Arch 1: "Arrival at the new dawn."— Chapter 2: ""The unconscious is the one who wants to think."

His vision faded completely, as if he had been locked in a dark cave for countless miles and years—a void of blackness that seemed to stretch endlessly into eternity. He felt every sensation slowly leave his being: the cold of the tiled ground, the weight of his own body, the metallic taste of blood on his lips… everything faded away until the physical and emotional pain that had consumed his final moments in the alley slowly transformed into magnificent peace, so profound that nothing he had ever known could compare to it. Even the warmth of his blood, which had once heated his skin until it burned, was now a distant memory—a faint echo of a life that no longer belonged to him, left behind like a vestige of a world he could never return to.



Was that unconsciousness or death? A topic widely debated by philosophers, believers, and scientists since the dawn of humanity, always seeking answers about what happens after closing one’s eyes for the last time. Could death simply be the unconsciousness of the soul? A total blackout of all functions, an endless rest where there is no more suffering, no joy, no need to keep fighting. If that were true, those who fell in battle centuries ago—soldiers who faced swords and arrows on forgotten battlefields—are not simply “dead,” but merely sleeping and waiting through endless ages of existence, wrapped in absolute stillness, free from pain and any need to carry on. Like shutting down a computer never to turn its processor on again, preserving all data but with no way to access it.



But…



Just as his being seemed to have merged completely with that endless stillness, an overwhelming sensation arose in the place where his heart should have been—a central point of his existence that still beat in some unknown plane. It was as if something external, invisible and intangible, had silently slipped into his being to merge with his spiritual state, awakening his mind in a way he could not understand. He found himself then in an infinite empty space: there was no landscape, no sky, no ground; nor did a “him” exist in the physical and traditional sense of the word “being.” Only his consciousness remained, floating in a nothingness that was also everything.



(“What’s happening here?”)



His mind, still sharp despite the absence of a body to house it, was already considering every possibility he knew of between life and death. He thought of reincarnation theories, accounts of journeys to the afterlife, even the outlandish idea that “it was all a dream”—and each one could have seemed real in that strange context, where the rules governing the material world held no sway at all.



(“I can’t move…”)



His thoughts were simple but direct, focused on understanding where he was now and what had happened to him. In that moment, he felt something unique that could be called “consciousness” in its purest and simplest form: a recognition of himself that did not depend on senses or matter, only on the certainty that he existed.



The warm sensation that filled him completely—soul, existence, and what remained of his essence—seemed to fade briefly for a few seconds, as if dissolving into the void to merge with another presence. Yet at the same time, that “something” he was joining did not seem to be an existence in the traditional sense: it had no shape, no voice, no thoughts he could perceive, but he knew it was there.



(“This is… very strange”)



He cannot move in the infinite void; his body does not exist in this plane of existence, and there is nothing to touch, no space to traverse. Even his mind seems specially prepared to stay awake in that state that is both peaceful and overwhelming—like floating in the ocean in the middle of the night, with stars far above and water so calm it cannot be distinguished from the sky.



But he knew something about what was happening, even if he could not think clearly, as if a mental fog kept him from grasping full knowledge…



—Something was not entirely his own.



That feeling of fusion slowly faded away, like a tide receding and leaving wet sand behind. The union was not in the traditional physical and spiritual sense, where two beings become one; rather, everything that was him joined the external entity, merging like drops of water into a lake, becoming a single original being—different from what had existed before—in a process of unification with no apparent beginning or end.



At that moment, he felt as if something had stabbed him deep in his core—but not with pain, rather with a sense of perfect fit, as if a piece that had been missing forever had found its exact place inside his “body” at that precise instant. In short, it was like hiding a chocolate inside a stuffed toy: an object that fits perfectly, that becomes part of the whole without altering its outward appearance.



At that moment…



What remained of his conscious reasoning and his own identity faded rapidly, like a candle flame blown out by the wind, or like falling into a deep sleep from which he could never wake up. He was practically “unconscious,” at least if such an overwhelming yet gentle sensation can be called that—a state of rest where his memory and self seemed to have been stored in a safe place, waiting for the moment to emerge again.



△▼△▼△▼△



The same young man from the alley now lay in a strange forest, resting on a bed of dry leaves and fresh earth that brushed his face softly. What he had felt before—the void, the fusion, the profound peace—seemed like a distant dream or a kind of scattered illusion, as if he had gone to a party, gotten drunk until he lost track of time, and woken up the next day with a hangover, remembering only blurry fragments of what had happened.



(“My head hurts…”)



He murmured, slowly running a hand over his temple. The young man looked up at the night sky visible through the tree canopy: a truly beautiful sight, with thousands of bright stars adorning it like a poetic landscape—the kind humans should appreciate often but usually overlook amid the hustle and bustle of city life. Each star seemed larger and clearer than any he had ever seen before, as if he were observing them from much closer to the firmament.



???: [“Was I dreaming…?”]



