"I am sorry, Mister Paul, but you will never wield the bow again."
The doctor's words struck like a dagger, each syllable echoing through Paul's mind.
He had prepared himself for bad news, but hearing it was like standing on the edge of a cliff, unsure of whether he'd be pushed or if he'd fall on his own.
The doctor's voice, calm and filled with pity, did nothing to soften the blow.
Paul's throat tightened. His hands, clammy with sweat, gripped the armrests of his chair.
"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice barely louder than a whisper, as if speaking louder might somehow make the news more real.
The doctor pointed at the scan displayed on the screen.
"As you can see here," he explained, tracing his finger over the image of Paul's shoulder,
"There's significant damage to the tissue. These injuries have severely compromised your shoulder's mobility. You'll be unable to draw your arm back far enough to use a bow."
Paul's eyes followed the doctor's hand. The words blurred together in his mind.
The technical explanations—the strained muscles, the damaged ligaments—meant nothing to him. All he could focus on was the conclusion: Never Again.
"It has gone in too deep" the doctor continued.
"The injury is irreversible. I'm afraid there's nothing we can do. Your shoulder's range of motion will never fully recover."
Paul nodded mechanically, though his heart was pounding.
The idea of him never wielding the bow ever again clawed at his thoughts.
For as long as he could remember, archery had been his life. His parents' deaths had left a hole in his world, and the bow had been the only thing that filled it.
He had poured himself into it, finding purpose in the precision, the control, the calm that came with every release of an arrow.
Now even that was being taken from him.
The doctor's voice faded into the background as Paul's thoughts spiraled.
He had nothing left—no fallback, no other passions to pursue. What was he supposed to do now? He couldn't imagine a life where the bow didn't define him.
"Take care of yourself, Mister Paul,"
The doctor's voice cut through his haze.
Paul blinked, realizing the conversation was over.
The doctor looked at him with the kind of sympathy that Paul hated—the kind that said, I'm sorry, but your life just changed forever.
Paul mumbled a thank you and stood to leave. The doctor watched him go, but Paul avoided eye contact.
He couldn't face that pity again.
---
The afternoon sun was blinding as Paul stepped outside the hospital.
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust.
Even when they did, the world felt oddly distant, like he was moving through a fog.
The city bustled around him—people walked by, cars honked, birds sang—but all Paul could hear was the doctor's words replaying in his mind.
He wandered aimlessly, his feet carrying him down familiar streets without direction.
His shoulder ached, yet the pain seemed insignificant compared to the emptiness settling in his chest.
He didn't want to go home, didn't want to sit in the silence and confront the reality of his situation.
At the end of the day, had no choice.
The sun was setting by the time he reached his apartment, casting long shadows through the windows.
The space felt colder than usual, more lifeless.
Paul dropped his keys on the table and sank onto his bed, staring at the ceiling as a thousand thoughts raced through his head.
'What now? What's the point?'
He couldn't picture his future anymore.
He had spent so many years honing his skills, dedicating every spare moment to becoming better, stronger, faster. And now… it was all gone.
His shoulder had taken that from him.
He sighed and reached for his phone, hoping for some distraction.
Anything to keep him from spiraling deeper into the pit of despair.
Palu opened his favorite app and saw that the author of Arthdal Chronicles had just posted two new chapters.
'Why not?' he thought, clicking on the first chapter.
Paul breezed through it, the words barely registering.
He had read over a thousand chapters of this series; by now, the plot was more of a habit than a source of entertainment.
Still, it was a temporary escape from reality.
When he reached the end of the second chapter, he found himself staring blankly at the screen,
The two chapters focus were on discussion, the main cast pondering over how they would get their hands on a revival material.
In the earlier chapters, the main character Liam had lost a member of his harem, supposedly someone he loved so dearly much.
At the moment of her death, he used the Valtheran Clan's summoning art to summon her soul immediately as she died, and the Astravon Clan's sealing technique to seal her soul in an object.
That way, he could preserve her soul and be hopeful for an opportunity to revive her.
It was all speculation on his part though since the author hasn't introduced any Arts with an indication to revive the dead, or even a soul revival one.
However, the readers, Paul included speculated that Liam would succeed from how the storyline went.
"Should have just made her death permanent." He mused, believing that would give the main character a better drive to be proactive instead of just focusing on a fun time with his harem group.
After 1000 plus of chapters, Liam the main character seemed to have lost his purpose and all he does is embark on a slice of life theme with his harem.
Whereas it has been established on several occasions that Arthdal Chronicle was a power fantasy novel, focusing on a hero and a villain, their battle over superiority, discerning who was the stronger of the two.
At the end of the chapter, Paul went to the comment section and posted.
Without really thinking about it, he typed;
(What meaning is there in a life without purpose.)
It wasn't directed at anyone in particular—just a vent, a way to release some of the frustration bubbling inside him.
He hit send and tossed his phone onto the bed. The author never responded to comments anyway. Why would today be any different?
But then his phone buzzed.
Paul blinked, sitting up as he picked it up again.
His eyes widened when he saw the notification.
A response.
From the author.
(There are endless possibilities of purpose to choose from. The freedom of choice gives us that right.)
Paul stared at the screen, caught off guard. The author's words hung in the air, simple yet oddly profound.
For a moment, he didn't know how to respond.
Finally, after a brief pause, he typed back:
(What if all the possibilities in the world don't satisfy my desire?)
He wasn't sure why he asked. He didn't expect an answer, certainly not one that would mean anything.
But the author responded again, almost immediately.
(Then you find your purpose elsewhere—in a world where you will see what you seek.)
Paul frowned, feeling a flicker of irritation.
'What does that even mean?'
It sounded ridiculous, like something out of one of the fantasy novels he read.
He typed a response, half out of frustration, half out of curiosity:
(How do I do that?)
The author's reply came quickly:
(Through the power of belief.)
Paul scoffed and tossed his phone aside again.
"Belief?"
Was this some kind of joke? He was done with the conversation.
He lay back down, eyes on the ceiling, trying to ignore the dull ache in his shoulder.
But his phone buzzed once more.
He picked it up, his curiosity getting the better of him.
(Would you like to experience it for yourself? To see how the power of belief can help you find your purpose in a new world?)
Paul stared at the screen, unsure how to respond.
He didn't know what to think. The idea was absurd. And yet, a part of him—the part that had once believed in something more—was intrigued.
Without thinking, he raised a hand, reaching toward the ceiling as if trying to grasp something beyond his reach.
"I believe…" he muttered to himself, feeling a bit foolish.
"I can be taken to a new world… in search of purpose."
He mused at how ridiculous he sounded and closed his eyes, trying to push the thought away.
Even as sleep began to claim him, the idea lingered in the back of his mind.
---
When Paul awoke, he wasn't in his bed.
Cold water lapped at his skin, and his body floated aimlessly along a stream.
His clothes were soaked, and his left shoulder throbbed with pain.
Slowly, he became aware of a heavy weight pressing against him.
He glanced down and saw the shaft of a spear, embedded deep in his shoulder.
His breath hitched, and panic surged through him, but before he could make sense of what was happening, the world tilted, and everything went black.