Time froze as he hung above the boiling river—or maybe only his mind deceived him. He saw his reflection flicker, his bicycle trembling on the white surface. Bubbles burst slowly before his eyes as the thought pierced him: Am I falling into a hot spring? ..Me?!

With a crash like an explosion, his body struck the water, sinking down. For a moment, he felt a sting rushing through his flesh, cold—or so he told himself. But the lie broke; truth struck him: the burn, the pain, as if he had fallen into magma.

The boiling water consumed him. Fire crept into his eyes, melted his cheeks, chewed his ears. He opened his mouth to scream, the scalding current tearing his tongue. He forced air from his lungs as the river dragged him, smashed him on rocks, hurled him deeper. His helmet ripped away. All he saw was blinding white.

Agony devoured him, pouring into his mind, as if his soul seeped from every pore. Nothing remained but pain. I’m going to lose my mind!!

He tried to breathe, but the river gave none. It tossed him, spun him, until Yonan no longer knew where he was. He screamed, but only hell’s roar filled his ears. He wished for death to come quickly.

His foot struck bottom. He kicked upward, broke the surface, and gasped. His burning eyes caught sight of where the river drove him—toward darkness. A cave swallowed the current. He had not yet seen hell.

His head struck the ceiling. The cave narrowed, pressing him, dragging him as if swallowing him alive. Its throat smashed his face, choking him with boiling blackness. He groped for escape, but saw nothing, not even his fingers. Rocks crushed his face. His fingers shattered between stones.

He flailed weakly until strength left him. Silence. The roar was gone. In the far dark, someone smiled, drawing closer. They embraced him, whispering in his mother’s voice:

“It’s okay… it’s okay.”

Yonan smiled, letting go of his last breath. What a gentle voice.

⸻

Nani lifted her skirt, leaping across creek stones. She had to hurry; the Rakna beasts might find him first. Mud clung to her shoes, staining her white stockings. Pain twisted her ankle, yet she pressed on. The sky glowed crimson, the sun sliding to the horizon. The forest loomed on both sides, clawlike branches, dark leaves. She had to reach him first.

She ran along the creek, panting: “You’ll find him at the source of the stream!… But where is the source, my lady?!”

Her steps splashed droplets. She was no longer young, yet she ran from manor to spring in one breath. If only my lady knew, she would spare me.

Spray grew hotter, burning her legs. Mist thickened. Which means?!

She raised her eyes. The stream ended at a mountain. From a fissure trickled boiling water, forming a brook across smooth stones.

And at the very source, a young man lay sprawled. Motionless.

She gasped. “Oh heavens!”

She rushed to him. A young man, no older than herself, lay face-down in strange clothes. His body was bruised and red, his skin flayed in places, most of his hair gone.

She crouched, rolled him over. His skin was searing. She sat in the warm water, cradled his head, leaned to his nose. No breath.

“Oh God! He isn’t breathing!”

She patted his cheek. “Young man!… Can you hear me?”

⸻

Water clogged his throat. He convulsed, coughing. A flash split his dark eyes. Pain struck him again.

A young woman’s cry rang out. “Are you alright, young man? Thank God!”

He raised his eyes. A blonde leaned over him, green eyes close.

⸻

The young man lunged, clinging to her, sobbing like a child. She flinched but did not move. She wrapped her arms around him, stroking his back.

“It’s okay. You’re safe. I’m here.”

She cast a glance at his broken knuckles, torn skin. Her lips pressed tight as tears welled. His trembling breaths shook her shoulder. She could no longer hold back. She wept, wondering what he had endured to cry like this in a stranger’s arms.

His sobs faded. He collapsed unconscious on her lap.

Nani panicked, patting his cheek. “Young man, what’s wrong?! Can you hear me?!”

But he did not answer.

⸻

The clatter of pots and spoons roused him. Voices surrounded him—two women and a young man. His tongue was numb, his mind dazed. A blanket was pulled; cold air stung his flesh. He clenched his teeth, groaning. Darkness veiled his eyes. He tried to move, but straps bound his wrists.

