The light woke him.

  It wasn't gentle.

  It was intense, direct, and, above all, hot.

  Kael opened his eyes with an instinctive flinch of annoyance. There was no dreamlike transition, no remnants of that absolute white, nor that feeling of suspension still fresh in his memory. This was different. Too physical. Too concrete.

  The sun streamed through the window, bathing the room in a yellow light that spared no detail. Heat gathered under the sheets, clinging to his skin. It was nothing like the impossible neutrality of the space where he had been before.

  He stared at the ceiling for a few more seconds, breathing.

  'Was it a dream?'

  The question surfaced but didn't hold. It didn't fit. Not after what he had seen. Not after the data, the voice, the time.

  He sat up slowly. The exhaustion he had carried for days—or what felt like days—was gone. His mind was clear. Too clear.

  Kael got out of bed and began to pace.

  The place was small. Tiny.

  The main room measured about five meters across. Twenty-five square meters. A single bed, a simple desk, a chair that had seen better days. Everything was arranged with functional, though not obsessive, precision. There was no unnecessary decoration.

  The walls were light-colored and clean. In the corners, tiny cracks—thin, like old scars. Nothing serious. Nothing structural. Just wear and tear.

  He moved toward the bathroom.

  Two meters by two. Four square meters. Shower, sink, toilet. Everything fitted to the millimeter. There was no luxury, but no neglect either. Someone lived here with care.

  The kitchen was integrated into a mini living area. Narrow. Barely enough space to move without bumping into something. A sink, a small countertop, an electric stove, a compact refrigerator. A folding table against the wall and one more chair.

  All told, the place couldn't have been more than thirty-five square meters.

  Enough to live in, but not luxurious; just the bare essentials.

  Too little for someone with ambition… or secrets.

  He returned to the bedroom.

  This time, he looked closer.

  An open shelf with clothes: simple t-shirts, pants, a couple of hoodies. Functional shoes. Nothing flashy. Nothing expensive. Everything clean, folded, used with moderation. But very few clothes and shoes.

  The conclusion was evident: limited resources.

  This body did not live in comfort.

  Kael leaned against the doorframe for a moment, observing the scene. No hidden weapons. No strange compartments. No signs of a double life.

  In fact…

  'He doesn't look like a criminal.'

  The thought formed on its own.

  Too tidy. Too normal... That was good.

  'It seems Kein Adler isn't a criminal... But I need more information.'

  Just as he was about to turn around, something caught his eye in a corner by the desk.

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  A small side table with a clock on the wall.

  10:57 AM

  The memory returned with mathematical precision.

  49:45:10.

  He didn't have much time; he needed to finish his analysis.

  Kael looked back at the table: on top, an old laptop. Not broken, but clearly well-used. Beside it, a backpack. Open. Inside, notebooks, pencils, headphones, a couple of books with colored bookmarks peeking through the pages.

  'Laptop. Bingo.'

  He walked over and picked up the laptop. He opened it. It took a few seconds to power on.

  Too many seconds.

  The screen finally showed the desktop.

  He went straight to the gallery. Kael needed information.

  Photographs of documents. Scanned pages. Diagrams. Charts. Images of presentations. One folder stood out among the rest.

  "Thesis."

  He opened it.

  Long texts. Formal covers. Academic references. The name of a university appeared repeatedly in the headers.

  UCLA.

  "University of California, Los Angeles…" he whispered.

  There were photos of the campus. Recognizable buildings. Videos of information sessions. Recordings of classes. Lectures on human behavior, cognition, and behavioral analysis.

  Everything screamed the same thing.

  Psychology.

  He closed the gallery and opened the browser.

  Recent history.

  Academic research. Scientific articles. Educational videos. A few humorous clips. Content on personal motivation, success, discipline, and productivity.

  Nothing illegal.

  Nothing shady.

  No desperate searches.

  No signs of fleeing.

  There were no family photos. No images with friends. No celebrations. No familiar faces.

  Only work. Study. Goals.

  Kael closed the laptop slowly.

  The image of Kein Adler began to take shape... in fact, it formed all too well.

  A 24-year-old man. Recently graduated. Intelligent. Methodical. Focused on moving forward. With no apparent close ties.

  'He had no photos with family and no social media accounts.'

  A loner, but according to the theater employee, he was someone cheerful...

  But Kael realized that didn't quite match the space. Perhaps he was cordial, not emotional. Someone who knew how to smile without exposing himself.

