Chapter 1 : Life's Ten Steps
A vast, white desert stretched endlessly under a black sky scattered with cold, distant stars. The white desert too infertile to grow anything, and yet, bright red dandelion-like flowers bloom, defiantly alive against the barren background.
But this world is not completely soulless.
A species exists here, humanoid in shape, but with a head full of exactly ten petals like a flower.
They begin life as white, immobile plants rooted in the sand. Over time, they sprout limbs, rise to their feet, and walk into brief existence.
These beings are called Ten-Step Sapiens, for they live only ten steps from the moment of their birth. And when those ten steps are over, their bodies dissolve into white sand, reborn again as red dandelions.
Some of them live joyfully, others stare at the world with hollow eyes. Some take the ten steps the moment they awaken with curiosity. Others spend their time frozen in hesitation for eternity.
Their purpose? To chase the first thing they see, be it another flower-being, a mirage on the horizon, or the vast sky itself.
In the ever flowing river of time, a change has taken effect. A lone soul from Earth has crossed this world.
Painful!
How painful!
My head hurts so badly!
A gaudy and dazzling dreamworld filled with murmurs instantly shattered. The sound-asleep Albert felt an abnormal throbbing pain in his head, as though someone had ruthlessly pierced it with a knife.
In a daze, he attempted to move, but could not.
All he could do was open his eyes, only to be confronted by a bewildering view: a white desert with crimson dandelions and strange flower people merrily going around..
"Is this… a lucid dream?"
He tried moving again. No luck.
He kept trying to move until he realized the weird state he was in, "I can't move. Wait… what the hell—why am I a small white plant?!"
With no way to change his situation he decided to observe first. He could look around every directions simultaneously unlike a normal human. He held onto hope he would wake up from this nightmare.
Just like that some time passed. At least, he assumed it did.
"What's going on? Is this a coma? Some weird sleep paralysis hallucination? This place is so... quiet. So empty. Those creepy flower people are the only thing moving around."
A day passed with no hope of waking up from this supposedly weird dream.
"This is starting to scare me. How long have I been here?!"
Then days turned into weeks. He was starting to question reality itself. With so much time time to think. His worldview shattered multiple times.
"Am I in hell…?"
And then a year. He was being driven to the brink of insanity. He was hysterical. He laughed, he cried but he could not make a sound.
"This is insane! Someone, please! Get me out of here! I don't want this! God, anyone, help me!"
He screamed in his heart, but silence was the only answer.
Eventually… he stopped screaming.
He bacame calm, very calm, abnormally so.
He started to see the world differently. You could even say, if he was on Earth, he would not be considered normal. But then again what is normal? It is just confirming to the majority's opinion.
"I guess this is my life now, ha..haha... at least I'm better off than the flower people. They lose their petals with each step they take, and with them, their life, only to turn into creepy red dandelions. How miserable!"
Five years passed as Albert silently witnessed this new world. He started to zone out. Many times he could not remember when was the last time he felt awake. This made him take mental notes of any and everything he saw to not get a conscious death.
"I think I'm becoming one of them, The Ten Step Sapiens. I've seen how they change, first a white plant, then they grow limbs and petals, and lastly die dissolving into sand and red dandelions sprout from their remains."
A decade passed, but this time, something different happened in Albert's boring plant life. But he did not care much, even seeing this as an interesting obervation.
"I can't see... Did I go blind? Am I being punished? I wasn't a bad person, was I? But years standing still in solitude… it changes you. I've thought about every mistake I ever made on Earth. Maybe that's the point of this hell."
Eventually, a couple moments later light returned. Confusing him as to why this happened. Until he saw the condition of his plant body.
"I… I can see again. Just as I thought. I've become one of them. A Ten-Step Sapien. I can move now. But that somehow terrifies me more than being stuck as a plant."
He stared down at his limbs, then at the ten white petals blooming from his head.
"Will I dissolve after ten steps? Or return to being a motionless plant? Being stuck for such a long time was already enough but why am I forced to choose this nonsensical choice?" Albert wondered about it for a long time.
Still, Albert took his first trembling step with hesitation. His long lost fear, his humanity seemed to have reignited and with it came despair.
A petal fell.
And a deep sting spread through his head.
"This is real. It's happening. The countdown has begun."
He froze. Fear gripped him like a vice. He thought he did not care anymore what happens to him. But he was wrong.
Time passed, as it always did. He remained motionless stuck, but this time it was by his own will.
Around him, flower-people walked their ten steps, some in joy, some in confusion, most in ignorance.
