Everything is dark. My eyes stay clamped shut, sealed like a vault I can’t crack. Cold air skims my skin. An itch flares in my nose; I squirm. When I finally pry my eyes open, the first thing I see is the tent roof: drab canvas pocked with holes, starlight bleeding through like tiny silver wounds.


    Gomar’s snoring grates like splintering wood. But there is another sound—subtle, like someone holding back laughter. That sound makes me turn to the side. My eyes snap open as I see a dwarfish man standing between me and Gomar. His black robe sweeps the ground, his red hair hanging down to mingle with his long beard. His mouth grins wide, saliva dripping slowly to the ground in wet stains. His eyes are large and sharp, as if they could pierce my soul.


    “Welcome, The Chosen One,” he rasps, voice a hoarse whisper laced with giggles.


    I want to scream, but my voice vanishes like smoke swept away by the wind. My breath is heavy, my chest rises and falls erratically. My heart pounds hard, as if it wants to burst out. My thoughts spin, like a wheel losing control.


    Is this a dream? Or reality? I don’t know. Then he calls me ‘The Chosen One” Does he know something about me? Who is this person?


    “Oh… looks like this little man startled you? My apologies. You can call me Mr. Small. But don''t call me a dwarf,” he says, still grinning in a way that makes my hair stand on end.


    His words echo in my head, like whispers directly into my mind. Is he using some kind of spirit language? Does he know Poma? Questions rage in my brain, deepening my confusion.


    “I only came to greet you. Lucky for me you finally left that old hag’s place. It will be very interesting to see The Chosen One reappear. What kind of world upheaval will you create?” the strange man asks, leaning closer. A faint, pungent fishy smell wafts from him as his tangled hair brushes my face—like rotten fish left too long in the sun.


    I recoil slightly, trying to get away from his smell that makes my stomach queasy. But his words just confuse me more. He called Poma “old hag”? Do they know each other? And what does he mean by “world upheaval”? I didn''t even think about doing that. Besides, I just want to live normally. What’s my connection to all this?


    “Foolish me… looks like I’m just talking to myself. Now you can speak,” the dwarfish man adds, his grin widening like a rat scenting food.


    My voice returns slowly, like a blocked stream suddenly gushing. I shout, hoping Aliyah or Roka will wake. Maybe their presence would make this stranger leave?


    “What do you want from me?!” My voice echoes off the tent walls.


    No answer. Mr. Small shakes his head, beard swaying like twigs in wind.


    “Did that old hag not teach you anything? If you want to drag these kids in and hope they can scare me, you are very wrong. If I had ill intentions, I could easily finish off these companions of yours and leave you alone. But that wouldn''t be interesting, would it? Or do you prefer to drag them down with you?” he retorts in an arrogant tone; his eyes narrow like sharp knives.


    His words pierce my ears, making my blood boil. My breath starts to shorten, but I try to calm myself.


    “Then what do you want?” I ask again, this time in a soft voice, almost a whisper.


    The man is silent for a moment, then laughs coldly, his laughter like rusty iron being scraped.


    “Are you stupid or what? I already said I just want to greet you and ask what you intend to do. Do you not understand?” he retorts in an even more annoying tone, making me want to punch his grinning, oversized face.


    “I just want to live normally. Does that satisfy your curiosity?” My voice trembles, thin as a reed in a storm. My past life was a swamp of anxiety; I won’t let this one sink deeper.


    “Foolish… So, the hag didn’t tell you. Did she want you to die? Or…” He leans closer, breath a soft hiss in the dark. “Is there another reason?”


    Poma wants me to die? If that’s true, why did she bother saving my life twice? Unless… unless my choice to live quietly is why she stays silent. However, how important is this information that I don’t yet know?


    “What do you mean? Is there something I need to know?” I ask, confusion thick in my voice.


    Mr. Small shakes his head again. This time, his expression turns grave, his eyes sharpening like an eagle’s gaze fixed on its prey. His breathing grows audible in the stillness of the night—soft but deliberate.


