his pack dug into his back as he adjusted it, muscles aching from both effort and disuse.
He looked around, taking in the world that greeted him—not the polished marble halls of the palace, nor the intricate tapestries of his chambers. No grandeur here. Instead, towering trees with splintered trunks rose against a sky clouded by the lingering haze of dust and ash. Branches swayed unevenly in the weak breeze, some shattered or fallen, their leaves brown and brittle.
The earth beneath him was torn apart. Deep cracks, like open wounds, marred the landscape in jagged lines. The one he'd just climbed through was barely a sliver compared to others, wide chasms splitting the ground like gaping mouths.
"The earthquake you mentioned before…" Aren muttered, voice hoarse, still tinged with disbelief. "…That must have caused all this destruction."
[Affirmative. The seismic event was of a high magnitude. Aftershocks have subsided for now, Your Majesty, but further activity cannot be entirely ruled out.]
His eyes narrowed, scanning the horizon. "You've got a strong sensor then. But… where are we exactly? This doesn't look like anywhere I've ever seen in Valoria."
[Regrettably, the mapping database was compromised during your incapacitation. The current location is outside known territories, and system data is insufficient for precise identification.]
A heavy silence settled between them. Aren's mind flickered back to the stories his father used to tell—tales of wild adventures and hidden places beyond the reach of the royal court. His father had been a man of the world, someone who'd survived harsh lands and learned the art of endurance, teaching Aren to trust both his instincts and his wit.
Those lessons, once distant memories, now felt vital. Survival depended on moving forward, even if the way was uncertain.
"Can you start creating a new map from scratch?" Aren asked, voice steadier now, the spark of determination flickering in his eyes. "I want to track our progress. Wherever this place is, we're going to have to explore it—step by step. Until we find out where we are, and maybe… find a way back home. If home is still waiting."
[Request acknowledged. SENTINEL is initializing a new mapping file. Data collection in progress.]
The soft glow of the bracelet pulsed faintly, casting a pale light on the forest floor. Aren stood, brushing a lock of damp hair behind his ear, and tightened the straps on his pack. The weight was heavy, but manageable—an anchor in the unknown.
He took a deep breath, tasting the mix of damp earth, pine, and faint smoke in the air, then stepped forward. Each movement was slow but purposeful, gathering strength with every stride. His eyes darted from tree to tree, searching for signs—broken branches, footprints, anything that might tell a story.
The forest was alive, but eerie in its silence. Bird calls echoed faintly, but there was no sound of human life, no distant voices or signs of civilization. The cracked earth beneath his boots whispered of devastation, but also of resilience.
Aren's mind raced with questions, but there was only one clear resolve: to find answers, to reclaim his identity, and to survive whatever this place had thrown at him.
With SENTINEL guiding his way and his father's teachings steadying his heart, he pressed on into the wilderness, hoping that beyond the shadows, a path home still waited to be found.