I woke up.

  But not from an ordinary sleep. Not from a well-earned rest after an exhausting day. No. I woke up, and everything around me was... empty.

  What once was a familiar room, with simple furniture and the tired vision of a routine life, had now transformed into a strange, incomprehensible space. A white room. Infinite, endless, without walls, without ceiling, without floor. The light seemed to emanate from everywhere at once—a soft yet oppressive glow that reflected off everything and nothing at the same time.

  I tried to move. But there was no direction to go. Nothing for my hands to grasp. Gravity seemed both strong and absent, as if space itself was suspended in a state of flux.

  I called out. I couldn't hear my own voice, yet I knew I had heard it—from somewhere—either within me or all around. A mute sound, lost between the waves of the void.

  “David.”

  I didn’t know what it was, but I knew that was my name. There was no one else to confirm or deny it. I was… me. And yet, I wasn’t.

  My heart pounded fast, my mind reeled with unanswered questions. The last thing I remember before waking up here was my grandmother. Her frail hand, her dying smile, and the feeling that the world was about to collapse.

  And now, I was here. In a place where there was no past, no future. Where nothing else remained.

  “Who am I, then?” I thought.

  But the room did not answer.

  The light around me seemed to bend to my will, and yet it remained indifferent. There was nothing left but me and that infinite white. And something deep inside me—something ancient—knew that what was happening wasn’t normal. It wasn’t just a dream. It was… something more. Something greater.

  “David,” the voice whispered again, once more, but now it felt more distant.

  I tried to take a step toward the sound, but my legs moved in slow motion, as if time here was something entirely separate. For a moment, I thought I might be trapped in some kind of limbo, but the feeling that there was something more—something waiting for me—pushed me forward.

  I had to understand. I had to know what was happening, because deep down, I knew I wasn’t alone.

  I stood in that infinite room, staring into the void. Or rather, trying to understand how something could be both "empty" and "infinite" at the same time. What I saw made no sense, but a part of me—a part that seemed distant and rational—told me I had to accept it, even if I couldn’t comprehend it.

  And then, in the deep silence surrounding me, something moved.

  It wasn’t a sound, but a perceivable movement. Something took shape before me. I didn’t see a shadow, didn’t hear footsteps, but I felt a presence. It emerged from a mist, a fog made of the very white light that flooded the space. The entity formed in a distorted way, as if the air itself was molding into shape.

  I couldn’t see its body, only the outline of an albino, fluid figure—like a nebulous sculpture without a defined form. But what disturbed me most were its teeth.

  They were there, on the lower part of its face, smiling. No eyes, no face. Just teeth. A perfect, gleaming row, so white they seemed to outshine the very light around them. They weren’t human—nor from any creature I’d ever known. They were teeth, but not teeth. There was something alien about those sharp presences, as if they had been extracted from a reality my brain could never process.

  The entity didn’t move, but it seemed to be watching me—if it’s even possible to watch something without eyes. It was… waiting.

  The void around me began to yield. A very low sound emerged from somewhere, like a distant whisper, an incomprehensible murmur. I knew the entity wanted me to approach, or at least make a move. But my body felt heavy, the atmosphere oppressive, and I didn’t know if I should go forward.

  And then, the door appeared.

  Somehow, it was just there, though I hadn’t seen it form. A door, plain and simple, but with something peculiar. In front of it hovered a genealogical tree, floating as if alive. The lines connected and intertwined, branching out into a complex structure I couldn’t fully grasp.

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  At the tip of each branch were names. Names that weren’t mine. Names of people I’d never met. And as I looked at that tree, a familiar feeling hit me, as if I’d seen it somewhere before. Then the answer came—like a lightning bolt of clarity.

  It was just like Fullmetal Alchemist.

  The concept of the genealogical tree, the blood ties, the search for truth, the hidden secrets... The feeling was so disturbing I couldn’t help the comparison. But what did it mean? Why did it seem so much like something I knew, yet couldn’t truly be?

  I moved closer to the door, not knowing exactly what I was searching for. And the white teeth of the entity, still fixed in its faceless expression, seemed to beckon me—waiting for a reaction. Its teeth kept shining, as if challenging me, as if expecting me to break the silence between us.

  My hand slowly extended toward the door. I knew something important was about to happen—but I still didn’t know what.

  Would I touch that genealogical tree?

  The door remained before me, firm and unyielding, but the entity, with its relentless white smile, never moved. Its teeth, those impossible teeth, gleamed once more. I was there, not knowing what to do, trapped between the unknown and a terrifying certainty that something was about to be revealed.

  That’s when the entity moved. Not with its body, but with the essence of its presence. Something in its being distorted, as if reality itself trembled. The murmur intensified, and the room, once silent, seemed to open into multiple dimensions.

  “You don’t understand, David,” said a voice, low and resonant, as if the words came from every direction. It wasn’t the voice of a being with a body, but something that transcended form. “This place, Ymir… is not a simple destination. It is not a simple reality. It is a point of convergence. A new home.”

  I froze, not knowing how to respond. The entity didn’t look at me directly, but I felt its words creeping into my mind, challenging the truths I believed about the world.

  “You were brought here for a reason, David. A reason that goes beyond your comprehension.” The voice grew louder, almost like a whisper dragging itself across the walls of the infinite room. “Earth, your world, was destroyed. The cycle of destruction and rebirth has completed. What remained—most of it—was left behind, ruined. But you… you were chosen to cross this threshold. To be one of the few souls to migrate.”