He once lived a decade as a plant. That was Albert a human. But now that he is closer to a human than ever in this blasted world, he is stuck, rooted like a plant: no movement, no thoughts, only a lonely, despairing soul.
Time continued to flow. And one fateful moment Albert noticed something very interesting. That made him regain his reasoning.
These flower like people all chased something. A shimmering star, a wandering figure, a glimmer on the horizon. But none ever reached what they pursued.
Not one.
"They never notice their invincible shackles. They always pick the unreachable goals too distant for their short ten steps. And then always die before they can get there. It's almost like… it's built into their nature."
How miserable!
But so similar to humans!
He frowned.
"If it were me… I'd pick something close. Something I can reach, like that hill or a pit nearby with my remaining nine steps. Just to survive longer as well as reach my goal comfortingly."
But a quiet voice in his heart asked:
"And what then? Is that all I'll be? 'That flower guy who reached the pit as his goal'? That's my great legacy?"
Albert shook his head.
No! I cannot let this boring life be so meaningless.
If my end is so clear...
"I won't waste this life. Even if it's only ten steps, let me run for something worth chasing. Let me be the one who ran for the brightest star in the sky."
He took a breath, clenched his fists, mustered his will and stepped forward.
Since I already gave my first step to hesitation.
Let my second step reach for the distant, shining star.
A sharp stinging pain, and the second petal falls away. Only this time he did not stop but continued.
Let my third step move toward hope, and with it, the third petal drifts off.
Let my fourth step embrace the joy of having a purpose...
Let my fifth step be driven by unwavering determination...
Let my sixth step carry the weight of perseverance...
Seventh, eighth, then the ninth step toward witnessing this monolithic journey.
At the end of the journey he is left with the last petal clinging from his flower head.
Albert was expressionless as he continued forward.
He had once screamed, gradually, he lost his voice.
He had once cried gradually, he lost his tears.
He had once grieved—gradually, he became able to withstand everything.
He had once rejoiced gradually, he became unmoved by the world.
All he was left with was an expressionless face.
His gaze tough as a monolith.
Only perseverance remained in his heart.
And finally, with my tenth step, I choose to accept this new life.
As the last petal falls, I turn back, only to see a trail of petals marking each step I've taken like a brush stroke on the white desert as a blank canvas.
Humans live for a hundred years it is as unreal as a dream that ends in an instant.
What is the point of a person living in this world?
No more than being on a journey and witnessing interesting things.
Albert stands, gazing at the brightest star ever unreachable as his eyes become blurry yet sharp.
In realization, he witnesses his life dissolve into the white sand.
A beautiful crimson dandelion grows, nourished by his life, the pappi detaches and floats towards the brightest star as if to fulfill Albert's wishes, as they say:
"Every new beginning comes from another beginning's end."
Chapter 2 : The Beginning - Evan Wilhelm
Atop the serene expanse of Whispering Hill stood Jingyuan Hall, a small, secluded orphanage. The hill, gently sloping yet stood tall, rising above the surrounding landscape, offering a scenic view of the valleys below. Where soft mist clung to the earth like a delicate shroud.
The orphanage itself an ancient stone building with ivy creeping up its walls appeared timeless, as though it had quietly withstood the passage of years.
It stood solemnly under a turbulent sky, as a relentless torrent of rain swept down, drenching the earth and saturating the air with a palpable heaviness.
The downpour seemed endless, each drop a fierce percussion against the windows. Lightning forked across the sky in blinding arcs, casting brief, spectral glimmers over the worn stone walls, while thunder roared like an ancient beast awakening from its slumber.
The old headmaster stood amidst the children, his frail figure silhouetted against the faint glow of a flickering lantern. He gazed out the window as the storm raged beyond. His voice, aged and weary, broke the silence.
"The storm outside," he began, "is like the world we face, tumultuous and fierce. But just as rain nourishes the earth, hardship can strengthen us. The future you will inherit will not be one of power or conquest, but of understanding and unity. You are the seeds of that new era, and it is up to you to shape it with strength and compassion."
He paused, resting his hands on the desk. "The storm will pass. And when it does, stand strong not just as individuals, but together. The challenges ahead will test you, but they will also reveal your true strength. Rise, and forge the future you desire."
The old headmaster, as was his custom, had begun one of his lengthy morning speeches, monologues that often stretched on for hours. Yet, on this particular day, the weather seemed in no mood to listen.
All at once, crimson lightning slashed across the sky interrupting the headmaster, casting an eerie, blood-red glow that twisted the room into a nightmarish silhouette.