    “I’ll leave you with a question. Remember it, never forget it. Are you even human? Until you answer that, you’ll never grasp why I call your choice so foolish.”


    A philosophical question. Human? Of course, I’m human. What else would I be? With his strange posture, isn’t he the one who looks non-human? As far as I know, I’m still painfully ordinary man. Still, I keep the thought to myself, unspoken.


    Maybe when there’s another chance, I’ll ask Poma about this. Perhaps there will come a time when I must know this crucial information that currently eludes me. For now, though, I can use Mr. Small to pry out some answers.


    “What does it mean? Can you explain?” I ask, trying to look pitiful to appear more convincing.


    But the dwarfish man just laughs. With a hoarse, broken sound like a shattered orchestra tuning up. Then he slaps my face, gentle yet rough, his small hand striking like a jagged stone.


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    “You are the one who has to find out for yourself. I’ll be watching you from afar. This is going to be an interesting show!” he says, laughing broadly as his fishy breath wafts over me—sharp and putrid, like rotten fish left too long in the sun.


    I don’t understand what he means by “watching.” Will he stalk me everywhere? The thought alone makes my skin crawl.


    “Before I go, I want to say this: Be careful with people from the west. If they discover who you really are, they’ll hunt you down and skin you alive. You’re lucky to have met that old hag and me. Another time, under different circumstances, both you and those around you would suffer and even killed.” he explains, then slowly turns and leaves the tent.


    Just before vanishing into the night, he shouts, “Welcome to this grand chess game. Where gods devour each other, and humans are nothing more than transactional tools.” Then he’s gone, swallowed by the darkness.


    I still have so many questions. My head feels too full to process everything. What does he mean by “grand chess game”? Gods devouring each other? Humans as tools?


    “Hey, wait a minute!” I shout, but as the words leave my mouth, my head feels like it’s been struck by a hammer. The ground spins beneath me, and strange whispering sounds echo in my ears. Like a wind carrying thousands of voices. Something calls to me… greets me… approaches me…


    “Damn it, what’s happening?” I mutter, jerking back as if struck in the chest.


    My body grows unbearably hot, like a stove on the verge of exploding. My stomach churns violently, and the voices grow louder and deafening, like a loudspeaker pressed against my ears. I can’t make sense of them, only a chaotic roar slamming into my mind.


    Yes, this voice is a call… A call of madness…


    My strength fades, and as I begin to lose consciousness, my body jolts as if electrocuted. My eyes snap open wide, like waking from a nightmare. My clothes are drenched in sweat, and when I touch my nose, my hand comes away wet with blood flowing heavily from both nostrils. The metallic tang stings my nose, making me nauseous.


    Meanwhile, Gomar, Aliyah, and Asel remain asleep, their breathing steady as though nothing has happened. The strange voices vanish as suddenly as I open my eyes, leaving my body hot like fresh meat off the grill. My breath is heavy and painful, each inhale feeling like needles piercing my lungs.


    I pinch my nose to stop the bleeding, but blood keeps seeping, soaking my hands crimson. From outside the tent, Roka peeks in, his eyes narrowing as he takes in my disarray. He quickly wakes Aliyah. Their movements are swift, but Gomar continues to snore loudly, like a broken old machine.


    That morning, Aliyah and Asel help me treat my nose, which refuses to stop bleeding. The cloths they use to clean the blood quickly turn dark red. My clothes are already sticky with blood stains, cold against my skin.


    After the bleeding finally stops, my body feels empty and limp, like a cloth doll without stuffing. Roka offers me his clothes to replace my blood-soaked ones. They’re too big for me, the sleeves dangling over my hands. Once I change, everything returns to normal, and morning greets us again.


    My body still weak, I sit beside the dying fire while the others tidy up the tent and prepare breakfast. My mind is blank, struggling to process what happened last night. Was it real? Or just a dream? The image of Mr. Small’s grotesque grin lingers in my thoughts.