A woman on his right said, “My lady, it will hurt him.”

Another replied, “Just hold him. Tai, keep his head steady.”

Hands gripped his skull. Pain stabbed through his side. He struggled.

“Where am I? Let me go! Why… why is the room dark? Turn on the lights!”

The second woman spoke again, urgent. “We must hurry or he’ll lose his sight. Hold him tight!”

More hands clamped his wrists. The youth restraining him said, “My lady, it will hurt him.”

“We must set the bones in his fingers first, or it will be harder later.”

“My fingers!” Yonan muttered.

Cold hands seized his mangled fingers, snapping them into place. The crack thundered in his head. He screamed.

“Let me go!”

“It’s okay. Endure just a little more. We’re almost done.”

The second woman said, “Hold his chest. I must fix his dislocated shoulder.”

“No, please!!”

Hands pressed him down. Cold fingers crushed his shoulder until the joint popped. His scream tore free.

“Tai, hold his head. Don’t let it slip.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“No, no! What are you going to do? Please stop!”

Hands locked his head.

“Nani, make him open his mouth.”

Gentle arms cupped his chin. “It’s okay, it will be over soon. Just open your mouth.”

He clenched his teeth.

“Open it. Come on.”

He refused.

“Force it open if you must. We don’t have time.”

The woman tried, but he resisted.

“Please, young man, open your mouth…” she begged. “My lady—”

“Step aside. I’ll open it. Hand me that knife.”

His heart pounded. The girl released his chin. “Please, be gentle, my lady.”

“Move!”

Cold fingers gripped his jaw. “Nani! The knife, quickly!”

Metal scraped. He pressed his lips shut, fighting tears, but they slid down.

Cold fingers stroked his cheek. “Open your mouth. I promise, it won’t hurt. Just medicine.”

Medicine? With a knife?

The grip tightened. “Didn’t you hear me? Open! Nani, hold the knife.”

“My lady, show him mercy.”

“Hold it!”

Her cold hand squeezed his jaw. “Young man, it will hurt more if you fight me.”

He shook his head.

“As you wish,” she muttered.

Her grip crushed his jaw. A moan slipped, his mouth opening in pain.

“Nani, give it to me!”

He tried to bite, but her hold froze him.

A woman gasped. “Will you truly do this, my lady? Won’t it kill him?!”

Silence. “If it is only a single drop, it will kill him.”

His eyes searched the dark. But no blade came. Drops fell—cold, bitter, metallic. He swallowed. The liquid slid like mercury, burning like fire. Pain raced through him, striking his heart, his skull. His teeth rattled.

“Hold his hands before he harms himself!”

His scream split the air. Voices faded as though he were sinking.

⸻

He lay on his back, groaning. Exhaustion weighed him down. His body was heavy, as if an elephant leaned on him. Light pressed against his eyelids.

He forced them open. Morning sunlight streamed through the window. Dust glimmered like stars. Birds sang. He inhaled deeply. The air smelled of earth. He lifted his gaze to a ceiling painted with gardens.

The room was filled with quiet furnishings—embroidered chairs, crystal vases, paintings, shelves of books. The floor was white marble, gleaming like snow. On his left, a table held ointments, honey, rolls of bandage.

Where am I?

He touched his damp collar, threw the blanket aside. White cotton clung to him. Someone clothed me. Groaning, he pushed up. His head was heavy, like filled with water.

Water!

A flash—spinning, suffocating, drowning in fire. He gasped, fingers trembling. His heart pounded. Was it all just a nightmare… or…?

He looked at his chest—smooth, unscarred. Arms, cheek, legs—clear, unharmed.

Was it all just a dream?!

The doorknob turned. A young woman entered, late twenties, blonde, green eyes like northern lights. She carried towels and a basin. She set it beside him, dipped cloth, leaned toward his pillow.

