"Are you willing to live a life of obscurity, only to fade away in silence?"


    "You have desires, don''t you?"


    These haunting, low whispers had been echoing in Kael''s mind for the past few days, like the whispers of a demon in his dreams.


    ..............................


    Pain.


    Exhaustion. Soreness.


    Kael’s body convulsed uncontrollably, as if he had touched a live wire.


    ''That dream again? What’s going on?!''


    After a small but noticeable tremor, Kael''s mind finally emerged from the foggy haze that had clouded his thoughts. His awareness gradually sharpened.


    Still feeling dazed, he instinctively reached out to grab the clothes he had tossed on the floor the night before.


    But strangely, no matter how much he groped around with his eyes closed, he couldn’t find anything.


    ''Weird… Did I drink too much last night? Where did my clothes go? Damn it, I should really start taking better care of myself.''


    As this thought crossed his mind, Kael opened his blurry eyes, which were clouded from nearsightedness, and began fumbling across the surface of a black, obsidian-like table.


    Luckily, his metal-framed glasses were still there.


    Once he awkwardly put them on, the scene that met his eyes was not the familiar bright, clean bedroom he had expected.


    Instead, he found himself in a dimly lit room cluttered with debris and cobwebs—more like a Western-style attic storage room than a bedroom.


    The modest room contained only a bed and a black mechanical table. Scattered around were silver and bronze mechanical parts, seemingly components of a difference engine from the 19th century that had never been mass-produced.


    In the cramped, stifling space sat a half-copper, circular fireplace coated in black soot, looking as though it was on the verge of collapse. Inside, the remains of burnt wood still glowed faintly, sending ghostly embers into the air.


    ''This… this isn’t my home! Where am I?''


    Kael shook his head vigorously, trying to dispel the lingering sense of unreality from his dream.


    Still feeling disoriented, he stumbled toward a dusty, murky window. He cracked it open slightly, hoping to get some fresh air and calm his nerves while surveying the outside world.


    The environment outside was shrouded in gray tones, resembling an overcast day. Above, a vast, dark "velvet curtain" with jagged openings concealed the sky.


    The mechanical roar of distant machinery echoed through the early morning air, harsh and relentless. A massive silver-white machine with long mechanical arms was slowly coming to life in the distance.


    Directly below his window lay a heap of industrial waste and rotting civilian debris.


    Even from this distance, Kael could smell the stench of decay and acid.


    The pile was coated in filthy black liquid and decayed food scraps, as if no one had cleaned it in years.


    As he took in this bleak and unsettling scene, Kael instinctively pressed his hand to his throat, trying to steady his ragged breathing. He wasn’t sure if he was in danger, but this place felt too strange—too unnatural.


    A dark attic, the sound of grinding machinery, a collapsing fireplace… and himself?


    ''Calm down. Stay calm. No one’s trying to kill me… probably. Just stay calm.''


    Kael took deep, ragged breaths, suppressing the itch in his throat and trying not to make a sound.


    In this kind of situation, drawing attention was the last thing he needed.


    He recalled a passage from the "Safety Code"—a survival guide he had once read:


    ''If you find yourself in an unfamiliar and dangerous environment, stay calm. Avoid strange behavior that could attract attention. Gather information—it’s your key to survival.''


    ''First thing I need to figure out is—''


    Suddenly, a sharp, metallic pain shot through his skull, as if someone were prying his brain open with a crowbar.


    And then, without thinking, he whispered:


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ''Who… am I?''


    Just as his mind began to stabilize, a flood of unfamiliar memories surged through his head.


    His gaze drifted downward toward a silver-white uniform adorned with a steel "sword and hammer" emblem.


    Reaching into the stained pocket of his jacket, which was splattered with multicolored chemical residue, he pulled out a square identification card.


    The card was made of stiff, glossy paper, slightly worn at the edges, and printed with a font that looked hand-typed by a mechanical printer.


    The strange, Latin-like text was unfamiliar to him, yet fragments of memory allowed him to read it effortlessly.


    ''Dien Empire language?'' Kael murmured.


