Chapter 0:
Prologue— "You must not give up," said the blind man
Heart: Teleported to another world— Great, now I'll live a life full of success and dreams!
Walking slowly among the dense and twisted shadows of the cave, their fingers slide and tap sideways against the wet and rough rocks, the sluggish and uncoordinated movements a clear sign of accumulated tiredness and stress that presses on their shoulders like a heavy blanket. Each contact with the wall is a small jolt that reverberates up to their elbows, and in some spots, the cold rock makes their wrist twitch slightly.
The sword, fastened with a thick and worn leather strap at their right hip, sways gently with each step that sinks into the uneven earth and gravel floor. The polished metal of the pommel brushing lightly against their thigh each time they move forward, emitting a quiet rustle against the fabric of their pants. The tip of the blade occasionally scrapes against a protruding stone, leaving a faint mark before swinging back in time with their stride.
The torch in their left hand rises and falls with the tired rhythm of their steps, casting lights and shadows that dance and stretch across the rough walls, painting the remaining path in amber and black flashes. The air thick with dirt and fine dust clings to their face, settling on their cheeks and eyelashes, forcing them to breathe through their mouth in short inhalations that tickle their throat. The flame's smoke spirals upward before vanishing into the tunnel's upper darkness.
Their throat burns with each dry swallow they attempt, as if they had swallowed hot sand, and their nostrils are completely swollen, blocked by the dust that has accumulated in their passages and hardened with the moisture of their breath. Every time they breathe through their nose, they feel a sharp pain that makes them frown, and they struggle to distinguish the scents of the place beyond the metallic taste of earth.
The white sneakers, which used to look immaculate even after long trips over stony paths, now bear dark stains of packed dirt and sticky mud between the seams and on the sole. The original color is barely discernible on some edges, and the tips are worn down from constant contact with sharp stones, looking faded and dull despite having barely been worn since they put them on that morning. A small twig has caught in the right sole, tapping silently against the ground with each step.
An almost cynical smile curves on their dry and chapped lips, pulling the dry skin of their cheeks into small folds around their mouth. It is not a smile of joy, but rather one of resignation, as they keep moving forward without stopping, even when a small slip on a patch of mud makes them veer their step for a moment.
???: [——You must not get angry. Everything will be fine. You must not get angry. Everything will be fine. You must not get angry. Everything will be fine... You must not get angry. Everything will be fine. You must not get angry. Everything will be fine. You must not get angry. Everything will be fine...]
Repeating the words in a hoarse whisper that quickly fades into the cave's damp echo, the smile gradually fades away, replaced by a facial tension that reveals their deep exhaustion. Their jaws clench without them realizing it, and their eyebrows furrow in a broken line as thoughts spin round and round in their head like an endless cycle.
???: [——The temperature is dropping...]
They murmur softly, so quietly they can barely hear themselves, slowly leaning to rest their back against the cold rock wall. The contact makes them shiver, but it eases the pain throbbing in their lower back a little. They run their tongue over their lips before spitting out a small amount of dark, thick blood that falls with a quiet plop onto the dusty ground, forming a small reddish stain that slowly spreads.
(«I cannot get sick... Heroes must be invincible»)
Their thoughts resonate in their head with the force of a silent shout, conveying a warm impulse that allows them to straighten their posture with effort and continue forward. They close their eyes for a moment, gathering all their strength, and grip the torch's handle more tightly, feeling the heat of the burnt wood in their fingers.
Even as their legs tremble under their own weight, too tired to maintain their earlier steady pace, and their muscles cry out for rest. Every movement is a conscious effort, every step requires concentration to avoid tripping over the multiple obstacles that lie in their path: rounded stones, puddles of stagnant water that reflect the torchlight like small black mirrors, and tree roots that have made their way through the tunnel's ceiling until they tangle in the ground.
Seconds drag by in the cold and stifling space, where the air seems increasingly scarce and the echo of their own steps is the only sound that breaks the heavy silence. Time seems to stand still in the darkness, until they finally reach a new section where the tunnel splits into two separate paths, each as dark and unknown as the one they have traveled so far. The central wall that divides them is marked with ancient streaks, as if someone had tried to carve symbols into the rock.
Suddenly, a gust of freezing wind bursts forcefully from the left path, lashing directly at the torch with a sound like tearing fabric. The flame, steady until then, flickers violently, weakening until it shrinks to a small orange dot fighting to stay lit. The air carries with it a smell of ice and wet earth, and makes the hair on the back of their neck stand on end.
—¡Sssshhh-pff!—
The flame goes out completely with the final blast of air, plunging them into absolute darkness in an instant. The only remaining light is the faint luminescence of some mushrooms growing in the dampest corners of the wall, a pale green glow that barely manages to show them the outlines of the two paths.
???: [—What...?]
They exclaim in a whisper full of surprise and alertness, moving the empty hand where the torch had been as if they could retrieve the light. At that moment, an overwhelming sensation of itching and burning irritates their eyes, making them squeeze their eyelids tightly and press their fingers against them to soothe the discomfort. The cold air has carried fine particles that have settled in their eyes, causing tearing and difficulty seeing.
—¡Ack!—
A harsh, dry cough wracks their chest with such force that it bends them over at the waist, coming from their irritated, dust-filled throat. Each jolt hurts their chest and back, and they have to hold onto the central wall with both hands to support their weak body as they try to catch their breath, gasping with their mouth open. Tears mixed with dust leave dirty streaks on their cheeks.
