It was supposed to be just another exhausting Thursday.
Kyle Moreno had been running deliveries all day. The weight of his backpack clung to his shoulders like cement. His shoes, cheap and worn out, had soles that flapped like fish with every step. The heat made his skin itch beneath the uniform shirt two sizes too big, and the city's noise drilled into his skull without mercy.
He didn't complain.
Even when his shift extended past midnight. Even when his feet ached so bad he had to limp the last few blocks. Even when a customer hurled a cold drink in his face because the order was five minutes late.
Kyle smiled. Bowed. Apologized. He always did.
He had no time for pride. Not when his rent was overdue and his mother needed medicine. Not when he had two part-time jobs, night classes, and barely four hours of sleep on a good day.
So when he saw that little girl wandering into the intersection as a truck barreled toward her—
He didn't think.
He moved.
The screech of tires. The flash of lights. The sound of metal twisting and smashing. People screaming.
Then—
Nothing.
No pain. No noise. No world.
Just blackness.
---
A sharp, sudden slap jerked him awake.
His cheek stung.
Kyle gasped, instinctively raising his hand to cover his face—but it stopped halfway. Heavy. Shackled. His wrists were bound in rough, iron chains that clinked as he moved. The air smelled of mold and something rotting. His head spun as he tried to focus.
"Finally awake, are you, *Your Highness*?" came a voice laced with scorn.
A boot shoved his side, not hard enough to injure but enough to knock him over.
Kyle blinked, slowly sitting up. He was lying on the cold floor of what looked like a dungeon. The walls were damp stone, dark green with moss. A single torch flickered weakly outside the iron bars of his cell. Water dripped from somewhere above, forming a puddle beneath him.
He was barefoot. Dressed in ragged clothing. His body was bruised. Blood had dried on his sleeve. His mouth tasted like rust and bile.
"What… the hell?" he croaked, throat raw.
The man standing outside his cell wore armor—dark steel with a red plume on his helmet. A knight? No… not just any knight. This one looked like he enjoyed kicking prisoners.
The man snorted. "Still playing dumb, are you? You'll pay for what you did, Prince Kael."
Kael?
Kyle froze. His thoughts stumbled, tripping over themselves.
"I'm not—" he started, then paused.
His voice. It sounded deeper than usual. More hoarse. Like someone who hadn't spoken in days. His body didn't feel quite right either—taller, maybe, or broader in the chest.
"I'm not Kael," he said, slower this time.
The knight narrowed his eyes. "Lying until the end, huh?"
He leaned closer to the bars.
"You can pretend all you want, but you can't escape what's coming. Seven days from now, your head will be on a spike. Maybe then, your bastard father can sleep better."
Kyle's brain struggled to catch up. "Wait… seven days?"
The knight ignored him. "You were always a snake, Prince Kael. But now? You're just a worm waiting to be stepped on. You tried to kill the second prince. You spit on the name of the Vireon Empire. Even the dogs in the street have more honor than you."
Kyle opened his mouth to argue—but stopped.
His heart pounded against his ribs. Something cold and sharp slid down his spine. Not just fear. A realization.
This wasn't Earth.
His fingers trembled as he touched his own face. The shape of his nose was different. His jaw was more angular. His hair, once short and wavy, now reached his collar, greasy and stuck to his forehead.
He turned to the puddle beside him. The torchlight danced across the water's surface. The reflection was blurry—but clear enough to confirm it wasn't his own.
He wasn't Kyle Moreno anymore.
And whoever this Kael was, he was hated.
The knight laughed to himself and walked away, muttering, "Seven days. Just seven…"
Kyle sat there in silence for a long time. His breathing slowly steadied, but the storm inside his mind didn't stop. He didn't know how he ended up here. Or what kind of world this was. But his instincts screamed at him that this wasn't a dream.
He felt pain. Cold. Hunger. The weight of iron on his wrists.
It was real.
Too real.
And if what that knight said was true… he was scheduled to be executed in a week.
He leaned back against the wall, ignoring the dampness that seeped into his bones. His mind raced.
What now?
Was he in some kind of twisted medieval fantasy world? Did he get reincarnated? Possessed? Or was this someone else's punishment?
His stomach growled. He hadn't eaten in what felt like days.
Kyle took a slow breath.
"Okay…" he whispered to himself. "Okay, think."
He couldn't survive by freaking out.
He had to understand where he was. Who he was. Why this Kael guy was so despised. And most importantly—
How the hell to stop his head from ending up on a spike.
But just as he closed his eyes, trying to process everything—
A strange, distant chime echoed in his mind.
Then, a voice. Calm, cold, and mechanical.
> **\[Initializing Paradox System… Connection Complete.]**
> **\[Welcome, Variable. You are now a threat to Fate.]**
Kyle sat upright, heart leaping.
"What the—?"
> **\[Survive 7 Days Against Fate.]**
> **\[Mission Start.]**
> **\[Reward: Phase 1 – Paradox Powers]**
The words weren't heard. They were *felt*—burned into his brain like glowing letters across his mind.
A system?
Like a game?
Before he could fully comprehend it, his body jerked.
A heat surged through his chest. Like a thousand sparks crawling across his skin. His heart beat faster. Then louder. Then—
It stopped.
Just for a second.
In that breathless silence, a wave of clarity washed over him.
Everything sharpened.
The flicker of the torch. The scent of blood. The iron tang of the chains. The creaking footsteps of the knight down the corridor.
It all became vivid. Realer than real.
Then the pain came.
A scream tore out of his throat as his body convulsed.
Bones cracked.
Muscles tensed.
It felt like being electrocuted from the inside out. Not for seconds—but minutes. His fingers dug into the stone floor as he writhed in agony. His vision turned red, then white, then black.
Then—
Silence.
He lay there, panting. Sweating. Twitching.
The torch outside flickered one last time.
And the voice returned, colder than before.
> **\[Warning: You have been marked by Fate.]**
> **\[All paths forward are now uncertain.]**
> **\[Good luck.]**
Kyle didn't have the strength to respond.
But in that dark, stinking dungeon—chained, bruised, and body stolen—he smiled.
A tired, bitter, amused smile.
"Sure," he rasped to himself. "Let's see who breaks first—me… or this damn world."