    ''Wright Sogra. Issued in the year 522 of the New Era. Manufactured by the Dien Empire.''


    This was the sacred city of Sogra in the Dien Empire, in the year 527 of the New Era—a city built within the wastelands.


    To shield themselves from mindless ghouls and mutated wanderers, humanity had constructed this massive sanctuary—almost half the size of a small European country.


    ''So… I’m Wright Sogra?'' Kael whispered in disbelief.


    A sudden realization struck him. He stumbled toward a dusty, iron-framed mirror hanging on the wall.


    After splashing some murky water from a nearby basin onto the glass, he wiped it down and finally saw his reflection.


    Dark hair. Black eyes. A thin, oval-shaped face.


    No—this wasn’t just thin. He looked skeletal, like someone who had been sleep-deprived and malnourished for months. Bloodshot eyes and sunken cheeks made him appear almost inhuman.


    But one thing was clear: the person in the mirror was not him.


    He had crossed over.


    And he had taken the place of this person called Wright Sogra.


    The shock of it all sent Kael collapsing onto the stained, yellowed bed. He sat cross-legged and closed his eyes, trying to meditate and extract more of Wright’s memories.


    But it was like there was an invisible barrier blocking him. Every time he attempted to reach deeper than basic identity and language, a searing pain would shoot through his skull, forcing him to retreat.


    After a while, Kael’s mind suddenly buzzed with an electric current, like a switch being flipped.


    Following the vague guidance of these fragmented memories, he stumbled toward the black mechanical table in the corner of the room.


    ''It should be here…''


    With trembling hands, he rummaged through the mess of notebooks, pens, rags, and tin cans on the table—until his fingers brushed against something cold and metallic.


    A gun.


    A silver-white, double-headed eagle-engraved revolver, approximately 30 centimeters long.


    It appeared to be a "Fury Bear" model—a handgun manufactured in the Sogra city factories.


    And next to it lay a creased, cracked slip of paper.


    Kael’s hand hovered over the gun as a wave of chilling realization swept through him.


    "We will all fall into darkness. No one will be saved. Except for the Red Source…"


    The words left Kael puzzled. Darkness, salvation? And the unfinished phrase—was it referring to the Red Source crystal or the Source energy itself?


    "Source energy?" Kael muttered instinctively. The term rolled off his tongue as if it had always been there.


    From the scattered remnants of memory, he vaguely understood that it was some kind of mystical magical power.


    Kael examined the oddly familiar "Fury Bear" pistol. It seemed to be the weapon regularly used by Wright, the man whose identity he had now assumed.


    The surface of the gun, especially the upper half, was covered in grime, suggesting it had been used frequently and not cleaned for some time.


    As he studied the weapon, a sharp pain radiated from his chest, just a few inches from his heart.


    Instinctively, he pulled down his collar and pressed his hand against the wound—a coin-sized, circular scar that had almost healed.


    Even though it shouldn’t have been bleeding anymore, when Kael pressed down harder, a bit of red, sticky liquid stained his fingertips.


    Fortunately, it wasn’t much blood.


    Fragments of memory warned him that bleeding too much in this wasteland city could get him mistaken for a "Heartless" and executed without question.


    Kael stared blankly at the pistol. He still didn’t know how Wright had died. But one thing was certain—his death had allowed Kael to take his place.


    If Wright had died by suicide, that would be one thing—it would mean the threat he faced might have been psychological rather than immediate danger. But if it had been murder…


    A disaster narrowly avoided often invites another strike.


    If Wright had been assassinated, then whoever targeted him probably wouldn’t stop until Kael followed Wright to the grave.


    Information. Information. It was all about information.


    His top priority in this unfamiliar world was gathering intelligence. But aside from the basic facts—where he was, what time period it was, and who he had become—there was little else to go on.


    "I need more."


    Kael took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm.


    Despite the faint stench of gasoline and decay lingering on his clothes, Wright’s outfit was relatively clean.


    A silver-toned jacket and slightly stained tactical pants—practical and inconspicuous.