In the same breath, a violent wind howled through the space, snuffing out the lanterns and plunging everything into a suffocating darkness that felt alive, heavy and unnatural. The storm outside raged with otherworldly ferocity, the wind's howls rising in a discordant, almost human wail. Rain struck the windows in a frantic, irregular rhythm, as though the very fabric of reality were trembling. In that darkness, the air grew thick, charged with an unsettling presence, as if something ancient and unseen had awakened, stirring in the depths of the shadows.
After a long, breathless pause, the unnatural stillness shattered. The children erupted into frantic chaos, their voices rising in wild, panicked disarray as the storm outside howled like a predatory beast.
Yet amidst the tumult stood one figure, unmoving, a pale, thin young man, his body unnervingly still. His hair, tousled and wild, seemed unnaturally charged, as though a bolt of stray lightning had reached into him, leaving it crackling with a faint, ghostly glow.
His eyes once ordinary now flashed a deep, unsettling crimson, as though a dandelion of blood had bloomed suddenly at the very core of his pupils. A cold shiver ran through the room, for in his gaze was something ancient, something far beyond the storm. The very air itself recoiled from him. The chaos around him seemed to halt, as if the world had suddenly paused to watch him, this pale, unnatural figure, untouched by the madness. His crimson eyes gazed at his surroundings with childlike curiosity, creating a strange contrast to the fear that gripped the room.
Albert Alferf awoke from darkness, thick and absolute, like the velvet curtain of a forgotten stage drawn tight. The air was heavy with the scent of damp stone and mildew. Thunder rolled overhead, deep and distant, followed by a flash of lightning that painted the hall in ghostly white for a heartbeat.
Children's cries pierced the gloom, scattered and overlapping, some shrill with fear, others bewildered and breathless with excitement. Feet scraped against the wooden floor, scurrying in confused arcs. A chair toppled. A distant sob echoed through the hall.
Rain lashed the tall windows in a frantic, relentless rhythm.
In the midst of it all stood the newcomer, disoriented, his heart pounding to a rhythm that did not feel like his own. His last memory had been of death. Cold, final, certain, as he watched his body dissolve into white sand. And yet here he was, reborn in chaos, standing in a hall of disorder, surrounded by frightened children.
The world he had known for a decade was gone.
And something else had taken its place.
Yet the chaotic, living atmosphere, the firm wooden floor, the pounding rain, the occasional lightning, the scent of dampness and mildew, made his heart surge with excitement. There was a comforting sense of being human again, in a world that somehow felt familiar, rather than the vast expanse of a bizarre desert of black, white, and crimson.
He cried unknowingly.
Then, he howled with excitement and joy, joining the chaos of the other children, while they screamed in fear from the sudden darkness. He laughed and cried in a maddening crescendo.
The staff and the old headmaster hastily calmed the children and re-lit the lanterns. Once the comforting warmth of the flickering lights returned, easing the fear in their hearts, the staff checked for injuries caused in the darkness. When it was Albert's turn, the orphanage worker froze in shock at the sight of his crimson pupils like dandelion flowers in bloom.
"Oy, Ivan Wilhelm! Your eyes alright? Can ya see straight? They hurt or somethin'? Damn, your pupils look all red 'n stringy, what the hell happened to you?" he asked, firing off one question after another at the bewildered Albert, who had only just begun to calm down.
After a pause, Albert replied awkwardly, "I don't know. Are my eyes bloody? But I can see everything perfectly fine, and it doesn't hurt at all."
"Ain't no 'but' you're still goin' to the damn medical room. Get those freaky eyes checked, and shove some food down your throat while you're at it. You look like a damn walking skeleton! Got it?"
The first thing I get is a scolding for something I didn't do. What blasted luck...
Now, how did I possess this kid and end up in this world? There must be some connection to that eerie desert… I'll call it the Dandelion Field for now.
That place still makes me shudder every time I recall it. I can no longer pretend to be anything close to normal, not after what I endured. But it did leave me with a few parting gifts learning to enjoy life, and the kind of patience only forged by a decade of silence and isolation. Truly, a paradise of personal growth.
Sorry, kid it wasn't my choice to take over your body. I don't know how or why it happened, but I'll do my best to honor whatever dreams or wishes you had.
From this moment on, I take your name, your identity, your fate and your body. You'll be the vessel through which I face this strange new world. I'll live in your place and carry the weight of your life as if it were my own.
From now on, I am Ivan Wilhelm. Not by choice, but by some twisted hand of fate. And if this world wants to test me… let it. I'll carve out my own path in this second life and leave behind a mark that's mine alone.
Chapter 3 : The Anticipation
After spending a few hours in the medical room, they found no injuries to my eyes. I was dismissed with a prescription something to increase my appetite. Apparently, it'll help fatten me up. That's what the nurse told me, half-joking.
