The Desperate Run
A young man gasped for air, his chest heaving as sweat dripped down his face. His legs burned from running—who knew for how long? His breath came in ragged gasps.
Huff. Huff. Huff.
The cold night surrounded him, the dense canopy above barely letting the moonlight seep through. He looked around, disoriented. He didn't recognize this place. Thick trees loomed over him like silent watchers, their shadows stretching across the forest floor. In the dim light, his eyes caught something—a cave nestled between jagged rocks. He staggered toward it, seeking refuge.
Collapsing against the cold stone wall, he finally took a moment to check his belongings. He patted his pockets, searching—only to freeze.
His left pant pocket was torn.
His first thought was to brush it off. He needed new clothes anyway. But then it hit him.
The pouch.
His hands moved frantically, patting every inch of his worn-out clothes. Nothing. It was gone.
His mind reeled. It must have dropped somewhere along the way. His heart pounded against his ribs as he checked the time—12:35 AM ET (Earth Time).
He had until 7 AM.
If he didn't retrieve it before then… there was no reason for him to keep living.
His breath hitched, and without hesitation, he pushed himself off the ground, sprinting back into the forest.
As he ran, memories flooded his mind.
His sister. His only family.
She had been diagnosed with a disease at the age of eleven—a disease that consumed mana, draining her lifeforce bit by bit. But unlike others, she wouldn't die quickly. No, her fate was worse.
Because of her massive mana reserves, her body wouldn't wither away instantly. Instead, she would die slowly, consumed by her own magic—suffering endlessly until the last drop of mana left her.
A calculation had been made.
She had one year, five months, and four days left to live.
And he had already wasted a year searching.
Unlike her, he had been born talentless. His mana had never grown, lower than an unborn child's mana which is at 10. His mana was 0, null.
Their parents had disappeared when she was ten, likely victims of forbidden experiments—illegal research no one cared enough to investigate. They had been left alone.
And he had promised to protect her.
Desperate to save her, he had squandered his entire inheritance recklessly, falling prey to scams and losing half of his fortune. No one had cared. No one had helped. The few remaining Earthlings were either too poor to matter or had long since left for better lives elsewhere.
Then, he had met the old man.
A relic of the past, his face lined with centuries of wisdom. The old man had told him of an era before magic—a time when mana did not exist.
A time when humanity relied on something called medicine.
It wasn't an elixir. Not a potion. But a concoction made from ingredients, just like potions—only it didn't require mana to work.
That was what he needed.
A cure that wouldn't drain his sister's already dwindling mana reserves.
She had begged him to let her go, apologizing every day for being a burden. Each time, his heart shattered. Each time, he had sworn he would find a way.
And now, he had it.
After a year of searching, he had discovered that a private collector owned the medicine—a rich man who lived on Livishia, a planet saturated with mana.
The man had refused to take it with him.
Why?
Because the medicine was ancient. A relic of the past. If taken to Livishia, it could evolve into an elixir—becoming just another mana-based potion.
It would lose its uniqueness.
So, the collector had kept it here, on Earth. Locked away in a vault.
Until the young man stole it.
And now, he was about to lose it.
His hands clenched into fists as he tore through the underbrush, retracing his steps. But no matter how hard he searched, the pouch was nowhere to be found.
Then—light.
A flicker in the darkness.
His body froze as his black eyes narrowed.
They found me.
Two men—guards. The ones he had stolen from. Their armor glinted under the pale moonlight as they scanned the area.
His gaze shifted—then he saw it.
His pouch.
Tucked onto one of their belts like a trophy.
Rage burned inside him. His sister's face flashed through his mind, the days she spent in agony, the tears she tried to hide.
But he was powerless.
At 5'5" and 80 kg, with a face that had once been considered cute, he looked nothing like the desperate thief he had become. His once-soft features were now marred by stress lines, his once-bright eyes dulled by exhaustion.
He couldn't fight them.
But he could steal it back.
Swallowing his fury, he pressed himself lower into the bushes, his mind working. His fingers brushed against a jagged stone near his feet. A distraction.
Without hesitation, he threw it.
A sharp crack echoed through the trees. The guards' heads snapped toward the sound.
Now.
He lunged.
His fingers wrapped around the pouch, yanking hard—but it was tightly strapped. His heart pounded as the guards turned back. His grip tightened. He pulled—hard.
The belt buckle snapped.
A second of silence.
Then—
A stun spell struck him.
Agony shot through his body, his muscles locking as electricity coursed through him. His vision blurred, his knees buckling. But he refused to let go.
Not yet.
His feet dragged against the dirt. His vision swam. He had to run.
The ground trembled.
A deep, rumbling crack.
Then—
The earth beneath them gave way.
The last thing he saw was the guards' horrified faces as they plummeted into the endless abyss below.
Falling.
Falling.
The only thought in his mind—
I didn't make it in time.
His sister was waiting.
And he wouldn't be there.
His vision faded.
The last thing he saw was the time.
2:00 AM.