He says, confused, moving his head from side to side as if trying to clear the fog covering his memory. Unable to recall exactly what happened earlier, he only senses an echo of fear and pain he cannot place. Even the thieves’ assault is quite blurry in his mind, as if something had placed a kind of emotional fog that keeps him from remembering the events clearly—only a vague memory of shadows, hands searching his pockets, and intense pain he no longer feels.



Moreover, his body had no wounds. As he ran his hands over his stomach, he felt the intact fabric of his red sweatshirt—no rips, no bloodstains. His face looked as expressionless as ever when he looked at his hands; his nose was perfectly healed, no swelling or pain, and even his clothes seemed to have been cleaned and ironed, as if they had never suffered any damage at all.



But if for a moment we set aside the young man from the alley and his current confusion, before us stands someone entirely ordinary…



Tsumiya Higeri is an ordinary person in the traditional sense of the word. He has a steady job as an office worker at a downtown company and even graduated from university with a degree in business administration—nothing extraordinary, but enough to make a living with dignity. While he does not stand out in life, nor does he have outstanding talents or achievements to admire, he can take care of himself: he pays his bills on time, keeps his apartment tidy, and takes care of his health as best he can.



—He is of average height for a man his age, with short black hair neatly styled in a military fashion—smooth, orderly, and with no adornments to make him stand out. Simply an ordinary person, the kind of individual who would easily go unnoticed in a crowd, even without many people around. He even has some muscle mass and is in good physical condition, the result of his weekend boxing routines and home workouts during the workweek, but he’s not that impressive compared to the others—he’s not a professional athlete or a bodybuilder who turns heads at the beach.



While his gaze may seem like that of a small-time thug with anger issues when he’s focused or upset, and his outward behavior seems dull and reserved in public, he is much calmer than he appears at first glance. He likes to spend his free afternoons reading science fiction books or watching nature documentaries, and he always tries to avoid trouble when he can—though he knows how to defend himself if necessary.



That is the kind of person Tsumiya Higeri is: someone with no outstanding talents or virtues, who works long hours simply to survive and keep a roof over his head, who navigates life without drawing attention and never imagined experiencing anything beyond his daily routine.



Tsumiya: [“—This doesn’t look like a normal forest… ‘Something’s wrong’ —The trees are strange…”]



He says quietly, with obvious confusion reflected in his eyes. Even his gaze, usually firm and intimidating when facing difficult situations, now shows deep mistrust of his surroundings. The trees surrounding him are taller and thicker than any species he has ever seen before; their trunks have strange shapes, with veins that seem to draw unknown symbols, and their leaves are not the usual green—instead they are purple and blue hues that glow faintly in the dark. He sighs wearily, placing his hands on the trunk of one of those trees—which is warm to the touch, unlike the cold wood he expected—and slowly pulls himself up using it for support. Now standing, he can breathe more easily and think a little more clearly, though confusion still lingers.



Tsumiya: [“—The air feels denser…”]



He says quietly, rubbing his nose as if trying to adjust to the sensation. Still confused about how he got here, but now feeling something like relief upon confirming he can move freely and that his body is intact. It seems he is still alive, even after everything he vaguely remembers happening in the alley—if that wasn’t just a disturbing dream.



Tsumiya: [“—At least I’m here. It was a pretty… strange dream.”]



He murmurs, his voice still tinged with caution. He glances quickly to both sides, scanning the nearby trees and plants carefully: the grass has strange shapes, with flowers that seem to open and close their petals to an invisible rhythm, and the ground is covered in small mushrooms that emit a soft yellow light. After observing his surroundings carefully, he decides to move slowly between the trees, looking for a path or some clue that will help him find a better place where he can understand what is happening.



The sound of moisture in the earth and dry leaves under his feet is constant, accompanying his soft steps with a rhythmic noise. His black athletic shoes leave clear marks in the damp ground as he occasionally dodges the trunks blocking his path, moving carefully to avoid tripping over roots that protrude from the ground like wooden snakes.



(“I don’t know where I am…”)



That thought flooded Tsumiya’s mind forcefully, making his pulse quicken a little more. The events were confusing and hard to understand; he had no idea how he had ended up here, in a silent and strange forest he did not recognize, feeling fear of the unknown and wariness of every shadow moving between the trees.



—He was lost.



—Shhh—



Suddenly, a different sound breaks the forest’s silence: the dry crackle of leaves moving in the bushes to his left, closer than he would like. It does not go unnoticed by Tsumiya, whose boxing training has taught him to be alert to any out-of-the-ordinary noise. The first thing he thinks of is a possible predator—the greatest fear of those who venture into unknown forests—imagining scenes from documentaries where a powerful lion stalks and easily kills a zebra, or a grizzly bear attacks without warning.



Tsumiya: [“—What…?”]



He whispers, with genuine caution now tensing his muscles. His pulse races instantly as adrenaline courses through his body, while he slowly backs away with his eyes fixed on the spot where the sound came from. As he takes a step back, his hand searches the ground for something he can use as a weapon, until he finds a dry branch—thick and hard, likely that way for months, with a sharp end that could serve as a defense. He picks it up firmly, gripping it tightly as he prepares to see what might be hiding there among the bushes.