I sprint down the coastline until a hidden rock catches my foot, sending me tumbling into the sand. The fall knocks the wind out of me, and pain erupts in my wounds, bringing back all the agony I'd been suppressing.

"Haa... Haa... Haa..." I lie there, panting, as the pain pulses through my head, finger, hand, and kneecap.

I sit up quickly, eyes wide, scanning the path I just ran for any signs of movement. My heart pounds, but as the moments pass and nothing stirs, my panic slowly ebbs. I exhale deeply and collapse back onto the sand, letting myself rest for a few minutes.

Staring up at the sky, I notice a strange, fragmented object stretched across the horizon, tinged with hints of red. Its peculiar shape captivates me, stirring a sense of curiosity beneath my lingering fear.

I try to piece together how I ended up here. I remember talking to Rudiger at school, telling him about my plans. Having just turned 16, I was set on dropping out to find work—I was tired of living on the outskirts of town and wanted a place of my own. He tried to talk me out of it, but I can't recall how the conversation ended, or even if I went through with dropping out.

It's all hazy, like a restless sleep where my body kept waking and drifting off again, plagued by stress—like the anxiety before a high-stakes interview you can't afford to mess up.

Since my memories don't align with my current situation, I might be experiencing some form of amnesia.

The sun's movement makes it look like it's the afternoon. I might need to find a way to get food. But first, I should clean myself off and try to reduce the pain in my arm.

I get up and look around. Since I'm next to a lake, I should try fishing. Luckily, I'm not very hungry right now. I feel as if I had been eating well before I woke up.

This feeling is weird since I'm also a lot more muscular than I remember. I also think I'm taller, but that might just be wishful thinking.

I notice I have abs and immediately go to rub them to see if they're real.

"Holy shit, I'm ripped!" I shout as I excitedly rub my hands all over my body.

My body is still in pain and covered in blood, so I should head to the lakeside to wash up.

I stare at the lake, trying to see if I can see my reflection in the water. However, my face is too blurry to see, but I can make out the outline of the horns sticking out of my head. Now that I've got a clearer picture, they look and feel like ram horns. I look at the other parts of my body. My hair—top and bottom—is still black; however, my skin is much paler than it used to be, to a concerning amount. It's almost as if I have not seen sunlight in years.

I kneel at the lake to wash my hands; I have a burn mark and a missing fingernail on my right arm. I don't have anything I can bandage them with, so I take my shirt off and wrap it around my arm. I have a taste of the lake, and it's not as salty as I remember the lake to be. So, this is a different lake.

I then stare at my abs for a solid minute in awe. Food from where I'm from is all ultra-processed, and food you can cook with is way too expensive, so I've always had a problem with proper nutrition. I guess it won't last long since as soon as I find someone and go back home, it'll be back to eating sugary slop and canned veggies.

I check to make sure I don't have blood in my pants, and luckily, I do not; it's just a bit bruised. I wiggle around, trying to get the sand off me.

"A jiggle-jiggle-jiggle," I try to lighten my mood and let loose. Then I look around to make sure no one saw me.

I'll walk down the shoreline and see if I can find someone or a tool to go fishing. While I'm walking, I might want to recap how my magic fog worked in the cave.

It activated two times: first when I was frustrated in that pod, and the second when I was ready to die fighting whatever was in the cave.

If anger is the driver for it, it might take some practice to get angry. I am a very rational person.

I attempt to cast the fog into existence by sheer willpower. I tense my neck and try to push it out, but nothing happens. I recall past betrayals and the injustices I've endured. I think about the fear when those monsters nearly killed me or the dread of being trapped in that pod forever. Yet, none of these thoughts trigger the magic. It seems I won't be able to use the fog to help me fish.

Continuing along the beach, I decide to rethink my experiences in the cave and distinguish confirmed facts from mere theories.

I was able to activate the magic twice, both times under intense fear and anger. Trying to simulate those emotions now doesn't work. The first time, I was trapped in the pod—it can't be a coincidence that it opened after I used the magic. I remember touching the fog and thinking of water, but I never confirmed if it was water.

The second time, I was ready to fight off those banshee-like monsters, and the magic activated just when I needed it. That time, I verified something: the fog itself has no inherent properties, but when I "activate" it, I can assign chemical properties to it. The only confirmed fact is its violent reaction resembling sodium in water—just like in those videos I've seen.

