— Between the Lines We Exist—
The sky above the commercial district resembled a pool of filthy water—gray, murky, and oppressive. A fine drizzle dampened the pavement, carrying the scent of wet asphalt mingled with exhaust fumes that made every breath feel suffocating.
The city was never truly silent, yet time seemed to stand still for those trapped at the bus stop. Two hours had passed, but the bus from the central route had yet to show its nose through the haze of pollution.
Disgruntled muttering spread among the dozens of people who were beginning to lose their patience, robbed of their precious time by an endless wait.
Amid the commotion, a young man stood perfectly still, displaying an uncanny calmness, as though he existed in an entirely different dimension from the chaos surrounding him.
Michael Laurent, commonly known as Mike among his colleagues at the office, had immersed himself in digital isolation.
Ever since arriving at the bus stop, he had activated Do Not Disturb mode on his phone to concentrate on the manuscript he was painstakingly developing.
His attire was immaculate: the uniform of a game development company, pressed so flawlessly that not a single crease could be found. He was a rare talent. The company's CEO had taken notice of him while he was still in high school, impressed by his achievements in IT and writing. Shortly after Mike graduated, the CEO had wasted no time in recruiting him.
Before long, the roar of a massive engine finally pierced the surrounding noise.
Mike was swept along by the surging crowd as people aggressively fought their way onto the bus. He was shoved toward the middle of the carriage, which was so densely packed that there was barely enough room to move.
Even as breathing became a luxury amid the sea of people, Mike still managed to find a small opening through which he could observe his surroundings.
His eyes accidentally landed on a familiar figure standing near the window—a woman he had secretly admired from afar for quite some time.
It was Alisa, Mike's coworker, who usually wore the company's uniform neatly every day.
But today, she looked different. She was dressed in elegant formal attire, making her appear both more radiant and strangely unfamiliar to Mike.
Realizing that Alisa had not noticed his presence, Mike decided to remain silent and lower his gaze back to his phone.
He did not want to disturb her peace amid the bus's commotion, so he continued working as the vehicle began to move sluggishly.
Suddenly, the ear-splitting screech of tires tore through the noisy carriage as the bus swerved violently.
The driver had executed an extreme maneuver to avoid a potentially fatal collision unfolding at the intersection ahead.
The violent jolt sent the passengers into hysterics. Amid the chaos, a plain black leather-bound book slipped from Mike's coat pocket.
The book sailed over several passengers' shoulders before landing directly at Alisa's feet, completely unnoticed by its owner.
Alisa picked it up, furrowing her brows in confusion. However, a small smile soon appeared on her lips when she read the name on the cover.
Michael Laurent.
The name was clearly visible, prompting Alisa to search for the book's owner among the still-panicking passengers.
Driven by curiosity, she opened the first page and accidentally found herself immersed in a remarkably intriguing story. She continued reading, unaware that the bus had already reached its final stop—and that Mike had gotten off earlier and was waiting there.
Mike stood near the bus doors, waiting for Alisa to get off. He had intended to invite her to walk to the office with him.
When Alisa finally stepped outside, she greeted Mike while holding out the black book, a playful yet difficult-to-read expression in her eyes.
"So, you write stories other than those for our company's games, huh, Mike?" Alisa remarked, explaining how she had found the book after it had flown through the air earlier.
She then asked whether she could borrow it for a week, explaining that she found the story about a man named Edwins particularly fascinating.
Mike hesitated for a moment, but eventually nodded and agreed to let Alisa borrow the book containing the entire story of his dreams.
He then gathered the courage to ask why she was not wearing the company uniform today, even though it was a working day.
"By the way... Alisa, why aren't you wearing your uniform?"
Alisa chuckled and asked whether Mike had even bothered to read the message in the company group chat announcing that the office would be closed for the day.
"Didn't the CEO say the company was taking the day off?"
Only then did Mike realize that his Do Not Disturb mode had buried an important announcement from the CEO, who had decided to take a day off to spend time with his family.
Since Mike had already made the journey out, Alisa took the initiative to invite him to accompany her on a leisurely outing, suggesting they spend the holiday together until late into the night.
The clock showed eleven in the evening when they finally parted ways at a train station that had grown quiet and bitterly cold.
Inside the silent carriage, Mike rested his head against the cold glass window, reflecting on the events of the day. Eventually, the overwhelming weight of sleep dragged him into the depths of his subconscious.
---
The sky above the battlefield was no longer blue. It had turned a coppery red, stained by dust and the smoke of explosions.
The earth beneath it had been torn apart, its crust shattered down to its deepest layers—a testament to the global-scale battle that had just taken place, one in which the fate of the world itself had been at stake.
Amid the ruins of buildings that resembled the remnants of a vast steam-powered civilization, Edwins lay helplessly on the ground. A nobleman holding the title of Count and a seasoned adventurer, he was now reduced to a dying figure among the wreckage.
His breathing was shallow and ragged, while blood seeped from beneath his long suit, which had been reduced to little more than torn and ruined fabric.
A man of considerable authority approached, forcing his way across the sharp debris scattered around them.
He was Edwins's comrade-in-arms, a man usually cold and unshakable. Now, however, he appeared utterly devastated by a mixture of anger and grief so raw that it could scarcely be contained.
"Edwins! Get up, you idiot!" his companion shouted, pounding the ground beside Edwins with a clenched fist that trembled violently.
Although he struggled to preserve his dignity and maintain his usual composure, the furious roar of his voice could no longer conceal the fragility of his soul.
Edwins gazed up at the gray sky, a faint smile forming on his lips—a smile so heartbreaking that anyone who witnessed it would have felt the pain behind it.
"I'm sorry... It seems I won't be able to keep my promise to come home," he whispered, his voice barely audible beneath the wind and the rumble of destruction.
