Emerging from the door, the brown-haired boy found himself on a dirt path, enveloped in thick fog, swiftly realizing he wasn't inside the library anymore.

The sound of crashing waves caught the boy's attention, leading him to turn around. To his surprise, the door had vanished, revealing a cliff that overlooked a sea of even denser fog.

"What on earth is happening?" He exclaimed, his tone of utter confusion.

Perplexed by the strange events, the boy had no choice but to walk along the path, hoping to find answers to the countless questions swirling in his mind.

As he walked, he could hear distant screams echoing from the fog. Though he couldn't decipher the words, the agonized and pained tone was evident. It was clear he should avoid heading into the fog under any circumstances.

After a while, he encountered a divergence where the path split into three: one leading to the right, another to the left, and the middle one continuing straight forward.

Uncertain of the right direction, he opted to continue forward.

The path brought him to what appeared to be a battlefield, with countless swords vertically thrust into the blood-soaked ground. At the end of the field sat a colossal warrior, nearly three times the size of the boy, and just behind this mighty figure was a wooden door unattached to any wall or structure.

Cloaked in a long black coat extending to his knees, the colossal warrior wore fragments of white armor, and on his head was a white helmet with a light blue crest on top of it. Lastly, His hands were encased in Nymph stones-adorned black gloves– the traditional clothing of a Bellius.

The boy, gripped by fear, found the warrior intimidating not only due to his immense size but also because he seemed to be a Bellius—a formidable adversary not to be underestimated.

A Bellius? How do I know that? The boy asked himself. He couldn't even remember his own name, yet he knew what a Bellius was.

Upon sighting the boy, the warrior stood up.

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"What is your name, wanderer?" He asked in a deep voice.

"I... Forgot, I was told I would remember if I come here, can you help me?"

The warrior remained silent and motionless for a few moments before he grabbed the great sword at his hip then unsheathed it.

"What are you doing?" Questioned the boy as he took a step back.

With the sword held high above his head and grasped firmly with two hands, the warrior, his knees bent, dashed towards the boy with remarkable speed.

"Dhoshyl!" Screamed the boy, but nothing manifested. He had just noticed that his gloves were missing from his hands. Was he even supposed to be wearing gloves in the first place? He didn't know, and he didn't have the time to know. The great sword was already above his head.

It is said that in the final moments of one's existence, life would flash before their eyes. However, the boy had no recollections to replay; he had no life to remember.

In a swift swing, the great warrior sliced the boy in two, and everything went dark.

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The boy's eyes snapped open with a loud gasp, followed by heavy breathing. He raised his upper body from the ground, only to find himself back at the beginning of the path once again.

Perplexed, the boy raised his trembling hands and gazed into them.

"What is the meaning of this?" He questioned in a shaky voice.

He thought he had met his demise, he felt the cold steel of the sword slicing through his organs before all went dark.

Yet here he was, alive and well.

This has to be a nightmare, he thought. What else would explain this odd turn of events?

Having caught his breath, the boy stood up and chose to walk along the path once more.

Afraid of the giant warrior at the end of the path, he decided to go right once he reached the divergence.

As he kept strolling amidst the dense fog and the agonizing screams, the boy stumbled upon a vast lake.

Crouching down, he gazed into his reflection in the water, confronted by a face he couldn't recognize: short brown wavy hair, lime green eyes adorned with two moles under the right eye, a defined jawline, and five long, thin horizontal scars on his left cheek.

"Just who the hell are you?" He asked his own reflection.

"Do you wish to know?" The reflection answered, startling the boy and causing him to back up in fear.

"There is no need to be afraid, come closer," his own voice called for him.

The boy slowly returned to the lake's bank, and with scared eyes, he gazed into his reflection again.

"What are you?" He asked the reflection.

"I am you."

"I don't understand what's happening."

"But I do, and I can help you escape from here."

"How can I do that?"

"It's in the fog, you must venture into it. All the answers you seek are there."

"The fog? That can't be true," responded the boy. From the moment he woke up in that nightmare, one thing was certain for him: he must not go near the fog. All his instincts screamed against it and his very being warned him from it.

"You must believe me!" The reflection screamed and held the boy from his shoulders with arms that emerged from the water.

"Go into the fog! You useless bastard!" The voice grew angry.

The boy fought and resisted to escape the grip of the reflection.

"You think you know better?! You couldn't even save her!" The voice kept shouting.

"Release me!" The boy resisted, until he finally broke free and crawled away from the water.

"You must believe me, you must believe me, you must believe me..." The voice from the lake kept repeating.

Quickly standing up, the boy retraced his steps along the path toward the divergence. There was still one path he hadn't explored, and he hoped that taking it would lead to a different outcome.