"Don't be late again…"
It's 9:00 in the morning. Rings of the school bell echo through the hallway, birds sing somewhere beyond the windows, and sunlight floods the classrooms in warm, sharp beams. Students drift in one by one, chatting with friends. The teacher is late—as always—but someone is always later.
Mr. P finally walks in, his steps swinging with practiced rhythm.
"Alright everybody, settle down," he says, and the room quiets. "Would anyone care to tell me where we left off?"
Silence.
"I won't ask again. Where did we leave off in our books—"
The door slams open.
"Sorry I'm late, sir!" a voice interrupts.
Mr. P exhales sharply. "God, why are you late again?"
"Uhh… traffic?" he answers, not even convincing himself.
"Yeah, right. Just take a seat, Zeni."
Zeni slips into his spot by the window—second row from the back. He pulls out his books and pretends to settle in. Another Monday. Another tiring day of high school… or is it?
He drifts off, staring through the glass. Mr. P's voice becomes background noise, fading into nothing.
Until—
"Zeni!"
The shout snaps him back. Third time.
"Huh—y-yeah, sir?"
"Have you even been listening for the past twenty minutes?" Mr. P growls.
"Uhh…"
"That's it. See me after class."
The entire room gasps in that collective, dramatic way classmates always do. Frustration boils in Zeni. Without another word, he climbs out the first-floor window, drops to the ground, and bolts. He sprints off school property before anyone can react.
He runs through different parts of the city until he ducks into a narrow alley. There, he stops.
A tall, pale man stands at the other end.
Zeni squints, trying to make out his features. As he slowly steps backward—
Snap.
Darkness.
He collapses.
When he wakes, everything has changed. He's in a different world entirely—one that feels wrong. Depressing. Silent. Islands float in the air like broken pieces of land, and thick red fog coils around him.
"Is this… what he meant?" Zeni thinks to himself.
Then it hits him.
The memory.
The pale man in the alley.
"He had red eyes…" The realization chills him.
A figure appears in the distance. It walks closer—slowly, deliberately. The same tall frame. Around six-foot-five. Pale, but not fully white. Lean, but not thin. He wears a robe the colour of old wood, and sandals to match.
"No… it can't be…" Zeni breathes, stepping back.
Those same red eyes stare at him.
He tries to run—but he can't. His body refuses to move. Frozen. Paralyzed. All he can do is watch as the figure approaches, step by step.
The man stops right in front of him. He towers over Zeni, then gently places a hand on his shoulder.
"Welcome to my world, Zeni."