Chapter 1 — Again
Silence.
The kind that presses against your ears and lungs like you've fallen underwater. No wind. No voices. No light.
Only black.
And then—
"I knew it."
"Ellian... again."
The voice isn't loud. It doesn't need to be. It reverberates through the nothingness like it's inside his head. Like it's always been there.
A sharp breath tears through his throat as his eyes shoot open.
Air.
Rough. Cold. Heavy with the scent of dust and something faintly metallic.
Ellian jolts upright, his fingers digging into the dirt. His body tenses on instinct—like he's waking from a nightmare that hasn't ended yet. But the worst part isn't the fear. It's the emptiness.
He doesn't know where he is.
He doesn't know why he's here.
He doesn't even know who he is.
Except...
"Ellian."
That name. It's all he has.
He stays still for a moment, heart pounding in his ears. Slowly, his eyes begin to adjust.
He's lying in a field.
Endless grass stretches into the distance in every direction, swaying gently under the weight of the night. No stars at first—just black sky pressing down on him. But then, faintly, specks of red shimmer around him. Small, slow-moving particles—dark crimson, almost like ashes.
They hover around his body.
He blinks, and the particles begin to dissolve, fading one by one, until nothing remains.
His hands are dirty, fingernails caked with dried mud. His clothes are intact but stained, covered in dust and earth. A long black scarf coils loosely around his neck like a shadow refusing to leave.
He pushes himself to his feet. Pain shoots through his limbs—raw and deep. It feels like he's been lying there for hours, maybe days. Muscles aching, joints stiff.
Above him, the sky clears. Stars shimmer through the black canvas, but one of them glows brighter than the rest. Pale silver. Almost unnaturally bright.
He stares at it for a moment, then exhales.
"What… is this place?" he murmurs aloud. His voice sounds real. His language is real. But that only unsettles him more. If he doesn't remember anything—how does he know how to speak?
How does he know what stars are?
He looks around again.
Nothing but field. No trees. No roads. No sounds. Just wind brushing against grass like a whisper. But in the far distance—
A signpost.
It's tilted, old, sticking out of the ground like it's been there far too long. Faintly lit by moonlight.
He begins to walk.
Each step is agony. Legs heavy. Chest tight. His feet drag, barely lifting from the dirt. The silence isn't peaceful—it's loud. Deafening.
As he moves, the chill settles in. The scarf does little to help. The ground feels uneven, littered with dips and dry patches. He stumbles once, falling to one knee. Pain flares through his side.
"Damn it…" he groans, voice trembling. "Where am I?"
His fingers curl into the dirt before he forces himself up again.
He reaches the signpost.
On the crooked wooden board, painted in fading white letters, are the words:
"Seriously?! Here we go again..."
He reads them out loud, stunned for a second that he can. He understands every word perfectly. But the meaning—
"What... does that mean?"
He doesn't know. But something in his chest tightens.
At the base of the sign, something glints in the grass.
A bracelet.
Dark purple, smooth metal, simple design. He picks it up. There's an inscription carved into it:
587
0
★
The star symbol shines faintly under the moonlight.
He stares at it. Doesn't recognize it. Doesn't understand it.
But he slips it into his pocket anyway.
He turns. The field stretches endlessly behind him, the same as in front. No sign of direction. But staying still feels worse than walking. So he keeps going. Away from the sign. Into the unknown.
Time passes. Minutes? Hours? He can't tell.
His body burns. Muscles aching more with every step. But he keeps walking until something flickers in the distance.
A figure.
His heart jumps.
A person.
He quickens his pace, limping forward. As he draws closer, he sees—it's a girl. Around his age. Standing near a small, worn-down house. She's holding a magazine, wearing what looks like sleepwear: a large T-shirt and shorts. Her hair tied up. She hasn't noticed him yet.
He lifts a hand, his voice hoarse.
"Hey! Wait—hello! Excuse me—"
She turns sharply.
Her eyes widen.
She backs away. And pulls out a knife.