  Not a criminal.

  But someone with the potential to be one. No family ties, no friends. No hobbies. Just a person with a clear goal: graduating.

  Kael finished his analysis and looked at the clock again.

  12:01 PM

  He still had some time.

  Kael opened the laptop again; he had to investigate the most important thing.

  He opened the browser with an almost ritualistic caution. Seeing how old the laptop was, he feared it might crash.

  He didn't search for his own name. Not yet.

  He started with the obvious—what any sane person would do if they woke up in a world they didn't quite recognize.

  'Kein Adler University.'

  The results appeared. Too slowly for his taste.

  Public university, urban campus, focus on performing arts and interdisciplinary studies. Photographs of the main building: concrete, glass, modern lines, but without excess. Nothing futuristic. Nothing outdated.

  Its Psychology program is ranked #3 in the entire United States. Overall, it is the #1 public university in the country.

  'Mmmh, it seems he's not just "smart"; he's very intelligent.'

  '21st Century…'

  He kept reading.

  Year 2032.

  Normal calendar. Nothing out of place.

  "A different era."

  He opened another tab.

  'World History.'

  Names changed, but patterns didn't. Wars with different dates. Different political blocs. Countries occupying the same geographical space but with altered identities. Some names felt almost familiar, like half-remembered words from a dream.

  'It's like NEXARA... But different.'

  The comparison arose on its own.

  'It's less advanced.... Many steps behind in technology.'

  There were no visible implants. No commercial neural networks. Artificial intelligence existed, but it was limited, contained, regulated. Everything seemed… slower.

  He kept scrolling.

  'Geography.'

  The continents were where they should be. The coasts matched. The tectonic faults too. Some borders changed, some capitals, some names.

  "Same map, different labels."

  He opened one last search, more specific.

  'Rosslyn Lofts, Los Angeles, California [1].'

  Images of the building loaded on the screen. Studio-style housing. Industrial facade. Large windows.

  Kael glanced at the window... There it was.

  He was in Los Angeles.

  In a United States that was the same… though with different historical nuances.

  He closed his eyes for a second.

  'I didn't cross eras or planets. I crossed dimensions.... I'm in a different NEXARA, or whatever they call it in this age... Earth.'

  He looked back at the screen.

  12:30 PM

  He looked for something else, not just any object, but the most used object of the 21st century. He didn't find it in the room. He checked the backpack and then he saw it.

  A phone.

  Kein's cell phone.

  He took it, put it in his pocket, and went to the door of the micro-studio.

  'It's time.'

  The event occurred at 21:41:18.

  He did the math in his head.

  When he looked at the clock again, it was 12:30 PM.

  The final number settled.

  34:56:28.

  "Thirty-four hours…" he whispered.

  He fell silent.

  He looked up and surveyed the place one last time.

  Then, almost without realizing it, he murmured:

  "Kein Adler…"

  Kael repeated the name under his breath.

  He realized the name carried more weight this time.

  "It will be enough," he said. "This will be my new identity. My new life."

  From that moment on, Kein moved with a different weight in his body.

  ———//————————————//———

  The theater greeted him with the same smell of wood, cables, and accumulated dust.

  Kein arrived on time. As always.

  He set to work without drawing attention. He prepared props. Moved structures. Adjusted pieces. He repeated the exact same actions as the day before.

  With intention.

  He touched cables.

  He handled electrical equipment.

  He leaned against metal structures.

  Nothing.

  He felt nothing different.

  At one point, while no one was looking, he spoke in a low voice:

  "Prisma."

  Nothing.

  He thought it.

  'Prisma.'

  Silence.

  He even gave himself a calculated tap on the head, enough to feel if there was any object embedded in his brain.

  "PA."

  Nothing.

  No chip.

  No response.

  He had tried it on the way here, but it seemed trying again was useless.

  While Kein repeated his tasks, he approached the groups again.

  His colleagues talked around him. Trivial conversations. Comments about schedules, shows, exhaustion. Someone mentioned that Kein always helped when he could. That he was never late. That he did his job well.

  He listened without intervening too much. All information was useful.

  The day progressed.

  Night arrived.

  He returned to his micro-studio in silence.

  He took off his clothes, lay down, and turned off the light.

  He didn't know how to return to the white space.

  He didn't know if he could.

  But he closed his eyes with that thought present.

  Kein Adler went to bed that night waiting.

  And simply… he slept.