The world went black in an instant of agony. One moment, gravity wasn't enough his neck arched unnaturally as bone met bone, a crack like thunder in his skull and the next, there was only void.
A soft rasp of wind brushed across his ear as consciousness seeped back. His first sensation was pain: hot, raw, and all-consuming, as if his spinal cord had been rewired by lightning. For a breath, he lay still, senses too fractured to discern direction or distance.
Then the weight of sand pressed at his back. Heched, but sounding distant, came a rhythm: tide lapping, the rough inhale and exhale of waves. Pain throbbed in every fiber. Instinct urged him to curl, but something deeper sheer stubbornness born of fifteen years on the rugby pitch made him fight to lift his head.
Black sand flecked with obsidian grains shifted as he turned his cheek. His dreadlocks, matted with moisture, flopped across his brow and clung to damp skin. The world came into muted focus: a sky streaked in pearl-gray dawn, a strip of roiling blue beyond, and at his feet, jagged volcanic rock slowly succumbing to the sea's pull.
He tried to speak but produced only a tortured rasp. A spasm in his neck made him clutch at his throat, as if he could hold the pain in his palm. Darkness threatened to reclaim him. With an effort that felt as if each breath would shatter his ribs, he rolled onto his side.
White-capped waves washed inches from his elbow. He tasted salt and iron; his mouth felt bone-dry. Through furrowed vision, he glimpsed the sky fracture like glass, no, that was his skull. Images flickered: his dorm room at Texas A&M, laughter echoing in a haze of smoke, the bruise-purple bruise blooming on his shin from that ill-fated twist kick.
The memory stabbed him: he'd been watching anime high on a lazy afternoon, convinced he could emulate Sanji's spinning heel. One—two—thrice his leg arced through empty air until it locked around his own neck. A snap of vertebrae, a flash of pain, and then the universe had imploded.
Now… where was "now"? Not home. Not Earth. His lungs burned by the sting of saltwater spray, he forced himself upright. Grains of sand ground between his teeth as he spat. The searing pain in his neck was a cruel tether to reality—proof he was alive.
He blinked against the rising sun, which hovered low and orange beyond the horizon. But something else caught his attention—a glow, faint and golden, shimmering in front of his right eye. He squinted, head throbbing, until the outline resolved into a floating panel of translucent glyphs and progress bars.
A quiet voice—resonant, neither male nor female—spoke directly into his mind, its tone calm and formal:
"――――――――――――――――――Four Great Talents SystemActive Talent: Ilios (1/10)EXP: 0 / 100Next Mission: 'Establish Your Flame'――――――――――――――――――Welcome, Host. You have awakened the Ilios Gift. Complete missions to grow stronger. Your first objective: survive and ignite your spark."
Kajin's heart hammered so loudly he was certain the forest answered in time. His fingers dug into the sand as confusion warred with pain. "Ilios… Gift?" he rasped, voice cracking. "What the hell…"
But the system offered no more. The panel hovered, its progress bars idle. No hint how—or why—it had chosen him. Only the mission pulsed beneath his vision: "Establish Your Flame."
He forced himself to his feet, every vertiginous shift of his neck a reminder of how alien this place was. His left cheek stung where an old burn scar puckered the skin—he'd been mugged in New York at eighteen, the flame of a Molotov cocktail leaving a permanent reminder. Now, that scar throbbed in time with his heartbeat, a tether to the life he'd lost.
Wind teased shredded threads of dreadlocks across his brow. He tilted his head, assessing the scene: to the west, the ocean; behind him, a jumble of palms and ferns that throbbed with unseen wildlife; before him, a narrow spit of black sand curving inland to a dense jungle.
Each step toward the trees sent fresh lightning through his cervical spine. He gulped air, willing his lungs to obey. The system's panel hovered at the corner of his gaze, silent but insistent.
Cold fear curled in his gut—he had nothing: no water, no food, no allies. Just a talent he barely understood and a mission that boiled down to a single imperative: survive, and spark a flame.
Summoning every vestige of the fighter he'd been on the rugby field, Kajin clenched his fists, centered himself on pain, and staggered toward the jungle's edge. Darkness gathered in the undergrowth, alive with chirps and rustles. If wild beasts lurked, he'd need that flame to drive them off.
Behind him, the tide sighed. Ahead, the forest loomed—a crucible that would either kill him or make him. With one last look at the rising sun, Kajin D. Ilios stepped into the shadows, and the island swallowed him whole.