Ray adjusted the focus of his camera, his fingers instinctively twisting the lens. The bustling city stretched before him, neon lights reflecting in puddles on the asphalt. He stood on a film set, capturing the perfect shot as actors played out their scripted emotions.

  “This scene is perfect,” he muttered, lowering his camera. The director’s voice blared in the background, giving final instructions before wrapping up.

  Ray wasn’t just any cameraman—he lived for cinematography. He didn’t just record moments; he captured feelings. Each frame, each angle, each subtle movement mattered to him.

  Ever since he was a child, Ray had been fascinated with the art of film. He remembered watching classic movies with his grandfather, who would pause scenes to explain the brilliance behind every shot. The way lighting could change the entire mood of a moment, how a simple change in perspective could evoke completely different emotions. It was magic—and he wanted to be a magician behind the lens.

  His childhood was filled with old film cameras, borrowed from second-hand stores when he couldn’t afford new ones. He would take pictures of everyday life, finding beauty in the mundane. A stray cat basking in the afternoon sun, a raindrop tracing down a windowpane, the silhouette of a tired office worker against the neon glow of the city. To him, every frame told a story.

  But passion alone wasn’t enough.

  The film industry was ruthless. His climb up the ladder had been slow and painful. He started as a production assistant, running errands, fetching coffee, and cleaning up after others before he was even allowed near a camera. The days were long, and the nights even longer. He sacrificed friendships, sleep, and his own comfort for the sake of his craft. He endured condescending directors, impatient actors, and brutal deadlines. Yet, through all of it, he persevered because he believed in the power of the moving image.

  That night, while filming on the streets, a sudden commotion broke out. A truck, its brakes failing, careened towards him. Time slowed as the blinding headlights engulfed his vision. Instinct took over—he dived to the side, barely avoiding a fate that would’ve turned him into an internet meme.

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  He should have been relieved. Instead, the close call left him shaken.

  The next day, everything fell apart. Office politics—an issue he had always ignored—came crashing down on him. His dedication to quality had clashed with the higher-ups’ obsession with deadlines and budgets. The result?

  He was fired.

  Hours later, he wandered the streets, his mind replaying everything like a poorly edited montage. The city lights felt colder, the once-vibrant world now dull. He stopped by a supermarket, buying cheap food and drinks, then walked along the riverbank, lost in thought.

  His mind drifted to the sacrifices he had made. He had missed family gatherings, ignored his own health, and chased after a dream that had now slipped through his fingers. Was it all for nothing? Had he wasted his life in pursuit of something unattainable?

  As he crossed the road toward home, a strange sensation washed over him. A voice—soft yet urgent—whispered in his mind.

  "Save my world."

  His feet froze. He turned his head—just in time to see the same truck from before.

  It didn’t miss this time.

  A deafening crash. Pain. Then... nothing.

  Ray awoke to the scent of damp earth and the rustling of leaves. His body ached, but the pain was overshadowed by confusion. Above him, the sky wasn’t the dull gray of a city morning—it was deep, endless blue. Sunlight filtered through towering trees, casting long shadows across the forest floor.

  He sat up, his head spinning. “Where... am I?”

  A voice called out.

  “Who are you?”

  Ray turned, spotting a girl standing a few feet away. She looked like she had stepped straight out of a medieval fantasy—armor, sword, and all. But what truly caught his attention wasn’t the sword at her waist or the suspicious glint in her eyes.

  It was her face.

  His cinematographer’s instincts kicked in instantly. Perfect symmetry. Subtle yet striking features. Eyes like a deep reservoir, reflecting a light that made even the sun seem envious. The natural contrast of her dark lashes against her fair skin was something no amount of post-production could replicate. If he had been behind a camera, he would have instinctively adjusted the lighting, framing her face to capture every delicate detail.

  She was cinematic. The kind of beauty that didn’t just belong in a frame—but could tell a story with a single glance.

  Her golden-blonde hair, tied in a loose braid, caught the sunlight, stray strands dancing in the breeze. The slight furrow in her brow, the cautious way she tilted her head—she wasn’t just a face, she was a moment. A scene waiting to be captured.

  Ray felt his fingers twitch, an old habit when he saw something visually mesmerizing. But there was no camera between them. Just his own stunned silence.

  She narrowed her eyes. “You don’t look like a soldier. Are you a traveler? A merchant?”

  Her voice snapped him back to reality. He blinked, forcing himself to focus.

  Beautiful or not, she was still a stranger. And right now, he had far bigger mysteries to solve.