    After last night’s bizarre encounter, I find it hard to distinguish between dream and reality. Is this what schizophrenia feels like? It’s terrifying.


    While Aliyah sits beside me, her hands busy crushing green leaves and dry twigs. She pours water into a small bowl and whispers a soft mantra. The sound of crumpling leaves is sharp, like paper tearing slowly. Once done, she asks Roka to pour the concoction into a wooden bowl and hands it to me.


    “This will make you feel a little better,” Aliyah says, smiling. Sweat trickles down her forehead, glistening in the morning light.


    Watching her work so hard despite her blindness makes me feel like a burden. She never lets her condition hold her back, always trying to help as much as she can, even when her limitations complicate things. Meanwhile, I’m here, useless, unable to contribute. Is this what people mean by “Life will revolve in the same place”? Once a burden, always a burden? I begin to doubt whether this second life of mine will improve.


    In the midst of my thoughts, Aliyah leans closer. “Are you alright?” she asks, her voice soft but laced with worry. Her face is somber, perhaps because I’ve been too quiet.


    “I’m alright. Just need to rest,” I reply, forcing a smile. I lift the herbal bowl slowly and drink. A bitter taste stings my tongue, the heat traveling down my throat like embers. I wince, nearly choking.


    “If something’s wrong, just say so. Me and the others will do everything we can to help you,” Aliyah says, her unseeing eyes fixed on me with unwavering concern.


    I nod and assure her it’s okay, hoping to ease her worries.


    After that, we have breakfast. This time, it’s a dish similar to a salad, with fresh green leaves of some kind I can’t identify. There are also large yellowish-brown tubers diced by Roka and Gomar. The insides are golden yellow, like potatoes, and a faint minty aroma wafts from the white sauce drizzled on top.


    The taste isn’t as bad as I imagined. The leaves are grassy but refreshing, the sweet chunks of tuber reminiscent of sugary potatoes, and the mint sauce leaves a cool sensation in my mouth. A strange combination, but at least this time, I can eat without feeling nauseous.


    Once breakfast is done, everyone hurries to continue the journey. Roka and Gomar carry large burlap sacks filled with belongings, while Asel hauls heavy equipment—mortar, wood, and tent cloth. I help Aliyah walk by holding her hand. At first, it feels odd, almost like a scene from a romance movie, but eventually. I grow accustomed to it.


    Occasionally, we talk along the way—about small things, or my thoughts on this new world. What’s unique is how curious Aliyah seems about my original world, though she avoids the topic unless I bring it up. It’s as if she fears the conversation might make me sad by forcing me to reminisce about the past.


    The place I once called home…


    t was dirty, polluted, and society is overrun by individualism and materialism. Which is truly pathetic. So, I’m not sure if there’s anything I miss about Earth. Maybe just the people closest to me. If I’d known I’d end up trapped here, I would’ve visited Father and Ellen’s graves one last time. That regret might linger as long as I live in this world.


    In the middle of the peaceful journey, bursts of clear laughter occasionally break the silence. Footsteps crunch softly on the dry ground, like dry leaves being crushed. But everything changes when that sound returns—a soft whisper that slowly morphs into a drawn-out scream piercing the air. My ears feel stabbed by needles; the sound is so loud it feels like they’ll explode.


    I stop instantly, covering my ears with both hands, trying to muffle the increasingly maddening roar. Aliyah, who had been walking beside me, stops too. She turns toward me, then shouts to Roka, Gomar, and Asel ahead. Their footsteps cease, but the strange whisper grows louder, echoing like a wild wind slicing through eardrums.


    Between the screams, I faintly hear Aliyah’s voice, tense and urgent.


    “Close your eyes! Close your eyes!”


    Without hesitation, following Aliyah''s words. My eyes clamp shut, and my breath grows heavy, like a stone pressing on my chest. I don’t know what’s happening next, but a creeping sense of dread washes over me. Bad luck seems to follow me faithfully, because what happens next is beyond anything I could have expected.