Lucia opened her eyes to the sensation of cold.
She took a breath, but even that sound seemed unnaturally loud.
Slowly, Lucia pushed herself up and looked around. Before her stretched a pond, its dark waters perfectly still. Only the occasional droplets falling from above disturbed the surface, sending slow, widening ripples across it.
She rose to her feet and instinctively placed a hand on the hilt of her sword.
She allowed herself a few moments to fully gather her thoughts before finally lifting her gaze.
Absolute silence surrounded her, broken only by the sound of water dripping into the pond.
Lucia slowly turned, carefully studying her surroundings.
There was only one way out—a narrow passage leading forward, as though it had been carved through a solid mass of stone.
She hesitated for a brief moment, then took a step.
The corridor greeted her with an even row of torches fixed at identical intervals. Their light spread softly across the walls, leaving no deep shadows behind.
As she drew closer, Lucia stopped before one of the torches, her eyes lingering on it.
The flame burned too steadily. It did not flicker, nor did it produce the slightest shimmer of heat.
She reached out her hand, but felt nothing.
A frown crossed her face.
Lucia lowered her hand. Her gaze remained on the torch for another second before shifting away. Right now, moving forward was more important.
She continued on, letting her footsteps settle into a calm, steady rhythm. The corridor stretched endlessly ahead without a single turn, almost lulling her into complacency, while the gentle torchlight slid across the walls.
But after a while, that monotony began to break.
Her footsteps no longer felt confined, as though the space around her was gradually expanding, forcing Lucia to slow down.
A great hall unfolded before her.
It was enormous... far too enormous for an enclosed space.
Six passageways were set evenly around the walls in a perfect circle, and at the center stood the statue of a woman.
At first glance, it was flawless. There was not a single imperfection in it, as though a living person had simply been turned to stone.
And yet, something kept drawing her eyes away.
The veil.
It draped over the statue, following the shape beneath it, but... not quite.
Lucia blinked.
The veil was there, exactly where it should have been.
The same as before.
And yet, somehow, different.
She could not tell what had changed. It was as though the veil kept shifting, but she could no longer remember how it had looked before.
She knew it had changed.
And at the same time, she was certain it had always looked exactly like this.
The contradiction between what she felt and what she remembered filled her with a bone-deep terror.
Lucia turned away from the statue at once.
Only then did she notice it.
Off to one side, near the wall, a campfire was burning, and five people sat around it.
She stopped, remaining within the shadows, allowing her eyes to adjust and study them before taking another step.
They looked exhausted and wary.
Their weapons were close at hand—some openly displayed, others resting within easy reach.
Lucia tightened her grip on her sword, finding a familiar sense of reassurance in the gesture.
Remain alone in an unknown place...
Or approach those who, judging by their appearance, had already been surviving here for some time.
The choice was obvious.
She paused for one last moment before walking toward them.
Only after taking her hand off the hilt of her sword did she step into the light.
"Hello."
Every one of them turned to look at her.
The first to rise was the man sitting closest to the fire.
"Alan," he introduced himself in a calm voice before taking a step forward.
He was taller than the others, broad-shouldered, with perfect posture and deliberate, measured movements.
He gave a slight nod and gestured for her to join them by the fire.
Lucia gave the slightest nod in return, not hurrying to come any closer, and only then shifted her gaze to the others.
A large man sat nearest to the fire.
"Karl."
His voice was low, almost muffled. Even while sitting at ease, he looked massive. Heavy shoulders, broad hands, fingers that resembled tools more than part of a human body. A pair of gauntlets rested beside him—an unusual choice of weapon at first glance, but one that suited him perfectly.
A little farther away stood another man, his posture calm and composed.
"Joo Han," he said quietly.
His gaze was sharp and attentive.
A short sword hung at his waist, not unlike Lucia's own.
She looked past him.
A young woman stood at the very edge of the firelight, making no move to come closer.
"Ji Won."
Her voice was calm. She positioned herself so that there was always some distance between her and the others. A bow lay nearby, close enough to be seized in an instant.
The last to speak was the woman sitting slightly apart from the group.
"Svetlana."
She appeared calmer than the rest, though it was a deceptive impression. Every now and then, her fingers brushed against the hilts of the daggers at her sides.
Lucia let her eyes rest on each of them for a moment before taking a step forward.
"Lucia."
She stopped, feeling their eyes on her.
Taking one more step toward the fire, she was the first to break the silence.
"How long have you been here?"
"An hour. Maybe less," Alan answered, watching her carefully.
The conversation slowly began to flow.
