Only faint whispers echoed in the void—unclear, as if spoken in a language from another world.
Suddenly, a dim light flickered… then another, brighter this time, until the entire scene burst into a blinding white glare.
Jacob slowly opened his eyes. His body felt unusually heavy, and his head throbbed with unbearable pain. He had no idea where he was—or how he got there. All he could feel was the cold air grazing his skin and the roar of wind howling around him.
He tried to stand but lost balance, falling to his knees on a cracked stone surface. Looking around, his gaze settled on ancient buildings whose walls bore the scars of time—yet fused strangely with advanced structures, as if a futuristic city had been torn backward through the ages.
The sky above wasn't natural. Violet clouds drifted unnaturally fast, as though time itself was unraveling.
"Where… am I?"
The question echoed in his mind as he rose unsteadily, letting his fingers trail along a cold stone wall. The moment he touched it—visions exploded in his mind.
Screams.
Blades flashing.
Blood spraying.
The clash of battle he didn't recall being part of.
He stumbled back, gasping for breath, unable to grasp what he had just seen.
Suddenly, the silence was pierced by soft, deliberate footsteps above him.
He turned sharply, eyes scanning the source.
Atop a nearby rooftop stood a man clad in dark robes. His face was sharp, his eyes fixed with the focus of a predator.
"You look lost," the man said calmly—but his voice carried authority like a blade.
Jacob stared at him cautiously, hand inching instinctively toward his hidden blade. He didn't know who this person was—but something about him felt… dangerous.
"Who are you? And where am I?"
The man didn't answer at first. He leapt from the rooftop with inhuman grace, landing before Jacob. He was slightly taller, and wrapped in an aura of mystery.
"That's not a question you ask here," he said. "It's one you must answer… yourself."
Jacob barely had time to react before the man lunged forward. A blade shimmered in his hand under the dim light.
Instinctively, Jacob raised his dagger to block. Metal clashed against metal, sparks flying, echoing down the stone alleys.
"Why are you attacking me?!" he shouted, stumbling back as he parried another strike.
"Because if you're here… then you're either a hunter—or prey."
The strikes came fast and precise. Jacob realized this wasn't a fight to kill—but a test.
But before the duel could reach its peak, a calm voice cut through the air.
"This is not the time for battle."
Jacob turned to the voice—another figure stood in the shadows of a narrow alley.
Cloaked in a half-black mantle, the figure observed them with a strange serenity.
The first man paused, lowering his weapon—but didn't move away.
"Perhaps…" he murmured, eyes locking onto Jacob again.
"But I will learn who you are—sooner or later."
The second man stepped forward, studying Jacob carefully.
"You don't belong here… do you?"
Jacob had no answer. He wasn't even sure what the question meant. But he sensed this man knew more than he let on.
Before he could speak, the ground shook beneath them.
The walls around them trembled.
"What's happening?!" Jacob cried, trying to stay upright.
The masked man didn't move. He had expected this.
"It has begun," he whispered—just before the darkness swallowed everything.
"In a world untouched by time… only the survivors will write history."