Chapter 1: A Memory That Wasn’t Mine

(Absolute silence)

"I... I feel like I'm forgetting something. What is this feeling...?"

A warmth lingered in his chest. Not light, but internal—a flicker. A whisper. A pulse.

"Is this... a memory?"

There was nothing around him. No floor. No ceiling. Just a white void—like the silence before a film begins. Even though he was aware that he was surrounded by nothing and couldn't sense himself as anything, he perceived images around him: shades trying to form, imprisoned in unbeing.

And then he saw them.

Shards.

Floating fragments, glinting faintly like glass. Pieces of something broken—something that once mattered.

He moved toward one, pulled by instinct.

In the shard's reflection, he saw himself: about 1.85 meters tall, curly brown hair, a beard, square glasses on a softly rounded white face (slightly pale, though it could tan). Not athletic—a bit of a belly—but unmistakably him.

"I am... Theodore."

The name landed in his mind like a pebble in a still lake. No answers. Just a ripple of recognition.

The shard flickered.

Glowing lips. Half a face. A warmth that pierced through the numbness. Even though he couldn’t remember, he felt a tear run down his cheek.

"Who is she?"

The moment he asked, the world tilted—

And he fell into the memory.

There was no time. Only sensation.

He watched his life play out like a film he couldn’t stop—fast-forwarded, external, hollow.

A childhood full of color. Then adolescence. Dull. Dim.

Joy faded. The world grew quieter. Smaller. He had never quite belonged. He couldn't point to specific memories to explain it—just a timeline of feelings.

Then—age 27. Finishing a degree he didn’t care about to please his parents. Working in an office he didn’t believe in, just to move out. A tiny apartment. Thin walls. Neighbors who hated everything.

He tried to cook. Tried to socialize. Tried to feel. But everything tasted like cardboard.

He watched others enjoy life and felt like he was missing something—like he was experiencing life the wrong way.

Until... she smiled.

His coworker.

That smile broke through the fog. A coffee break. Laughter. A horror movie. Her hand grabbing his arm.

Moments—tiny, perfect moments.

Time slowed.

A picnic in the park. Her beautiful smile, glowing lips painted in pink balm. Her skin slightly whiter than usual. Tiny, thin lips parting to speak:

"I love you," she said.

Theodore stopped remembering and actually experienced that moment. He lived it as if it had never happened.

The same teardrop from earlier rolled down his cheek.

He cried because his hurting life started to feel like the past.

And he felt like the future could be better.

The decaying light of his youth came back even stronger. He leaned in. Their lips met. Light as wind.

It flooded his body with something he couldn’t name. He had kissed before, or thought he had loved before. But this felt like every cell in his body experienced calm, warmth, desire, hype, trust, confidence, a tingle, a juicy flavor that made him feel floaty—lighter than air.

Chains around his chest he hadn’t noticed shattered and dissolved as he cried through the kiss.

Was this... love?

But then—a shift.

He realized he couldn't remember her eyes. Or any detail beyond what he'd just witnessed.

If I forgot her... did she ever really exist? Did I love her?

Confusion struck. Despite the overwhelming pleasure, his awareness returned. He reached to hold her again.

Too small.

Too cold.

Too solid.

His hand gripped something metallic. His other arm curled around a compact back—firm and muscular, not soft.

The warmth vanished.

The memory shattered.

He blinked—

And opened his eyes.

The girl he was kissing wasn’t her.

She was much shorter—barely 1.30 meters.

Her lips were still puckered, mid-motion.

Her skin was almost as dark as the coffee they'd shared on their first date. A scar ran across her face, starting from just under her right eye, stretching diagonally toward her ear before dipping sharply. The topmost groove sat two fingers below her eye; the next two cuts followed the curve of her cheek, reaching almost to the edge of her lips. The skin beneath was paler, nearly white, a stark contrast against her dark complexion. The three slashes looked almost like a tiger's mark, though Theodore had never seen a tiger wound before.

Theodore’s gaze followed those scars, involuntarily tracing the way they pointed to the sharp edges of her lips.

His first thought was, She looks beautiful.

That thought made him blush.

He looked further.

She had no breasts. He panicked. Was she underage?

But then he noticed: her body was alien. Her proportions off. A huge ass—three times the size of her head. No waist. Thin limbs beyond human limits.

Her face, on closer inspection, was not childish. Her features were expressive, sharp, and mature.

She mumbled softly.

"Nuggor... Nuggor..."

The word felt strange. Foreign.

Yet... familiar. Intimate.

As if it had once been his name in another world.

She wasn’t human. Or at least, not the kind of human he was.

Theodore tried to piece things together.

She was still holding the kiss, lips reaching forward.

A thin thread of saliva stretched from her mouth to his.

His breath caught. Face burning.

What the hell is going on?

He stumbled back, heart racing, and ran.

Through hallways.

Down strange, spiraling stairs that curved sideways with their own gravity (that should have disoriented him—but didn’t).

"I need my phone. I need to check something. Anything. A photo. A message. A name. Maybe... a hospital?"

He reached the exit.

Cold wind slapped his face.

Thick fog blanketed everything.

He pushed through it. The mist curled away from his fingers like it was alive, fading into nothing at his touch.

And then he saw it.

His feet stopped. His breath caught.

Above him, beyond the clouds— Islands. Floating. In the sky.

Mountains curved in impossible angles. Spires of stone spiraled upward. Castles clung to undersides like barnacles. Rivers fell from their edges into nowhere.

Some were wrapped in vines, others shone with magic that pulsed like breath. Tiny figures moved between bridges suspended in mid-air. A world—layered, floating, alive.

He had no words. No thoughts. Only awe.

And the sharp, cold realization that he was standing at the edge of something immense. Something with no exit in sight.

A sky he couldn’t fall through. A ground he couldn’t return to.

And a voice in his head—not hers, not his—just sensation: “You can’t go back.”

Theodore stood still. And the fog closed behind him.