If I were a paranoid person, I might've thought we were cattle being raised on some demonic farm, destined to be slaughtered as food for demons.
At first, Albert held onto a bit of hope that he had somehow returned to Earth. The primitive culture could have been explained by a group living in isolation, cut off from the outside world.
But all of that hope shattered when he saw two moons hanging in the clear night sky, shining with a silvery sheen after the rain finally stopped. He remained silent, his feelings a strange mix of uncertainty for the future and sadness to the past he could not return to.
Just like that, a week passed. An alien in a foreign world, Albert kept his head down, cautious. He observed the people around him and more importantly, himself. That is, this new body he now inhabited.
The local language is called Sindarrin. Strangely, Albert could speak it fluently, almost instinctively, without actively digging into Evan's memories.
I guess language really is stored deep in the subconscious. In my mind, there are two distinct sets of memories: my own Albert Alferf and those belonging to Evan Wilhelm. His feel almost like reading a script.
Evan was just an ordinary orphan. Quiet introverted and a picky eater which is a strange trait for someone raised in an orphanage. He was seven years old when I took over his body. Like most kids here, he dreamed of becoming a martial artist.
The world feels like a blend of medieval times and something else; cultures and appearances all mixed together. At least, that's how it is in the orphanage.
The people here are diverse—Asian, Caucasian, Black, but they all look like models, especially the adults. One of the martial arts instructors looks uncannily like Keanu Reeves. Give him a suit and he'd pass as John Wick.
Not to be narcissistic, but I look good too, just a little underweight. It's my eyes that stand out. They've turned crimson, with pupils like dandelion flowers. Combined with my thin, bony frame, I look more like a ghost. I just hope these strange eyes are only a physical change… and not a sign that I'll return to that dreaded dandelion field.
Currently, I am staying at the Jingyuan Hall Orphanage, perched atop Whispering Hill in the eastern province of Sontaran Country.
This country is divided into five provinces named after - the four cardinal directions provinces and a central administrative province. Information I found in Evans fragmented memories.
Seeing the scenic fog filled forest down the hill from the orphanage made me forget my worries and I left my mind wander.
Why was the orphanage built in such a remote place, on top of a hill in the middle of nowhere. How was that efficient?
But after talking to Dong Da working nearby, the same person who told me to eat more, I got my answer.
"Kid, there's a town just a few miles down the hill. We ain't some wild folks livin' in the damn woods. If you actually paid attention in class, you'd know land in the city's expensive as hell, especially for a brokenl orphanage like ours. We run on donations and whatever cash the grown-up brats who made it outta here bother to send back."
"Also, bein' up here means we don't gotta waste money hirin' martial artists to deal with monsters too dumb or weak to climb a hill. The real nasty ones don't show up 'round here anyway, so it's perfect for dirt-cheap housing, heh."
Evans's memories do mention monster hordes and the problems they cause. But more often than not, they're seen as a resource. Monster hides, fur, bones apparently they're useful for medicine and crafting materials.
Monsters are only a real issue during a horde event. The rest of the time, they're treated like free money for martial artists.
I still don't know how powerful martial artists are here. But if they're anything like the ones on Earth, monsters should just be glorified wild animals. Then again, after everything that's happened… I have a feeling that I'm completely wrong about.
Aside from Dong Da, I didn't know a single soul in the orphanage, which made me feel like the new kid at school... if school was on top of a creepy hill surrounded by monsters. After spending nearly a decade in solitude, I was desperate for some social interaction and honestly, I'd be happy just to have someone listen to me ramble. Even if my new friends were knee-high gremlins with runny noses and questionable hygiene, I'd take what I could get.
This world doesn't exactly feel like a utopia either. Friends might literally save my life someday. Sure, being a lone wolf sounds cool, mysterious, brooding and strong but let's be honest: wolves have packs for a reason. One-man armies are great in movies, but in real life, they just end up tired, injured, and very, very dead.
At the orphanage, I studied classes like math, Sindarrin language, culture, and Sonataran politics for a change they were fun. But Evan clearly wasn't a fan. His memories of those subjects are basically blank, like he mentally hit the snooze button the whole time.
But martial arts? That was his jam. Once a week, every weekend, Class One ,i.e., Evan's class, trains, and Evan actually paid attention.
The irony? He was thin, weak, and about as threatening as a gust of wind. Still, he treated martial arts like it was his path to greatness. Gotta respect the hustle, even if he looked more a ghost than a warrior.
