Kang Jae-heon woke to wind.
It smelled like wet stone and metal. Not like Seoul. Not like his small apartment. He sat up and stared at a sky the color of old brass. Clouds moved low. Far below, a river cut the land into dark lines.
He swung his legs over the cliff. His hands found cold rock. His heart beat fast. He looked for other people. None. Only birds, the distant sound of water, and the wide, empty world.
A faint light hovered in front of him. Not bright. Not loud. It moved like a slow thought. Letters arranged themselves inside it. He read without thinking. The words were clear, but they felt like a machine speaking in soft tones.
He let the words wash over him and looked away. Names and rules could wait. He kept his head. Panicking would do him no good.
There was a pool of cloudy water a few paces away. He went to it because thirst was simple. He crouched and cupped his hands. The water was warm. It smelled of clay and something bitter.
He closed his eyes. He thought about clean water, about boiling and filtering. He shaped a small plan in his head. He did not know why the world replied, only that it did.
The pool cleared. The surface went smooth. A single sip filled his mouth with cold, sharp water. It tasted of stone and rain. Relief slid through him. Not a triumph. Just a practical win.
Behind him, a shape took form.
It started as a blur. Then a human figure stood. Young. Alert. Watching him with a steady calm. It moved without hurry. It did not speak.
Jae-heon watched it back. He tested it with a small wave. The figure matched him, same motion, same rhythm. The mimicry was clean. No surprise, no fear.
He could feel a list growing in his mind. Basics first. Water. Shelter. Food. Then tools. Then, later, bigger things.
He picked a name that meant nothing to the air. Myaterous. A shell. An alias. He did not want a real name in a place like this. Names called targets. He wanted distance.
He had finished university two months before. Engineering. A degree folder in a desk now gone. He had learned to map problems, break them down, test one variable at a time. That habit settled him here. The world felt like a problem, vast and dangerous, but solvable piece by piece.
Clouds rolled closer. The wind carried a far, low sound—like something moving through trees. He did not know what it was. He did not know if it was friend or threat. He did know how to watch.
The figure beside him glanced toward the sound and then back. It did not act without instruction. It waited.
Jae-heon sat on the cliff edge and let the sun warm his face. He watched the valley. He watched the river. He watched the forest rims where light met shadow.
He taught himself three rules in a single breath.
One. Move slow. Rushing wastes energy and attention.
Two. Learn first. Act second. Information saves lives.
Three. Build small things that scale. A well feeds one person now. Ten wells feed a village later.
He tested the third rule by shaping a simple task in his mind. The figure moved without orders and knelt by the pool. It set a small line of stones, then watched him. There was no speech. But the act said everything he needed. It could follow. It could help. It might be taught.
He felt neither triumph nor fear. He felt a hardness, steady and clear. He had no illusions about what waited beyond the next ridge. People meant help and danger. The world itself would test him. He would test it back.
He thought of blueprints he had studied once. Machines, water systems, simple circuits. The names came to him like tools in a drawer. He could imagine designs and step through them slowly. He would not rush to build grand things. He would build the small, necessary parts first and learn the rules that held them together.
Night came sooner than he expected. The clouds broke into a soft rain. He tied a strip of fabric to a branch and made a crude shelter. The figure watched and copied, then found a small scrap of leaf and tucked it where he pointed.
When the fire took, it was small and honest. The smoke stung his eyes the right way. He ate a raw root he had dug from the earth and felt hunger ease. The figure shared none of the food. He did not expect it to. It was not his yet.
He sat back and listened to rain on leaves. The world breathed around him, patient and vast. He thought about the other people—millions, he had heard, taken from homes and scattered. He thought about the chances of meeting any of them. Slim. But possible.
He closed his eyes and thought about the shape of the day. He would map the valley tomorrow. He would test the pool further. He would ask the figure a name, if it could speak. He would watch the paths and listen for other sounds.
He kept Myaterous as a mask. He liked the quiet certainty of a name that answered nothing.
Sleep came finally, light and cautious. He slept with one hand on his pocket, fingers touching a small, empty space where a phone used to be. It felt like a relic. He slept thinking of steps. Small steps. Clear steps. One after the other.
And when he woke, the world was still there. The river still cut the land. The light still held that hard, honest color. The path forward had not changed.
He rose and moved into it.