It didn't take long for Ymir to reach the fast-approaching ground that was layered with pristine whiteness. The wind whistled past his ears as he plummeted through the frigid air, his black tracksuit flapping wildly around his thin frame. Time seemed to slow—second feeling like an eternity, the ground rushing toward him with increasing speed.
He closed his eyes instinctively and braced for impact, his muscles tensed as he wondered came knocking again. Multiple bloody scenes flashed through his mind as he imagined his demise. But to his utter surprise, he felt himself sink into the white, half liquide half solid ground rather than crash against it with bone-crushing force.
The sensation was unlike anything he had ever experienced. It was cold, wet, and strangely comforting to a degree—like being embraced by a frigid, chilly embrace that sent shivers through his already trembling body. The crystal like particles clung to his clothes, melting slowly.
This was Ymir's first time encountering snow-covered ground, though he had no name for this peculiar substance that cushioned his fall.
Not like he knew what snow was—his understanding of nature was limited at best, if not non existent.
His feet had never touched the surface of a planet before, having spent his entire existence in the sterile, metallic confines of space stations and vessels. Most of the scenery sprawling before him was strange and alien, unknown, but it enticed his curiousty
Gathering himself, and shacking and shacking the white dust or himself , Ymir wobbled weakly to his feet, his legs trembling like a infant tanking his first steps.
His breathing came in ragged gasps, as if he had run a marathon without rest. Each inhalation burned his lungs with the sharp, clean cold of the alien atmosphere. Watching the white flakes scatter and disappear into the wind.
His glasses, now bearing some faint cracks from the impact of his fall, sat crookedly on his narrow face, one lens fractured while the other remained intact.
He sighed deeply, a sound that seemed to echo in the vast emptiness around him, and carefully adjusted the damaged spectacles, though, at this point they were more of a hindrance.
His vision now compromised, Ymir squinted and looked around, taking in his surroundings with a mixture of wonder and apprehension. The landscape was both beautiful and ominous, painted in shades of white and and greed, crimson red that seemed to stretch endlessly.
Before him lay the entrance to what could only be described as a maze—a labyrinth of titanic proportion. To his right and left, the maze's walls stretched endlessly toward the horizon, disappearing into the misty distance like ancient fortifications, imprisoning, profanities, and devinities alike.
He was lost, speechless before this grand display.
"Where the hell am I?" Ymir muttered to himself, his voice barely above a whisper, carried away by the wind. The question hung in the air like, demanding an answer that never came. "Have I stumbled upon a wormhole by chance?" He laughed jokingly, the sound harsh spreading all in the peaceful silence of this strange realm.
The laughter died quickly, leaving only the whisper. "Knowing how amazing my luck is, I don't think it's an impossible."
All of a suddenly, he felt a peculiar tingling sensation, like thousands of tiny insects crawling across his skin. The movement was concentrated on the back of his right hand, prompting him to examine it in haste.
The symbol that had been seared like a black tattoo into his pale flesh—a mark that etched itself like a forgotten thought inthe back of his mind—began to shift and change before his very eyes.
The lines twisted and reformed, morphing into another strangely complex shape that seemed to pulse with its own inner light.
Weirdly enough, despite never having seen such symbols before, he was able to read it clearly with difficulties.
More accurately, he understood its meaning on an instinctive level, as if the knowledge had been burned directly into his consciousness. The message was simple yet terrifying in its implications: 'Survive the labyrinth for as long as you can, aspirant.'
Ymir stared at the symbol for several long moments, his eyes growing dull and his mind going blank as the reality of his situation began to sink in. The weight of the message pressed down on him, and for a moment, he felt completely disconnected from his body, as if he were observing himself in the third person.
Then, like a dam bursting, emotions that felt distant and unwanted flooded him, and he shouted in a voice that was squeaky and unsteady.
Hope, excitement, and a reason the stive and fight --a part of himself he once gave up on was being reclaimed.
He was a man of few words, always lurking in the shadows and observing from the sidelines like a side character in someone else's story.
His voice carried the signs of a person who had spent most of his life in silence—a low tone combined with a high pitch that reflected years of barely speaking or sharing his thoughts with another living soul.
"What!" His eyes widened until they seemed ready to pop from their sockets, and his jaw hung open slightly, creating an expression of comical disbelief.
"It worked! It really worked! I can't believe it—the rumor is true! Haha!" The laughter that escaped him was genuine this time, filled with a mixture of relief, excitement, and disbelief that bordered on hysteria.
In his excitement, Ymir attempted to jump, but his weakened legs betrayed him, and he fell face-forward into the snow with a muffled thud. "Ow, cold, cold, cold!" he complained, flailing his arms as he tried to extract himself from the frozen embrace of the ground.
"What is this white, cold thing anyway?" He put on a thoughtful expression, his brow furrowing as he contemplated this new substance, before ultimately shrugging his narrow shoulders.
"Well, it doesn't matter right now."
Turning his gaze back toward the maze, Ymir found himself speechless once again. The structure before him was, to put it simply, was breathtakingly beautiful and terrifying enormous.