  My hands, still reaching for the door, trembled. The news seemed impossible, like my own mind was rebelling against the idea. Earth? Destroyed? It couldn’t be.

  “Don’t rewrite your story now,” said the entity, as if reading my thoughts—but in a way far more distant, as if interpreting the echo of my doubts. “The truth cannot be erased. Earth was devastated by its own hands, by the hands of its creatures. But destruction does not mean the end of all. And that’s why you are here. To be part of something greater, something beyond what your mind can conceive.”

  I tried to breathe, but the air felt oppressive, dense. The void became a weight, a crushing pressure on my chest. “But… the others? The people? What happened to them?”

  The entity was silent for a moment, as if pondering the best way to answer. When it spoke again, its voice was softer, yet heavy with an inescapable melancholy. “Most have already been… taken. The echoes of destruction claimed many souls, David. Only those necessary for balance may come to Ymir. And you, even without knowing, are one of the chosen. But you will no longer be ‘David.’”

  Those words struck like a sharp blade. “What?”

  “You will no longer be David,” the entity repeated, now more clearly. “The name you carried no longer bears weight here, in this new existence. In Ymir, you will be known as Uthred. Son of Uthred.”

  The change seemed absurd. It wasn’t just the name. It was something deeper—something that transcended any identity I had ever known. “Uthred… son of Uthred?” I said quietly, not fully understanding what it meant. “Why that name? What does it mean?”

  The entity moved again, though without physical motion. It seemed to expand, as if its presence was overtaking the space itself, stretching beyond the room. “A name is more than a label, David. It is a lineage. A heritage. And more important than that—it is a tool. To understand who you will become. What you must become.”

  I looked at the genealogical tree in front of me. It was clearer now, more vivid, and the names branched out in complex lines, intertwining like the destinies of each person were threads woven into a grand design. Uthred was now my name. But if it meant what I thought, then it wasn’t just a new identity. It was a sentence. A duty. And, perhaps, a burden.

  "You didn’t choose to become Uthred, but there’s no turning back now. The past is dead, David. And with it, the person you once were. You will become what the world demands of you. You will become what you must, to fulfill what the system of Ymir expects from you."

  The room grew even quieter. I was alone—or maybe it was just that I felt alone. The entity no longer responded. Its teeth, shining like stars, now seemed a reminder of all that was to come, of the weight I’d have to carry, and of how my existence—my true existence—was about to be rewritten, without a choice, without a question.

  “Uthred,” said the entity once more, like a final confirmation.

  “…Correction,” it added, as though fixing some mistake with that voice that came from nowhere, yet filled every inch of the white space until it became suffocating. “There weren’t few souls, David. There were many. Countless. Earth wasn’t just destroyed. It was used. As a catalyst. A shattered vessel pouring its contents into something infinitely greater.”

  David shivered. A discomfort settled deep in his gut. The white room had already been unsettling enough, but now it seemed to pulse. As if space itself was reacting to what was being said.

  “Millions of souls were dragged through the rift. Some consciously. Others, fragmented, twisted. The traditional reincarnation cycle was broken. And Ymir... Ymir became the new axis.”

  The figure smiled. Those perfect, white teeth—like gravestones. No other features remained. The rest was… absence. Its form seemed to blur the very idea of form.

  “Ymir isn’t a planet, David. It’s a plane. A prism of realities. A cycle of wars. A cradle… and a grave. And you?”

  It pointed—or seemed to point. A finger made of shadow extended toward the genealogical tree behind the door. The tree expanded, now faster, frantic. Names appeared in languages David didn’t know, only to vanish moments later.

  “You are a mistake. And you are the key.”

  David tried to step back, but there was no floor. No ceiling. No walls. Just that entity before the door. That door with roots and branches embedded in it like pulsing veins.

  “Wait. What do you mean, key?” he asked, breathing hard. “I didn’t ask for any of this. I don’t even understand what’s happening!”

  “Of course you don’t. That’s why you were chosen.”

  David scoffed, eyes rolling, body trembling. He was done with riddles, with broken phrases, with half-revealed truths. He stood at the edge between anger and despair.

  “And what’s with that… that tree? Why does it look like it came straight out of Fullmetal Alchemist, for fuck’s sake?”

  The entity didn’t laugh. But its teeth glowed, as if it was amused all the same.

  “The inspiration isn’t coincidence. What is created on Earth echoes in Ymir. Everything man imagines, dreams, or fears exists somewhere within the layers of reality. That series, that symbol… were distorted reflections of the truth. The Tree of Life. The genealogy of essence. Each branch, a soul. Each leaf, a fate. And you… weren’t supposed to be on it. But you are.”

  David felt a deep hum inside his skull. The door now throbbed. Like a heart about to burst.

  “And now? What happens to me?”

  The entity leaned in slightly.

  “Now, you die. And are born again. But not as David. That name… belongs to a dead world.”

  The teeth shone once more. And David, though he couldn’t say why, knew something was being etched inside him. A mark. A word. A burden.

  “You will be Uthred. Son of Uthred. The first of a new cycle. The last to remember the old.”

  David tried to speak. But the light exploded.

  And the name echoed within him like a funeral bell.

  Uthred.

  And then, he fell.