As Sang and the other prisoners followed behind the rebel group, his mind was racing with escape plans.
"How could I escape? I'm back in time? I don't even know where the hell I am! What do I do!?"
He kept walking, one foot after another, until he noticed something strange.
"Why is it so hard to walk...? I feel like I'm moving through some thick liquid or something..."
Unaware to him, this world's gravity was slightly different. For a person not born here, it felt like swimming through syrup. Every movement drained energy from his limbs.
He stopped for a second to catch his breath—but that too became a problem.
"The air... it hurts to breathe! What is this feeling... If I breathe too deeply, my lungs feel like they're burning!"
Sang began to panic. His chest tightened, not just from fear, but from this world's atmosphere that his body couldn't handle. He took small, shallow breaths, just enough to keep walking. His eyes darted around as his head felt light.
Then came the sunlight. The sun in this world was much closer than Earth's, or maybe it was just more intense. The rays were too bright—it hurt his eyes. The light almost felt solid, forcing him to squint with every glance forward.
He could barely keep up now. His body was breaking down slowly—gravity, air, heat, and fear were crushing him all at once.
"What is this place...? This isn't Earth... This isn't my world..."
His vision blurred for a moment, and his knees buckled. One of the prisoners bumped into him from behind, forcing him to keep moving. He gritted his teeth and looked at the environment around him.
The sky was slightly purple with floating clouds shaped like twisting ribbons. The trees weren't green—but violet and dark blue. Some even had glowing fruits or breathing branches that looked like lungs.
Sang stared blankly.
"What… what kind of world is this…?"
Everything felt like a dream, but the pain in his body reminded him it was real.
After walking for nearly an hour, Sang—who had never traveled far in his life—began to lose strength. The ground beneath his feet felt heavier with each step, as if the world itself resisted his presence.
"I... can't walk anymore," he muttered, gasping. "My legs... they feel like stone..."
His vision blurred. The air, already sharp and painful in his lungs, now burned with every breath. His knees buckled, and he collapsed face-first into the dirt path.
A rebel soldier turned around and strode toward him. He glanced down at the fallen boy, shaking his head. "Hey! You moved!" he said, surprised.
The man studied Sang, clearly unimpressed. Sweat poured down the boy's pale face. "Tch... this one's too weak," the soldier muttered. Then, without hesitation, he reached for his sword. "He's useless. Might as well—"
"Sir Kwin!" another rebel snapped, stepping between him and the boy. "We don't kill unless it's necessary. Remember our code."
The group fell silent. All eyes turned toward Sir Kwin, who paused with his hand on his blade. For a long second, he said nothing—then finally scoffed and let go of the hilt.
"Fine. Someone carry the runt."
Without a word, one of the older slaves stepped forward and hoisted Sang onto his back. The group continued forward, moving on their path.
Sang, barely conscious, clung to the edge of thought. What is this place? he wondered, his mind swimming. Why does it feel like the world itself is trying to kill me?
After many grueling hours, they finally reached their destination.
Sang, still unconscious, was being carried on the back of a man named Haren, a strong, broad-shouldered villager from the same settlement the bandits had raided just days before.
As he trudged along the winding dirt path, Haren stole a glance at the boy slumped over his back. "Where did this kid come from? he wondered. He doesn't look like anyone from our village… and why is he so damn heavy?"
The thought lingered as he adjusted his grip.
"No normal kid should weigh this much," he muttered silently, sweat clinging to his neck. His gaze fell on Sang's pale, worn-out face—strange and unfamiliar. Something about him felt out of place.
But then, the memories came rushing back.
Flames. Screams. His home swallowed in chaos.
Haren's expression hardened. The weight on his back no longer felt like a burden—but a reminder. He looked forward blankly, emotion draining from his face.
"Well... not like it matters anymore," he murmured under his breath. "This is how it ends, huh? Couldn't protect a damn thing."
He tilted his head to the sky, its purple hue still burning bright above, and walked on, each step heavier than the last.
Behind him, the rebel camp began to appear over the horizon—smoke curling up from tents and wooden watchtowers—an unfamiliar place, but one where new fates would soon unfold.