Darkness.
It was the first thing he became aware of. Not just the absence of light, but a suffocating, all-consuming void that pressed in from every side. A cold, sentient blackness that devoured sound, sensation, and self. He couldn't see. He couldn't move. And worst of all—he couldn't remember.
"Who am... I?" he thought, lying on his stomach. The surface beneath him was damp and rough like stone. "Yeah, I am..." he strained to recall. "I am Shiv. I live in Delhi... and I was out for groceries... wait?"
As he tried to push himself up, a sharp, metallic cold bit into his wrists and ankles. Shackles. Heavy and ancient. Iron links hugged his bones like parasites.
What the... Shiv thought. Fucking hell is this?
The realization crept in like slow poison. His body ached. Muscles screamed. Throat dry like scorched earth. Ribs tight like he'd been squeezed in a vise. But the pain was real—raw and grounding. It anchored him to the moment. Confirmed what he feared.
This was real.
"Where is this? This... isn't a grocery store." Panic curled in his chest like smoke. "Where the fuck am I? How did I get here? Did I just get... kidnapped?"
And then it struck. A sudden, violent pain exploded inside his skull like shattering glass. He screamed. A surge of unknown memories crashed into his mind, flooding every crevice.
"Aghh!!" he groaned, hands trembling against the cold floor. His life—his real life—flashed before his eyes, but it was drowned out by something foreign.
"Strange," he murmured, barely audible. "Strange... what is this?"
But the strangest thing wasn't the place. Nor the pain. It was the memories.
They weren't his.
A boy—skinny, malnourished, barefoot on muddy streets. Filthy hands clutched scraps. Empty belly rumbling. Chased from stalls, beaten with sticks, spat on by guards. Nights under torn tarps. A name shouted in rage, whispered in tears: Han.
That was the boy's name. And somehow, impossibly, his memories bled into Shiv's like ink into water, staining every part of him.
What is going on? I'm Han? No! No! I'm Shiv! I am Shiv! Then who the hell is Han?!
The confusion deepened. Shiv could barely tell where his memories ended and Han's began.
I need to calm down, Shiv thought. Before I figure out who I am... I need to figure out where I am.
He opened his eyes. The blackness fractured, giving way to dim, flickering light.
Torches.
Their glow trembled, casting shadows that danced across jagged stone walls. Moisture dripped from the ceiling. The air was thick and fetid, stinking of mildew, rot, and something worse—despair.
A cave? Shiv thought. His heart thundered. His senses sharpened. Each detail cut deeper.
He turned, neck stiff. And what he saw twisted his stomach.
Children. Dozens of them. None older than twelve. Shackled. Huddled. Dressed in rags. Dirt and bruises stained their skin. Their eyes stared blankly—empty, hollow, watchful. Alive, but barely.
"What the hell is this..." Shiv croaked. His voice startled him.
It didn't sound right.
Too high. Too soft.
A child's voice.
Not his.
The realization struck like lightning. He looked down at his hands—small, thin, bony. Panic surged. Not just transported. Changed.
Before he could think further, a voice cracked through the air like a whip.
"Silence."
A figure emerged from the dark. Cloaked in black. A smooth, bone-white mask. No mouth. No eyes. No features. Yet it radiated power. Authority. Dread.
Children froze. Backs straightened. Breaths stopped.
The figure glided forward, silent but terrifying.
"This is your rebirth," it hissed. Its voice like dry leaves scraping bone. "Forget your past. You are nothing. Your names are gone. Your lives, erased. From this day forward, you are tools. Meant to serve. Speak only when commanded. Move only when permitted. Obey, or suffer. Those who do well shall be transferred to the main sect. Do your best, younglings."
No one spoke. No one blinked.
Shiv flinched. Or... was it Han?
The line blurred further.
Memories collided—Shiv's warm home, Delhi's bustle, the smell of spices, glowing screens, laughter—all tangled with Han's pain, filth, and hunger. Shiv didn't just see Han's life. He felt it.
But he also remembered the sound of laughter. A mother's hug. The buzz of a marketplace. Were those fading too? Was this place erasing him?
He clenched his fists. Cold stone scraped his knuckles. Shackles dug into flesh. The stench of rot burned his nose.
He needed something real.
He didn't know why he was here. He didn't know how he was here.
One moment, he was someone else. Free. Human.
Now he was something else.
A prisoner. A child. A shadow.
Buried. Watched. Trapped.
But one instinct refused to die:
Survive.
Because this place didn't want survivors. It wanted slaves.
But Shiv—Han—whoever he was now—wasn't going to break.
He didn't know the rules. He didn't know this "sect." He didn't know how long he had.
But deep within the confusion and fear, something sparked. A whisper in his soul. A vow.
This isn't where I end.
No matter whose body this is. No matter what this place demands.
I will survive.
I must survive.
As he was gathering his thoughts, Shiv suddenly sees a weird panel popping up.
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NAME – HAN JISOO (SHIV AGRI)
FRAGMENT NO. ???
FATE POINTS – 0+{■■■■■■}
CASUALTY RATE – 0.001%
SYNCHRONIZATION – 0%
AUTHORITY – □□□□(sealed)
Processing....activation completed....
synchronization activated. User-●●●, Please sleep well till the synchronization is completed.
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"What the hell is thi-Shiv's words hung in the air, unfinished, as his body gave out, and he fell unconscious.
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To be continued.