I have two theories to test before I can confirm anything:

1. Alloy Theory: When I tried to make claws, I attempted to create an alloy of copper and iron. I'm uncertain if I melded them together or simply had scraps locking together like magnets. Without proper testing, I can't confirm the exact process.

2. Molecule Theory: I suspect I created water, but I couldn't produce nitroglycerin. This suggests limitations in what I can generate at the molecular level.

For now, these remain theories. Hopefully, in the future, I'll be able to refine this ability—making it a viable option for battle or even for work.

As I walk along the beach, some trees catch my eye at the edge of the shore. Hoping to find some fruit, I approach, but they're mostly just plain pine trees. The lower branches are within reach, so I yank two off, thinking they might serve as fishing rods or perhaps spears.

It hits me that I've never actually been responsible for getting my own food before. Growing up, meals came from refrigerators or potlucks. Living on my own, it was all canned goods and processed snacks. I wish I'd learned to hunt or cook.

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Scanning the area, I spot some thorny bushes that could potentially be woven into a makeshift net. As I start pulling at the branches, a sudden rattling sound freezes me in place. A rattlesnake darts out from the bush.

"Oh, shit!" I yell, stumbling back onto the sand.

The snake slithers toward me, eyes locked onto mine. My heart pounds as I instinctively try to summon the magic fog—but nothing happens. Panic wells up, but then a bold idea flashes through my mind.

"I can eat the snake," I whisper, gripping the thicker branch tighter.

I swing at the snake's head, but it dodges swiftly, retreating toward the bush. Thinking quickly, I use the thinner stick to flick it onto open ground where it can't hide.

But now what? The snake is faster than me, and if I miss, its bite could be deadly. My gaze falls on the shirt wrapped around my arm—the makeshift bandage.

Taking a deep breath, I lunge forward. The snake strikes, its fangs sinking into the fabric-covered arm. Pain shoots through me, but I seize the moment to pin its body to the ground. The blue fog appears again, but I already have a plan of action. Raising the stick, I aim for its neck and strike, but the blow isn't strong enough. The snake thrashes wildly.

Desperate, I focus all my willpower, and the blue fog collects around my hand. I press my hand against the snake's neck, envisioning the violent reaction of sodium meeting water, just like in those videos I've seen. Heat burns my hand, but the snake's movements slow, then cease.

"RAAAAAA!" I roar, adrenaline surging as I pound my chest. A primal thrill rushes through me—victory.

Staring at the lifeless snake, a mix of emotions swirls inside me. I've eaten meat all my life, knowing it came from animals, but taking a life with my own hands feels entirely different. A wave of guilt mingles with my triumph. Survival demanded this, but was I ready to embrace what that truly means?

Am I truly understanding my magic, or just gathering facts? Each time I've used it, I was willing to risk myself to achieve something. In the pod, ready to sacrifice myself to escape. In the cave, prepared to die fighting. Now, risking venom to secure a meal.

Maybe sacrifice is the key.

I close my eyes, concentrating on the idea of giving up something—a part of myself—to invoke the magic. A cold sensation washes over me. Opening my eyes, I see the fog swirling around me without any immediate danger present.

Time to test my theories.

I focus on the fog, attempting to move it from my neck to my hand. It responds, though it diminishes slightly in size. Concentrating harder, I envision it transforming into water. The fog in my palm begins to liquefy, cool droplets forming and dripping between my fingers.

The liquid moves like water, dripping between my fingers as I jiggle my hand. I lick it; it tastes metallic but has no real flavor. I think this confirms my theory, even if it doesn't feel the same.

As the young man experimented with his newfound powers, he remained blissfully unaware of the danger creeping nearby. A massive cobra, its body stretching over twenty feet with a three-foot diameter, observed him with piercing yellow eyes. Bulging purple veins pulsed from its eyes into an expansive neck hood that spanned five feet across. Silently, it slithered through the underbrush, closing the distance.

Lost in thought, the young man didn't notice the cobra until it was almost upon him. His eyes widened as he caught sight of the monstrous serpent. "What the—!" he shouted, gripping his catch tightly as adrenaline surged through him. Without wasting a second, he turned to run.

A sinister hiss echoed as the cobra channeled magical energy into its hood. Suddenly, ethereal purple replicas of its own head launched toward him. One spectral head snapped around his torso, lifting him off the ground. "No!" he yelled, struggling against the crushing force. Another phantom head struck, sending him hurtling into the air.

