Kairo Zenith had done it. Against all odds, he had created a black hole in the laboratory. But at what cost? The facility lay in ruins, torn apart before he could react. His team… gone. There was nothing left but to accept his fate.
As darkness swallowed him, Kairo felt his consciousness slipping away. When he awoke, he was no longer in the lab. He lay in a vast green field, sunlight warm on his skin, pulled into this world by the devastating invention he had wrought.
Confusion washed over him. Was he alive—or dead?
A young woman approached, dressed in clothes that seemed centuries old. Her words were foreign, unintelligible, yet her calm tone and gentle demeanor spoke of no threat. She beckoned him to follow, leading him toward a nearby town. The villagers stared at his strange attire as he walked in silence; he had no choice but to obey.
Questions formed in his mind. Another dimension? A different timeline? Or… something else entirely?
This vulgar era disgusted me.
No technology. Slavery still existed. A monarchy ruled with rigid authority.
When Kairo regained full awareness, faint voices whispered in his head. He ignored them—for now.
Inside her small, cramped home, he noticed how little space there was for a young woman to live alone. She offered him new clothes. Watching her, he reconsidered something: she must have once had a brother… or a husband.
The moment he touched her, unease surged through him. New thoughts flooded his mind—memories that were not his own. Suddenly, he understood her words. He had gained her memories. Useful—but dangerous. This power was not safe. Perhaps crossing between worlds had changed him, made him something… unnatural.
To repay her kindness, he worked the fields alongside her. Slowly, a friendship formed. Her name was Mai. He accepted the truth: he was not returning to his world. Here, he would lead a quiet life.
Then winter approached. One day, while gathering wood in the forest, he encountered adventurers.
It was the first time he had seen such people with his own eyes: swords, magic, archers—the scenes of fantasy books made real. They were losing.
The creature they faced was enormous. Its lower body resembled a monkey, while the upper half was disturbingly human. Multiple eyes covered its face and torso, and darkness clung to its form like a living shadow. Half the team had already fallen.
Kairo acted—not out of heroism, but calculation.
He touched the injured man, then the magic user. Memories surged through him: skills, instincts, experiences. If memories granted experience… then this might work.
The monster attacked. His body moved before his mind could react. He swung the sword instinctively; words of magic he had never learned left his lips. With a single, overwhelming strike, the creature fell.
Silence.
Then realization struck. He had not stopped. He had killed the survivors too.
If his existence reached the king, he would be enslaved—or worse. He could not allow that. He could not endanger the only person who had offered him shelter.
This power was not safe.
And neither was he.