Both paths stretch out before them in the twilight, and neither will give them time to stop and rest. The wind continues to blow gently through the left one, while the right one remains still and silent, as if waiting patiently for them to make a decision. Their breathing finally calms down, but tiredness still weighs on them like a yoke, as they look from one path to the other trying to decide which one to take.
The sword, fastened with a thick and worn leather strap at their right hip, sways gently with each step that sinks into the uneven earth and gravel floor. The polished metal of the pommel brushing lightly against their thigh each time they move forward, emitting a quiet rustle against the fabric of their pants. The tip of the blade occasionally scrapes against a protruding stone, leaving a faint mark before swinging back in time with their stride.
The torch in their left hand rises and falls with the tired rhythm of their steps, casting lights and shadows that dance and stretch across the rough walls, painting the remaining path in amber and black flashes. The air thick with dirt and fine dust clings to their face, settling on their cheeks and eyelashes, forcing them to breathe through their mouth in short inhalations that tickle their throat. The flame's smoke spirals upward before vanishing into the tunnel's upper darkness.
Their throat burns with each dry swallow they attempt, as if they had swallowed hot sand, and their nostrils are completely swollen, blocked by the dust that has accumulated in their passages and hardened with the moisture of their breath. Every time they breathe through their nose, they feel a sharp pain that makes them frown, and they struggle to distinguish the scents of the place beyond the metallic taste of earth.
The white sneakers, which used to look immaculate even after long trips over stony paths, now bear dark stains of packed dirt and sticky mud between the seams and on the sole. The original color is barely discernible on some edges, and the tips are worn down from constant contact with sharp stones, looking faded and dull despite having barely been worn since they put them on that morning. A small twig has caught in the right sole, tapping silently against the ground with each step.
An almost cynical smile curves on their dry and chapped lips, pulling the dry skin of their cheeks into small folds around their mouth. It is not a smile of joy, but rather one of resignation, as they keep moving forward without stopping, even when a small slip on a patch of mud makes them veer their step for a moment.
???: [——You must not get angry. Everything will be fine. You must not get angry. Everything will be fine. You must not get angry. Everything will be fine... You must not get angry. Everything will be fine. You must not get angry. Everything will be fine. You must not get angry. Everything will be fine...]
Repeating the words in a hoarse whisper that quickly fades into the cave's damp echo, the smile gradually fades away, replaced by a facial tension that reveals their deep exhaustion. Their jaws clench without them realizing it, and their eyebrows furrow in a broken line as thoughts spin round and round in their head like an endless cycle.
???: [——The temperature is dropping...]
They murmur softly, so quietly they can barely hear themselves, slowly leaning to rest their back against the cold rock wall. The contact makes them shiver, but it eases the pain throbbing in their lower back a little. They run their tongue over their lips before spitting out a small amount of dark, thick blood that falls with a quiet plop onto the dusty ground, forming a small reddish stain that slowly spreads.
(«I cannot get sick... Heroes must be invincible»)
Their thoughts resonate in their head with the force of a silent shout, conveying a warm impulse that allows them to straighten their posture with effort and continue forward. They close their eyes for a moment, gathering all their strength, and grip the torch's handle more tightly, feeling the heat of the burnt wood in their fingers.
Even as their legs tremble under their own weight, too tired to maintain their earlier steady pace, and their muscles cry out for rest. Every movement is a conscious effort, every step requires concentration to avoid tripping over the multiple obstacles that lie in their path: rounded stones, puddles of stagnant water that reflect the torchlight like small black mirrors, and tree roots that have made their way through the tunnel's ceiling until they tangle in the ground.
Seconds drag by in the cold and stifling space, where the air seems increasingly scarce and the echo of their own steps is the only sound that breaks the heavy silence. Time seems to stand still in the darkness, until they finally reach a new section where the tunnel splits into two separate paths, each as dark and unknown as the one they have traveled so far. The central wall that divides them is marked with ancient streaks, as if someone had tried to carve symbols into the rock.
Suddenly, a gust of freezing wind bursts forcefully from the left path, lashing directly at the torch with a sound like tearing fabric. The flame, steady until then, flickers violently, weakening until it shrinks to a small orange dot fighting to stay lit. The air carries with it a smell of ice and wet earth, and makes the hair on the back of their neck stand on end.
—¡Sssshhh-pff!—
The flame goes out completely with the final blast of air, plunging them into absolute darkness in an instant. The only remaining light is the faint luminescence of some mushrooms growing in the dampest corners of the wall, a pale green glow that barely manages to show them the outlines of the two paths.
???: [—What...?]
They exclaim in a whisper full of surprise and alertness, moving the empty hand where the torch had been as if they could retrieve the light. At that moment, an overwhelming sensation of itching and burning irritates their eyes, making them squeeze their eyelids tightly and press their fingers against them to soothe the discomfort. The cold air has carried fine particles that have settled in their eyes, causing tearing and difficulty seeing.
—¡Ack!—
A harsh, dry cough wracks their chest with such force that it bends them over at the waist, coming from their irritated, dust-filled throat. Each jolt hurts their chest and back, and they have to hold onto the central wall with both hands to support their weak body as they try to catch their breath, gasping with their mouth open. Tears mixed with dust leave dirty streaks on their cheeks.
Both paths stretch out before them in the twilight, and neither will give them time to stop and rest. The wind continues to blow gently through the left one, while the right one remains still and silent, as if waiting patiently for them to make a decision. Their breathing finally calms down, but tiredness still weighs on them like a yoke, as they look from one path to the other trying to decide which one to take.
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