"Tell me then," said Asher.
"The world we are in is known as the Land of Imagination. Only a few can attain the power to activate it. This rift is a gateway between two worlds, created to establish contact with the other side," explained the mysterious figure, sitting on a chair he had just formed out of thin air.
"So this is the Land of Imagination, huh?" Asher said, as he too sat on a chair he had imagined into existence.
The mysterious figure was shocked. He was afraid of Asher's talent—not only had he remained calm in this strange situation, but he had also instinctively learned how to harness the power of imagination.
"And who might you be? And why do you have my face?" Asher asked.
"Me? I am you—from a world known as Ethren," the mysterious figure replied as he removed his hood.
"So why have you contacted me?" Asher questioned.
"I've been searching for alternate versions of myself across different worlds, but none of them were worthy—until I found you," the figure said.
"Why am I the worthy one? What do I have that the others lack?" Asher asked.
"To put it simply, you are the only version of us who has reached the peak of both genius and ego. Every other version lacked something. You are the best among us all," the figure replied.
"Then why are you looking for me?" Asher asked.
"To take my place in my world—and live the life you desire, full of excitement," the figure offered.
"Why do you want to exchange places if you're so strong? What's the catch?" Asher asked, narrowing his eyes.
"Because I lack the talent you have, heaven's chosen one," the figure said solemnly.
"I don't think you lack talent. You seem smart enough to open a rift between worlds and strong enough to maintain it. So how does that make you untalented?" Asher countered.
"I'll admit I'm a genius, but only in theory. My magical ability is worthless. I'm using an artifact to do all this," the figure confessed.
"If I take your place, won't I have your magical weakness?" Asher asked.
"Talents are bound to the soul, not the body. Your soul's talent already surpasses all," the figure replied.
Asher stood up from his chair, looked up at the sky, and lifted his hand, clenching his fist like he was trying to grasp the whole world.
"Okay. Send me. Let's do it, my variant," Asher said with conviction.
"I'll send you to when I was ten years old. You'll have my memories from that time—and this will only work if your soul can handle the transfer," the figure warned.
"And if my soul can't handle it?" Asher asked.
"You'll die. So—do you still want to do it?" the figure asked one final time.
"Do it. What's life without risk?" Asher said with a smile.
It was the first time in decades that Asher had smiled like that. His heart beat wildly with passion. For the first time in a long time, he felt truly alive—excited for something new.
He, who had never known defeat in his world and had reached the peak of the human body, would now dive into the world of imagination—a new world that promised new stories and new challenges.
Would Asher conquer this world?
Or would he be forgotten by history, like so many others?