When eyes open again, a string of enlarged text fills the view, pulling him out of chaos.

Soris freezes, then realizes he is slumped over the desk, one arm still pressing down scattered pages.

Head lifting, his gaze sweeps from the desktop across the room.

Instruments glowing with interwoven spectra line both sides; shelves are stacked with modular components.

…Am I back?

Instinctively, knuckles clench; the neck turns, a faint crack sounding.

Muscles respond, fingertips no longer lagging— the body can move.

No longer merely an awareness lodged within a vessel, but a solid sensation, unmistakably of flesh itself.

Standing up, like a bionic construct long left unpowered, the movements carry a subtle stutter.

A research report lies on the desk, opened halfway.
The title is blindingly familiar — Phase Acceleration Project.

“…Before the crossing, I was working on this.”

Peripheral vision sweeps past the clock on the wall, its markings driving into his mind like ice needles.

Leaning in at once, gaze locked tight on the ticking minute hand.

Now it’s… 4:17 p.m.?

Heartbeat quickening slightly, the timing device on the left side of the workbench is pulled out and synchronized time calibration is initiated.

The result appears; his brow sinks.

“…How is this possible?”

Eyes fixed on the ticks along the timeline, he waits for the next second to trigger a correction notice.

But the truth is brutal—

From the moment consciousness cut out to the moment it returned, only seventeen minutes had passed.

And in that other world, he lived for at least a month.

“Impossible. Unless—”

Spinning around sharply, a floating holographic display opens; rapid movements of the fingertips input a string of data-query commands.

Search keyword: Timing of prehistoric fire use.

Data appears line by line.

The chronology is chaotic, yet the conclusion is strikingly consistent—

    According to archaeological records, traces of fire have been found at certain prehistoric sites, dating far earlier than the Stone Age.
    Scientists are unable to explain why, in a period when stone tools had not yet been fully mastered, humans had already learned to strike fire and cook food.
    Some speculate it was coincidence; others believe it was the first light of civilization—yet no one knows how fire came to be.

The holographic display glows faintly blue, like the reflection of an ancient night fire.

Staring silently at the passage, the entire world suddenly falls still.

…

I really did cross over.

A hand lifts to brush the temple.
The fingers are cold, the forehead burning hot.

“Time can be controlled… it really exists.”

Not yet fully pulled away from the archaeological records,
the hands begin to tremble on their own.

Clear understanding floods in like a dam breaking, arriving late, as if only now catching up.

“Right…”

“…Need to record this… can’t forget…”

Turning, he takes several strides toward the main console, brings up the data input interface;
fingertips just touch the light keys—then freeze in midair.

Breathing steadies gradually beneath the wash of green-blue light.

Eyes lower, the voice so soft it is almost nothing but breath:

“…How do I prove it?”

Countless data points and conclusions surge through the mind,
yet not one is convincing enough.

Time can be controlled—but the fact that “I once crossed over” cannot be preserved in any form.

Not in the records.

Not in the instruments.

Not even—

within the observational logic of this spacetime.

A long breath escapes.
Fingertips tremble slightly; at last, the cursor is guided back to the input field,
the decision made to record the crossing experience first.

This is not merely an outlet for emotion, but an act of rational organization.

Each stage is documented in the most rigorous format—from the ignition of fire,
through tribal imitation, to the death of the host—with key actions and changes marked.

Data accumulates line by line, scenes replaying within the mind.

Typing continues, calculations running in parallel, estimating the age of the geological strata where the event might fall.

Cross-referencing ancient climate, terrain, and group behavior, he arrives at a final estimate—

The time of crossing likely falls between 1.8 million and 300,000 years ago.

Hands halt above the keys.
The gaze lingers before the holographic display.

So distant a time from the present, yet vivid,
as if a corridor just walked moments ago.

“I will cross over again.”

Rising to stand, the tone remains calm, though the light in his eyes cannot be concealed.

“This time… I will leave something that can be proven.”

This is a direct confrontation between him and the logic of time itself.

A clear objective brings the mind back into alignment.

Soris quickly reviews the entire procedure leading up to the crossing.

From neural induction and the phase regulator to every environmental parameter,
each item is listed in sequence, followed by several test configurations drafted based on prior experience.

Pages of planning documents generate in succession, the auto-save indicator flashing without pause.

When the final proposal takes shape, he stares at the charts for a long while.

Night has long since swallowed the laboratory’s outer walls, leaving only weary reflections in the glass.

At last, he pushes the chair back and lifts a hand to press against the eye socket.

“Better get some sleep… start working tomorrow.”

During washing, scattered water sounds echo faintly;
steam clouds the mirror, obscuring the overthinking eyes reflected within.

A few minutes later, he drops onto the small cot at the rear of the lab. Without even pulling a blanket over himself, he sinks into deep sleep.

Unnoticed, just above where the head rests on the pillow—

a single white hair hangs down, like some unrecorded aftereffect, quietly taking shape.