World Cry

Darkness.

The first thing was the pain—sharp, dragging him out of the void. A jagged breath tore through his chest, ribs tightening as though he hadn't used his lungs in days. Or weeks. His throat burned like he'd swallowed dust and ash.

Then—the heartbeat.

Wild. Alien. It wasn't his.

Panic spiked through him. His limbs twitched, weak and unfamiliar. His fingers scraped against stone—cold, rough, and lined with grooves that hummed faintly against his skin. The air was thick, stale, yet tingling with something more. Something wrong. His skin crawled with it. He recoiled, chest tightening—a scream caught in his throat, strangled by confusion.

Where am I?

His eyes snapped open.

A cramped chamber loomed around him, pressing down like a stone coffin. Symbols were carved into the walls—faintly glowing, flickering in unnatural patterns. Their pale light cast twitching shadows that danced across his trembling hands.

He tried to stand. His legs buckled beneath him. He caught himself on his hands and knees, palms slamming onto the cold ground.

His breath came in ragged gasps. His chest rose and fell like a drowning man who had barely breached the surface.

But it wasn't the air that was wrong.

It was his body.

He could feel it—lighter, smaller, younger. His joints were loose, his muscles unfamiliar. The very weight of his limbs was different. He stared at his hands—smooth, uncalloused, too thin.

These weren't his hands.

But they were.

Flashes—fragmented, scattered.

A name—Ra'el.

The biting cold of alley stones beneath his back.

Furtive steps through crowded markets, fingers quick on unattended purses.

The ache of hunger gnawing deep, day after day.

The constant watchfulness—the need to survive.

His breath caught.

Ra'el.

The name echoed in his mind—familiar, yet foreign. It wasn't just a sound; it carried weight, history. It was this body's name.

But beneath it, something stirred—another name.

Zephyr.

The collision was sudden, violent—two rivers crashing into each other, flooding his mind.

Ra'el, the street rat, scraping by on stolen bread and cold nights. The streets of a city worn with time, buildings leaning like tired men.

Ducking under market stalls, avoiding the gaze of guards.

The numbness of sleeping in the cold.

Zephyr, the student, cramming equations under fluorescent lights, dreaming of futures beyond textbooks—

Home. Earth.

The warmth of his mother's hug after he passed his physics finals.

Coffee-fueled all-nighters spent preparing for exams.

His father teaching him how to fix a leaky tap when he was twelve.

The thrill of solving his first kinematics problem in high school.

What happened?

Ah—

The crash.

Tires screeching. The feeling of weightlessness. Glass shattering like stardust.

The ground closing in.

Silence.

His stomach twisted. His breath turned shallow.

Was that how I died?

The two lives wove together, blurring at the edges, until he could no longer tell where one ended and the other began.

Was he Ra'el? Was he Zephyr?

Was Earth real? Or was it just a dream?

What if this was the real world—and he had finally woken up?

His chest tightened—panic threatening to consume him—but he clung to those names.

Ra'el. Zephyr.

Different lives.

But the same person.

Him.

He pressed his palm to his chest, feeling the frantic beat beneath his ribs. His ribs.

This is my body.

The dissonance was fading.

The panic ebbed—replaced by something colder, sharper.

What happened to me?

His eyes darted around the chamber once more. The runes still pulsed faintly. The stone walls were etched with precise symbols.

Ritual markings.

Magic.

The word should have been absurd. But it wasn't.

A faint warmth stirred beneath his fingertips—mana. He didn't know how he knew it, but he did.

Ra'el knew. And now, so did he.

He pressed his palm against the runes. The faint current hummed through him, like static under his skin.

The body remembered, even if his mind was catching up.

They tried to summon someone.

The knowledge came in pieces, fragmented, but clear enough.

A ritual. A vessel.

He was the vessel.

But it failed.

Or did it?

He was breathing, wasn't he?

His heart was beating.

His mind—both minds—was whole.

Was this the failure?

A flicker of anger sparked beneath his ribs.

They abducted him. Used him for their rituals—their twisted experiments. Then discarded him.

Left him to rot because he wasn't what they wanted.

Just another failed subject.

But now, he was more.

He pushed himself up—this time his legs held. Shaky, but firm.

He pressed his back against the stone wall, letting the coolness ground him.

His breath slowed. His heart eased its frantic rhythm.

He was real.

Earth wasn't a dream.

This world wasn't a dream.

Both were real.

He had lived.

And he still lived.

The laws of physics still wrapped around him like armor.

Gravity still pulled him down.

The air still pressed against his skin.

There were still rules here—unchanged, universal.

And he understood them.

That was his anchor.

No matter what mana was—it had its laws.

No matter what this world was—it would also bend to laws.

Because it had to.

He closed his eyes and breathed.

He was Ra'el.

He was Zephyr.

And he would master this world.

He placed his hand on the stone wall one last time.

The mana beneath his fingers buzzed faintly—like potential energy, waiting to be unleashed.

He didn't understand it.

Yet.

But he would.

He pushed off the wall and stepped forward into the darkness of the corridor ahead.

His legs were weak. His body frail.

But his mind burned.

He would survive.

Because he was real.

Because the rules were real.

And he would master them.