The birds sang their melody, chirps drifting like stones skipping across a still lake.
Golden rays slipped through the gap in the curtains, flickering in and out as the wind gently swayed the fabric, allowing fleeing light to dance across the room.
Loid lay on the bed, thin sheets draped over his body, a hospital gown barely visible underneath.
His gaze wandered, tracing the dust as it drifted in the soft light, their delicate dance somehow felt more real than the dullness that filled him. His eyes narrowed, brows furrowed in concentration, as though he were straining to will the dust to shift, to move. His body ached with the need to move the world—to make it bend to his will.
It's just a dream…
He blinked hard, trying to dispel the thought. But the weight of his body, the lightness in his head, the dizziness that made everything feel so distant, so unattainable. A body easily broken by overexertion, a mind too tired to keep up with itself. It felt like everything was slipping away, as if he were drowning, suspended in a fog between consciousness and oblivion.
Yet the sterile scent of the hospital, the soft chirps of birds, the flickering light—it was all there, a strange contrast to the feeling of something missing.
Loid stood on the side of the road once more, holding on to a thread of hope—a hope that everything would change by simply pushing himself harder. The desperation of a boy too small for the world, trying to surpass what made him a tangled mess. Yet the world didn't care, like a thread woven into the fabric of reality. One that cannot be undone.
He would never change.
His legs moved mechanically, one foot in front of the other. Slowly, his pace increased. Each breath became more ragged than the last as he pushed harder and harder. The air in his lungs burned, but it wasn't enough. He needed to do more. He to be more. To be
Loid had always felt like he was fighting an uphill battle—why couldn't he be normal? Why couldn't he be more?
Tears mixed with sweat as his body screamed at him to stop, yet he couldn't. His heart thundered in his chest as he tried to push past the fatigue, but the stubborn will inside him refused to listen. He gritted his teeth and kept running, determined to reach some unattainable goal, to break through the limits he felt had been set upon him.
In an instant, the world tilted as everything went black.
The soft hum of machines filled his ears as Loid slowly regained consciousness. His vision swam, the room around him distorted and spinning. His chest ached a dull pain that spread through his entire body. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, irregular and heavy, as though something deep inside him was struggling to stay alive.
No, not again…
He remembered that feeling—the tightness in his chest, the sense that his body wasn't quite keeping up with his ambition. The doctors had warned him once before, when he was younger, about his heart condition. It had always been something he'd shoved into the back of his mind, ignoring the consequences—the weakness that lurked beneath his surface.
His mother's voice broke through his thoughts, soft and worried.
"Loid, you're awake. Thank goodness… The doctors said you overexerted yourself again." Her voice wavered. "You've been pushing yourself too hard. This is the second time. They said you could've had a heart attack."
Loid opened his mouth to speak, but the words didn't come. He could barely process the weight of what she was saying. Her concern—it was familiar, but all he could feel was shame.
He wasn't like the other kids. He couldn't keep up, Couldn't prove himself, Couldn't do anything except beg the world for more.
"I'm fine," Loid finally managed, his voice rough. "I just… I pushed myself a little too hard, that's all."
His mother stared at him, her eyes searching his face for any sign of truth. But how could he tell her?
How could he explain that it wasn't just about pushing his body—he needed more. He needed to move the world. To bend it. But his body kept failing him, reminding him that he was just human—that his will wasn't enough.
Back in the forest, Loid lay trembling, the world around him dark and oppressive. The echoes of his many deaths still reverberated through his bones, each one a painful reminder of his weakness. The beast had long since gone, leaving him broken—but there was no relief. No comfort in the silence.
His chest heaved with shallow breaths. Muscles twitched in pain. It was the same ache from that day in the hospital—the deep, all-consuming exhaustion of pushing too hard, only to realize he wasn't strong enough.
But in the quiet of the forest, beneath the dark sky and the fading memory of the beast's torment, something shifted.
I will survive.
The thought caught him off guard, stirring something deep inside. It was the same ache he'd felt when he tried to make the world move back on Earth. Only now it was sharper. Hungrier. The world here was different, but it still defied him. Still pushed him down. Still mocked his weakness.
And yet—he had to keep fighting.
There was no escape. There was no more running away. His eyes narrowed, and his body trembled with the intensity of it—the desire to take control, to make the world submit to him, to make it bend its knees before him.
"I won't be weak.... Not anymore." He spoke through clenched teeth-
With that thought, he pushed himself up, the ground beneath him rough and unforgiving. The world—the forest, the air—would bend to his will. He could feel it. The same force that had made his hands tremble in school, the same desperate spark that refused to die, was still there.
This wasn't a dream.
This was the beginning.