When he opened his eyes, it wasn't the hospital.
It was a strange bedroom, dimly lit, made of rough wood and stone. A cracked mirror hung crooked on the wall. The bed beneath him was stiff and unfamiliar. His body felt… smaller. Lighter.
He sat up, gasping as the unfamiliarness crashed over him.
His belly was gone.
"Wait... what the hell—" His voice cracked as he looked at his hands, pale and thin. "Whose... arms are these?"
Panic began to claw up his throat.
Before he could even think further—
CRASH!
Glass shattered, spraying cold shards across the room.
A figure leapt through the window with deadly grace, dagger gleaming under the weak moonlight. The intruder's eyes burned with hunger — or was it malice?
A bandit? An assassin? It didn't matter.
Zhang's heart pounded like a drum in his chest. He barely had time to breathe before he felt a searing heat at his neck.
His fingers brushed the pendant hanging there — the same one from his vision.
It started to glow.
No — it blazed.
Light flooded his vision, white and overwhelming.
Then, just as the bandit lunged forward, dagger aimed to strike—
Everything switched.
Suddenly, Zhang found himself where the bandit was, mid-air, gripping a cold dagger in hand.
The bandit was where Zhang had been, caught off guard, eyes wide in confusion.
His body moved on pure instinct.
Without thinking, Zhang drove the dagger forward.
The bandit's breath hitched. A shocked, strangled sound escaped his lips as the blade sank deep.
Silence fell.
Zhang blinked, breath ragged.
He was alive. The pendant still burned warm against his chest.
His first power had awakened — a swap of place at the moment of danger.
And just like that, nothing would ever be the same.
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