"But... the battle is over. Please... take care of Lucia for me," Edwins continued before his eyes slowly closed for the last time upon the devastated earth.
Heavy rain soon began to fall, washing the blood from his lifeless body and leaving behind an eerie stillness amid the silent battlefield.
Somewhere beyond the boundaries of human perception, upon the branch of an unseen colossal tree that grew beyond the reach of mortal senses, a figure resembling a woman watched the tragedy in silence.
Her long white hair cascaded like the finest silk, while a pair of vivid red eyes shone with an intensity that seemed to surpass even the stars.
She wore a magnificent gown with a long skirt slit along the lower right side, extending up to her ankle. Above her head floated a semicircular crown that moved in perfect accordance with her every motion, radiating a mystical blend of black, white, and red.
Intricate ornaments adorned the long sleeves of her gown. Rings of opposing colors revolved around both of her wrists. A transparent veil draped over her head like that of an imperial consort, while a single enormous wing—horrifying yet strangely beautiful, and detached from her body—curled around her waist.
Behind her back floated an oddly shaped sword, its form impossible to define, following the subtle movements of her body as though gravity itself held no dominion over her.
She gazed upon Edwins's lifeless body and whispered words that sent tremors through the very foundations of the surrounding reality.
"A writer may kill his hero, but he can never destroy the legend he has carved into the heartbeat of the world. This ending is nothing more than a misplaced punctuation mark, before the Creator's pen once again spills ink upon a fresh page."
---
Mike jolted awake inside the moving train, his breathing ragged and tears streaming uncontrollably down his cheeks.
The pain in his chest felt terrifyingly real—a grief that transcended the boundary between dreams and reality, the very boundary he had spent so long exploring through the stories in his black book.
Ever since his school days, he had always dreamed of becoming someone named Edwins. He had experienced every fragment of that man's life, so vividly that he had eventually felt compelled to write the entire story down.
"Edwins... He wasn't supposed to die," Mike murmured through his sobs, mourning the fate of a character he had come to regard as his other half.
BOOM!! BOOM!!
Suddenly, deafening explosions shattered the silence of the night, followed by a violent jolt that sent the train carriage lurching.
The tunnel ahead erupted in a massive explosion, creating an unavoidable wall of collapsed concrete directly in the train's path.
The driver screamed in terror over the intercom before a horrifying metallic crash drowned out everything else, reducing the world around them to a chaos of twisted wreckage and blazing debris.
Traveling at tremendous speed, the train's carriages slammed into one another, crushing everything trapped inside.
Several hours later, the beams of flashlights belonging to a rescue team cut through the thick dust inside the completely collapsed tunnel.
"Those damn terrorists! They've slaughtered innocent civilians!" the rescue team leader snarled as he examined the piles of bodies scattered around him.
Suddenly, one of the crew members screamed in alarm.
"Captain! Someone's still breathing down here!"
In a panic, they rushed to evacuate the critically injured survivor. His mangled body was immediately transported to a hospital, the ambulance siren tearing through the silence of the gloomy city night.
A week later, the man finally regained consciousness in a cold hospital room, surrounded by the rhythmic beeping of a bedside monitor tracking his heartbeat.
That man was Mike.
Beside his bed, Alisa had fallen asleep with her upper body resting against the mattress, utterly exhausted. She was still clutching the black book she had borrowed from him that day.
Mike weakly lifted his trembling hand and gently stroked Alisa's head.
"I'm sorry... I was too... afraid to say it."
With what little strength remained, he tried to pull something over the girl's shoulders to keep her warm.
"Please take care of that book, Alisa... I love you," he whispered, his voice fading into silence.
Moments later, his body finally surrendered to death.
The monitor emitted a continuous, unbroken tone—a flatline signaling that Michael Laurent's heart had permanently stopped beating.
Alisa jolted awake at the sound of the alarm, only to find Mike's hand growing cold above her head.
A sob escaped her as she realized that he was gone forever.
"Why did you have to leave? I hadn't even told you how I felt."
She clutched the black book tightly against her chest, overwhelmed by a grief that seemed too deep for words.
"I'll take good care of the book I borrowed, Mike... I promise," she lamented.
She never realized that Mike's final confession had been buried in the silence of his eternal sleep, never to be heard by anyone.
---
The Eden Empire, Count Ravehart's Estate
Inside a magnificent bedroom dominated by dark oak furniture and the lingering scent of old lamp oil, a young boy opened his eyes.
He had soft ash-blond hair and a pair of clear emerald-green eyes that shone like precious gemstones in the darkness.
He tried to climb down from the enormous canopy bed, but his legs felt weak, as though he were relearning how to walk in this unfamiliar body.
His steps faltered as he crossed the thick carpet toward a large window overlooking the city, where dazzling lights illuminated the streets below.
Outside, colossal clock towers stood tall amid the steam and smoke billowing from distant factories.
The sight was so vivid, so impossibly detailed, that he could almost smell the burning coal and feel the biting cold against his skin.
With trembling hands, he approached a large mirror in the corner of the luxurious room and stared at the reflection of a ten-year-old nobleman's son.
He touched his face, feeling the texture of his skin and the rapid beating of his heart beneath the silk nightclothes he wore.
"Isn't this..." he whispered in a child's voice, his mind overflowing with confusion and disbelief.
The memories of Michael Laurent's death in the hospital collided with childhood memories that forcibly flooded into his mind—memories belonging to the original owner of this body.
A new awareness crashed into his soul as he stared at the emerald-green eyes reflected in the mirror, forcing him to confront a truth that defied every law of mortal logic.
A question emerged from his trembling lips, charged with an emotion he could barely contain.
"Have I... become Edwins?"