    His reflection in the rusted iron mirror was as pale and gaunt as before. If it weren’t for the dark circles and bloodshot eyes, the face could almost pass as attractive.


    "At least I look somewhat presentable now."


    After washing up with the cloudy water stored in a battered redwood cabinet, Kael took another look at himself.


    If this face were less emaciated, it might even be charming. Back in his original world, he might have turned heads. But here, charm probably didn’t count for much.


    "Information. Without it, I won’t last long. I should try talking to anyone who knew Wright and see what I can learn. And if things turn dangerous… well, this gun should help."


    Kael adjusted the pistol at his waist, making sure it was hidden but easily accessible. After confirming the room was secure, he descended the shaky, creaking staircase and stepped outside.


    "This world is fascinating… so strange, so… alluring."


    Kael felt an odd thrill despite the uncertainty.


    The feeling of stepping into the unknown didn’t unsettle him—instead, it awakened a deep sense of curiosity and excitement. He relished the idea of exploring the unknown.


    Through the dusty haze covering his mechanical wristwatch, Kael saw the time—8:00 a.m.


    At this hour, the darkened sky was still shrouded by the black canopy overhead, blocking most of the sunlight and plunging the city into perpetual twilight.


    In the distance, the chimneys of the "Sogra Factory" were already spewing thick white smoke, adding rare patches of pale light to the dark horizon.


    A deafening roar filled the air as Kael looked up. A massive airship—resembling a war dirigible from World War I—slowly ascended into the air.


    It resembled a predator testing the limits of its cage, yearning to pierce through the black sky and into the open heavens.


    After steadying himself from a lingering sense of vertigo, Kael’s gaze settled on a nearby row of dilapidated buildings.


    Among them, a small store stood out—its weathered sign painted white, bearing the words "Sogra General Store – Zone Z" in the Empire’s language.


    A memory fragment stirred—Wright had passed by this store frequently.


    Apparently, it only sold a limited range of items, including kerosene lamps—a sign that the city’s infrastructure still lacked a stable electrical grid.


    "Hey, isn’t that Wright? How’s the body holding up?"


    A thin, wiry man with black hair and brown eyes greeted Kael with a relaxed smile. It was Ward, the store owner—a plain, middle-aged man with an easygoing demeanor.


    From Wright’s remaining memories, Kael instinctively replied, "Yeah… I think I made it back in one piece. Not bad, right?"


    "So you survived your mission to the outer zones of Sogra? I heard you ran into a powerful Lost One. Coming back alive is no small feat!"


    Ward chuckled, handling a kerosene lamp with practiced ease.


    "Must be the blessings of the Light Goddess," Ward continued. "Though I think you’re one of the last people in this city who still believes in her. Most of us now put our faith in the Lord of Night. After all, it''s thanks to the black canopy that we’re still alive."


    "Black canopy?" Kael blurted out.


    Ward gave him a curious look but shrugged it off.


    "You must’ve hit your head or something. Everyone knows the story of the canopy. If you were a student, I’d call you an idiot for not knowing that."


    Ward laughed and went back to adjusting the lamp.


    "Oh, and George wants to see you at the city library. Same deal as always—no need to prepare. Just go talk to him."


    Ward rummaged through a pile of broken lamps and pulled out a black gift box.


    It was decorated with two interlocking bronze gears at the center—a symbol Kael recognized from Wright’s memories.


    "Take this with you. It’s a thank-you gift for George—after all, he’s the one who recommended you for the Sogra Guard. Also, grab that book on Sogra''s history while you’re there. You need to brush up on the city’s past if you want to survive here."


    Kael nodded, pocketing the box.


    After thanking Ward, he set off toward the library, following the faint outline of the city''s map buried deep in Wright''s memories.


    Suddenly, a crack opened in the black canopy above. A thin shaft of white light spilled down, illuminating Kael’s path.


    Kael pulled open his jacket and rubbed at the faint pain in his chest.


    Dark dust mixed with fresh blood stained his fingertips. This city, wrapped in darkness, seemed to bleed the same color as him.