She froze at his wrist, gasped, hand to chest. The basin tipped, water spilling.

“Oh God! You’re awake! I thought you’d never wake!”

Her shock melted into a smile—warm, tender, like sunlight. It felt familiar.

She stepped close, pressing her hand to his forehead. “Your fever’s gone. At last!”

Her bracelet trembled. His ears burned. She noticed, pulled her hand away.

“Forgive me… I was only checking.”

He turned to the window, scratching his forehead. Did she…?

Seeing his doubt, she raised her hand. “No, no. My brother Tai clothed you. Not me.”

“Where are we?”

“The servants’ house in Moon Palace.”

“Moon Pal—what? Where is that?”

“Moon Palace! West of Mud City.”

“Mud… City? What?!”

“You don’t know Mud City?!”

“No.”

“Then where are you from? Flower? Crossroads?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Or maybe… The Valley?”

“Neither. I’m from Uniforc.”

“Uni… where is that?”

“Uniforc! The capital of the South!”

She stared. He pressed: “What’s the name of this country?”

“Country?”

“This land—what’s it called?”

“The Kingdom of Eese.”

He felt dizzy, clutching his head. She must be joking… right?

He whispered: Eese… where is that? I’ve never heard of it before!

He pressed his brow, then looked at her. “Then tell me… at least we’re still in America?”

Her brows rose. “Ameri..? I don’t think so.”

“Then how did I get here?”

A shadow of a smile touched her lips. “We found you at the spring. We brought you here.”

“Wounded at the spring?… Spring!” The word echoed. His fingers shook. I don’t want to hear that word… never again.

“What wounds?”

She pointed. “Your body was covered in burns.”

A vision flashed—white steam, his screams. His skin crawled. What madness drove me into a boiling spring?

He lifted his eyes to her warm smile. His head ached as memory struck—her smile was his mother’s. And memories returned: the bike, the race, Frank’s voice, his mother’s frail body bound by wires.

He leapt from bed. She rushed forward. “Please, don’t move! You might not be healed!”

“Give me your phone.”

“Phone?”

He mimed a handset. “The phone!”

She shook her head.

For God’s sake! I want to speak with my family… There’s no time for your jokes!

“I swear, I don’t know what you mean.”

He thought of his phone. “Where is it? My belongings?”

She pointed. “I left them there.”

He yanked the drawer. His watch clinked. Beside it lay his phone—battered. He grabbed it. The screen black, shattered. Frank’s sobs rang. His mother’s face.

Breath shaking, he turned to her. “Just tell me where the train station is.”

“The… train?”

“That’s enough!”

He tore down the corridor, ignoring the girl, rushing past paintings, gilded ornaments, velvet chairs on marble. At the end, light spilled through an open door, like a tunnel’s mouth. Yonan flung himself out, nearly colliding with a woman in an apron with baskets of grapes. He staggered, caught himself, glanced at his bare feet, chest heaving.

Then he lifted his eyes. Vineyards stretched, crimson fruit glittering, green leaves trembling. Farmers glanced, then bent back to trimming.

He spun. The palace wall circled the fields, stretching to the horizon. At his right, a white path gleamed like blocks of ice.

“What kind of wealth is this?”

Yonan dashed along the path, lungs burning, ears catching horses, women laughing, children shouting. A glance back revealed the blonde girl chasing him, flushed. He turned forward. The path ended at towering iron gates.

He shoved them open.

Children in ragged clothes, dirt-smeared faces, darted toward a market. Smoke curled. The stench of mud and dung clawed his nostrils. Wooden carts rumbled, spraying muck on stone walls, while townsfolk shopped unbothered.

It was as though he had stepped into a photograph from the nineteenth century—the faces, the garments, the goods.

He raised his eyes to ragged clouds, then back to the green-eyed girl gasping behind him. His knees gave way, sinking into the mud.

“This… this is impossible!”