"Who the hell are you?" she shouts. "How did you get here?!"
Ellian stops in his tracks. Hands raised.
"I—I don't know," he stammers. "I swear, I don't remember anything. Just my name."
"Yeah, right," she growls, eyes narrowing. "You think I'm stupid? Nobody just wanders into these fields. Nobody."
"I'm telling the truth. I woke up here, that's all. I don't even know where 'here' is."
She hesitates. Doesn't lower the knife.
"Then what's your name?"
"Ellian."
"Okay, Ellian," she snaps. "If you lost all your memories, how do you even know how to talk? How to walk? How to read?"
He goes quiet.
She scoffs. "Exactly."
"I... don't know," he whispers. "I just do."
She stares at him for a long second. Then sighs and mutters, "This makes no damn sense."
He tries again. "Please. I don't want anything. I just need to know where I am. And how to leave."
She watches him, then glances to the side.
"You're in the Mita Fields."
"Mita...?"
"Yeah. Good luck getting out."
"Can you show me? I'll go. I swear, I'll leave right away."
She opens her mouth to reply—but a door creaks behind her.
An old man steps out of the house, carrying a shotgun. His eyes meet Ellian's and—without hesitation—he pulls the trigger.
A flash. A thunderous bang.
Pain.
Ellian's world explodes in red. Something slams into his gut and he collapses to the ground, choking, trembling. Blood stains his shirt instantly.
He hears her scream.
"Grandpa, what are you doing?! He's just a kid!"
"No one just appears here," the old man growls. "You know the rules."
Ellian's vision spins.
The world is dark again.
"Again..."
The voice returns. Distant. Familiar.
And everything fades.
---
He wakes to light. Dim and warm.
Canvas overhead.
A room?
The air smells like herbs, antiseptic, and something sweet—tea?
He sits up quickly—and pain stabs through his stomach.
He collapses back with a hiss. The wound burns like fire.
He's bandaged. Fresh sheets beneath him. He's alive.
"How… am I not dead?"
A door opens. A girl walks in—early twenties, tall, long black hair, slim build. A doctor, probably.
She doesn't look surprised to see him awake.
"Don't move too much," she says, setting down a cup. "You're lucky to be alive."
She turns to leave. As she does, she mutters under her breath:
"How did he survive that...?"
Ellian hears her.
His eyes narrow.
"How did I survive...?"
He forces himself up slowly. Painfully. Every muscle protests, but he pushes through. He walks to the small mirror in the corner of the tent.
His reflection stares back.
Sixteen, maybe. Tall for his age. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Pale. There's a hollowness in his expression, like something's missing beneath the surface.
The clothes he woke up in are clean and folded on a chair. He's wearing hospital clothes now.
He grips the edge of the table.
"No memories. No answers. But I can read. Speak. Think. Know what medicine smells like. What kind of joke is this?"
The door opens again.
The same doctor enters with a clipboard. She sits beside his bed, eyes calm but sharp.
"Someone dropped you off here. No name, no explanation. Then left."
Ellian blinks. "Who?"
"No idea. They didn't speak. Just left you at the camp."
She pauses.
"I need your details for the report."
He stays quiet.
Then: "I don't remember anything. Except my name."
She frowns. "Still disoriented from the anesthetic?"
"No. I mean it."
She studies him. Writes something down.
Then asks, "Do you remember what happened before you got here?"
Ellian tells her everything. The field. The girl. The sign. The old man. The gunshot.
Her pen freezes. She looks up.
"You… were in those fields?"
He nods.
She leans back.
"Damn. How are you even alive...?"
He swallows. "Where is this place?"
But she waves the question off.
"Can't say. And we can't file any complaint or start any investigation. You entered the fields on your own. Which technically means no one broke any law."
She sighs.
"But you're alive. So rest."
She stands, starts to leave.
He leans back onto the bed. Exhaustion crashes into him like a wave.
Everything fades again.
Darkness.
Then the voice returns. Soft. Familiar. Echoing across time.
"So it's you…?"
And silence.