Our next class is tomorrow, and honestly, I'm kind of looking forward to it, not to mention the instructor looks like a medieval John Wick. Maybe I can be friends with him but I am just a seven year old gremlin right now. What a bummer! Can't sleep because I'm too excited. Hope this night goes by fast.
Chapter 4 : First Step into the Unknown
I'd planned to make friends with our martial arts instructor or at least exchange a few words with him. In places like this, people like him always seem to matter more than they first appear. But that idea didn't survive five minutes into the first class.
Arnold Grimm. The name alone felt sharp. He spoke little, moved like a blade, and carried himself with the discipline of someone fresh out of an assassin training program. The room shifted the moment he stepped in, postures straightened and chatter died. His presence didn't invite conversation; it silenced it. No one dared to step out of line.
Even thinking about talking to him felt like breaking some unspoken rule.
The man didn't speak unless it was necessary, and when he did, his voice was clipped, efficient like everything else about him. He moved like a weapon drawn with purpose. No wasted steps. No hesitation.
He didn't introduce himself. He didn't smile. He simply said, "Line up." And we obeyed.
His teaching style was... unforgiving. Not cruel, but brutally precise. Every movement had to be exact. Every stance held until your legs trembled. Mistakes weren't scolded they were corrected, immediately and wordlessly. A tap on the elbow. A shift of your foot. A nod. And when he did speak, his instructions cut through the room like command lines wired into our bodies.
"Again."
"Lower."
"No. Reset."
That was it. No praise, no comfort. Just the pursuit of perfection, like anything less would be a liability in combat.
There were no drills that felt casual. Even the warmups felt like preparation for war. You could see it in his eyes that distant focus, as if he wasn't just training students but shaping weapons.
After the first few hours, I stopped thinking about small talk. Not because I was afraid of him. Not exactly. But because it felt... wrong. Like trying to chat with a storm that's passing through. You don't make conversation with a force of nature. You just brace yourself, endure it, and maybe if you're lucky, learn something from it.
And part of me wondered: was he always like this? Or did something make him this way? And how did this group of misers hire someone with such a presence.
So far, all our martial arts lessons have focused on drilling techniques until they become second nature, along with building stamina through endless running. And that's what we did today.
After a grueling session, drilling hand-to-hand techniques and footwork for hours, we were made to run four laps around the orphanage. It sounded a lot but at least we had it easier compared to the second years. They get sent out to the fields every day after class for "manual labor", you know, to build experience and condition their bodies. Sounds more like free child labour disguised as training, but hey, who am I to question the curriculum?
Classes were about to finish and Albert was giving some final advices to the students. Getting ready to end the class.
"I'll be back." Just those words, and a nod, and then he launched himself fifteen meters straight into the air. Landing on the border wall with flawless precision and disappeared from over it like it was nothing.
Jumping fifteen meters. Straight up. Like it was the easiest thing in the world.
And yet, for a moment somehow, I stood there, thinking this was normal.
Why did I even consider that possible for a human?
Digging through my memories, it turns out Evans expected this kind of impossible feat. His memories might be unreliable, fractured but their influence on me is undeniable.
And now, I'm left wondering how much of what I believe is real... and how much has been rewritten.
Putting my pessimism aside for a moment. This world actually has superpowers. Real, superhuman skills you can train and master. So what else can Arnold do? It doesn't matter how cold or aloof he seems I'm going to talk him out of everything he's capable of. Just thinking about what he could do with those super powers gets my mind racing.
If there are martial arts this intense, then what about magic? Or cultivation techniques? The possibilities are endless and honestly, it's exciting just to imagine it all. I can't wait to see how far these powers can go.
Back on Earth, I was a huge nerd for anything involving superpowers especially the bizarre, reality-breaking ones straight out of Lovecraftian mythos. Powers that could twist time, bend reality and peer into the unseen.
Was it ever possible for a human to reach that level?
I don't know.
I don't care.
Because in 'this' life, I now know exactly what I'm chasing.
My first life was one of quiet mediocrity a small, forgettable cog in a machine easily replaceable. I wasn't unhappy, not exactly but I was forgettable.
The second life gave me unlimited time, but only ten steps. Freedom, with chains too subtle to fight.
But this third life… feels different. Open. Untamed.
For once, I'm not confined. And this time, my path, my purpose, is irreplaceable.
If there's even a flicker of possibility, even the faintest path leading to that power… then settling for less would be a betrayal. Of this life. Of myself.
I wasn't given another shot to live safe and survive.
I was given it to live limitless.
"A man's reach should exceed his grasp, or what's a heaven for?"
This time, I won't just dream of the impossible.
I'll hunt it.
Bleed for it.
Become it.
And when I stand at the edge of what's real.
I'll take one more step.