Desperate, he summoned his magic, hurling a searing blast at the cobra's visage. The attack scorched its scales, but only seemed to enrage the beast further. The serpent whipped him around before releasing its grip, and he plummeted ten feet, crashing onto the unforgiving ground. Pain shot through his body as he gasped for breath, his right arm limp and unresponsive.

The cobra reared back, preparing to deliver a fatal strike with its spectral heads. Just then, a brilliant yellow arc sliced through the air, severing one of the phantom heads and grazing the cobra's body. Startled, the young man turned his head to see a figure approaching.

A man clad in a brown cloak fastened with a wooden emblem advanced toward the cobra. Beneath the cloak, a tunic and sturdy sandals were visible. His black hair framed sharp green eyes set in a determined face. Without acknowledging the young man on the ground, he focused solely on the beast.

The cobra lunged, sending another phantom head toward him. The man deftly pressed the glowing tip of his spear to his side, unleashing an arc of yellow light that obliterated the attack. The serpent hissed, its frustration evident.

In a fluid motion, the man channeled energy from his spear into his sandals. A burst of light propelled him skyward, flipping over the cobra. At the peak of his ascent, he redirected the energy, diving down with astonishing speed. His spear gleamed as he struck, but the cobra's protective purple fog absorbed most of the impact.

The battle wore on, neither side gaining ground. Realizing that they were at a stalemate, the young man mustered his strength. "Get out of the way!" he shouted hoarsely. Though the cloaked man didn't comprehend his words, he sensed the urgency. Noticing a blue fog forming at the cobra's base, he swiftly retreated.

A deafening explosion erupted as the blue fog ignited—this time fueled by methane. Flames engulfed the cobra, its scales crackling under the intense heat. Seizing the opportunity, the cloaked man dashed forward. A concentrated beam of yellow light pierced through the back of the serpent's neck. With a final, decisive slash, the cobra's head toppled to the ground.

Silence settled over the battlefield. Exhausted, the young man watched as the cloaked figure stood over the fallen beast.

Right before I was attacked, I was lost in thought, experimenting with my magic fog. I'd been trying to create different molecules, realizing that substances with less density allowed me to produce more volume. I attempted to add hydrogen to carbon, hoping to generate a significant explosion in a limited size. I was planning to go from carbon to nitrogen, but that wasn't needed. Just as I was contemplating this, I was attacked and slammed into the ground.

Pain shot through my body as I struggled to focus. While on the ground, I managed to combine carbon with four hydrogens—creating methane—and ignited it with a spark of sodium. With a bit of effort, I directed the fog around the base of the cobra.

I'm glad the man who saved me noticed what I was doing and got out of the way. If the fight had shifted elsewhere or if the ignition had occurred too early, things could have ended horribly.

Now, he was walking toward me, spear in hand. Uncertainty gripped me; I didn't know what he intended, and I was too injured to defend myself.

He started to speak, but I couldn't understand a word. It sounded like Spanish, and not knowing any Spanish, I was at a loss. He sounded upset—perhaps he thought I had tried to blow him up. Before I could attempt to respond, a voice called out from a distance.

"Hugh!" someone yelled, approaching us.

The man turned as another figure drew near. This newcomer was dressed oddly, wearing a toga and sandals. He had brown hair, eyes, and skin, with an oval-shaped face that seemed friendlier than the stern gaze of the man with the spear. He appeared a bit older than me.

As they conversed in animated tones, I took a deep breath and mustered the strength to pull myself into a sitting position. They both turned to stare at me, surprise evident in their eyes.

"Um... hi?" I stammered, offering a weak smile. I tried to think of words that might cross the language barrier, but nothing came to mind.

The younger man attempted to speak to me again, his tone slightly softer, but I could only return his words with a blank stare. Realizing I didn't understand, he said something to the man I assumed was Hugh.

Hugh approached me and extended his arm. Gratefully, I reached out and grabbed it. He helped me to my feet. As soon as I stood up, he walked away before I could even thank him.

The man in the toga gestured with his hand, motioning for me to follow them. I nodded and began to walk behind them, but every step sent jolts of pain through my body. My pace slowed, and Hugh glanced back, a look of frustration crossing his face.

"Tsk," he grunted softly before turning around. Before I could protest, he lifted me over his shoulder with surprising ease.

"Ah! Wait!" I cried out as a sharp pain flared in my side. A mix of embarrassment and helplessness washed over me as he hoisted me up. I didn't have the strength to fight back, and any protest seemed futile. Resigned, I let out a sigh, hoping that wherever they were taking me would offer some answers.