They exchanged simple facts—what each of them had seen, where they had awakened, what they had already explored.
Lucia caught herself relaxing ever so slightly.
She listened, sometimes answering, sometimes merely nodding, and little by little the loneliness that had followed her into the hall began to fade.
Now there were others beside her.
And somehow, that alone brought relief.
She was no longer by herself, and for the moment, that was enough.
The conversation gradually grew more serious.
Alan was the first to speak again.
"I woke up in a corridor that kept shifting without me noticing. It would drift slightly to one side, or slowly narrow. I had to keep moving faster."
Karl let out a grunt, as though he recognized the feeling.
"Mine was simpler. The walls kept closing in, like they were trying to crush me. I had to keep moving forward too."
Joo Han spoke next.
"I kept walking through the same stretch of corridor over and over again. Eventually... the loop ended."
Ji Won looked away before speaking.
"I could always see the end of the corridor. It was right there, only a few steps ahead of me. But no matter how far I walked, it never got any closer. When I turned around and went back, it started moving away from me... and then somehow ended up in front of me again."
Svetlana gave a quiet chuckle.
"Mine looked completely normal... until you started noticing the details. A torch wasn't where it should be. A shadow looked wrong. Maybe a stone was... just slightly different."
She raised her eyes.
"And the more carefully you looked, the more mistakes you found."
"So I stopped looking too carefully."
The group's attention slowly returned to Lucia.
"I found a pond," she said. "There was something strange about it, but I didn't go in. I just followed the corridor and ended up here."
Alan gave a slight nod.
At that moment, footsteps echoed from one of the passageways.
The conversation died instantly, and every gaze turned toward the darkness.
First came the light.
A dim, uneven torch flame emerged from the depths of the corridor, as though it had cut a small piece out of the darkness and was carrying it along. It moved slowly, almost lazily.
Then a silhouette took shape within that light.
At first it was little more than a blur, with no clear outline. A shadow inside the glow that seemed reluctant to become human.
And only then—
A person.
Thin and short, no more than five feet five.
But the first thing anyone noticed was neither his height nor his build.
It was the condition of his body.
At a single glance, it was obvious that he had been starving for a very long time.
Not for a day or two.
Much longer than that.
His cheeks had sunken in, his cheekbones stood out far more sharply than they should have, and his skin clung tightly to his face. His neck seemed unnaturally thin, and his collarbones were painfully distinct.
Yet there was no weakness in him.
Quite the opposite.
There was a strange, almost frightening sense of completeness.
As though everything unnecessary had been stripped away.
Nothing remained but bones, muscle, sinew, and the bare minimum needed to survive.
Even the way he walked did not seem exhausted.
And the torch in his hand did not tremble.
He stopped at the edge of the campfire's light.
For a moment, it felt as though he had been watching them for a very long time.
Only now...
they had finally noticed him.
His hair had once been blond, though now that could only be guessed from the faint traces of color still visible beneath layers of dirt, dust, and soot that had settled so deeply they seemed impossible to wash away. The strands were tangled, some clumped together, falling unevenly around his face, yet even in that disarray there was a hint of the softness they must once have had.
His face...
It was gaunt, sharp, almost unnaturally defined. His cheekbones stood out more than they should have, and his jawline looked far too clear-cut. The skin stretched tightly over the bones beneath, emphasizing every contour.
And somehow, it did not make him ugly.
Quite the opposite.
If the dirt were washed away, if his hair were brushed back, if his body regained even a little of the weight it had lost...
He would have been beautiful.
Not with a gentle or familiar kind of beauty, but with something colder. Distant.
Almost untouchable.
Even now, in his current state, that beauty had not vanished.
It had merely become harsher.
As though, together with the excess weight, everything human had also been stripped away, leaving behind nothing but the form itself.
His eyes were the only thing that did not belong with the rest.
They were startlingly clear—cold, pale blue.
They did not look tired.
They were not dull or clouded like the eyes of someone who had endured long starvation.
On the contrary, they were incredibly sharp and focused.
As though everything his body had lost had somehow gathered within them.
Against the dirt and exhaustion covering the rest of him, they seemed almost unnatural, like precious stones set into a ruined frame.
He wore a torn T-shirt that might once have been light-colored, though now it had darkened with grime and time. Over it was an old jacket, worn thin and frayed in places where the fabric had nearly given way. His work trousers were ripped in several spots, their edges ragged, as though the cloth had long since stopped serving as protection.
His boots, however, looked almost new.
Almost.
If not for the dark stains of dried blood soaked deep into the leather—marks that even time itself had failed to erase.