Coincidence is not magic—it is the culmination of countless events, a chain of causes reacting and colliding until, finally, something seemingly bizarre emerges. It appears miraculous, even cosmic in its timing, but in truth, every coincidence is the result of layered variables that quietly increase the likelihood of what we call fate.
And yet, humans often fail to comprehend the scope of coincidence. A pebble rolling onto the road may set off a catastrophic pile-up. A single lit cigarette flung carelessly can ignite a wildfire that burns for half a year, devastating ecosystems and lives.
To the common mind, these coincidences seem frightening, incomprehensible—acts of chaos. But to the discerning observer, they are bound by the law of causality: every action taken by matter, whether inert or living, ripples outward. Some ripples lead to mere stumbles; others, to disasters—or to something as extraordinary as a portal to another world.
"That's right," someone once muttered, as if affirming the impossible.
Somewhere, somehow, it began with a trivial spark—a flicked switch perhaps—that snowballed into this moment. This place.
Jin stood atop a wind-beaten cliff, gazing down at a landscape half-hidden by swirling clouds. The air hummed with serene stillness; sunlight streamed through breaks in the mist like divine spotlighting. For a moment, the sight offered tranquility. Then came the sound—a rumble, a shatter of peace.
From the clouds burst a serpent as long as a train, its scaly body tearing through the sky with a deafening sonic boom.
"Yup... not Earth," Jin muttered.
He'd clung to the hope—however faint—that he'd merely been displaced somewhere remote on his home planet. That hope dissolved instantly.
"Well then... better find a way down."
But before his feet could move, an eerie chill swept over him. He froze. Slowly, he turned his head—just in time to see the monstrous serpent winding through the air, bearing down on him with merciless speed.
Its intent was unmistakable.
"I'm today's special," Jin realized grimly, eyes wide.
His body acted before thought could catch up. He turned and ran, screaming from a place deep in his gut. "I'm not tasty! I've got diseases! You don't want me!"
Stumbling, skidding, half-rolling down the treacherous mountainside, he shouted behind him, "I'm too small to satisfy you anyway!"
But the serpent gave no answer—just an unrelenting hiss, primal and empty. It wouldn't understand. It didn't need to.
Desperation sharpened his senses. At the last second, he veered left, narrowly dodging the creature's snapping jaws.
"Ha! You missed!"
But fate wasn't done. As he laughed, the ground beneath him gave way. The earth crumbled—taking Jin with it.
He screamed again, limbs flailing. In a blind scramble, he reached out—and caught hold of a scraggly bush jutting from the cliff face. His descent halted with a bone-jarring jolt. He dangled there, breathless and wide-eyed.
And as always, when it rains, it pours—the roots began to tear loose.
Jin didn't waste time panicking. His eyes searched wildly. A small boulder protruded from the cliff face just beneath him.
He kicked off the wall. The bush gave way entirely—but he landed hard on the rock, chest heaving like a lizard baking under sun, gasping like a fish out of water.
He allowed himself a few deep breaths before surveying his surroundings.
Upwards? A sheer 90-degree wall. Impossible.
Sideways? Maybe... There were footholds, but none inviting.
Then he made the mistake of looking down.
A hundred-foot drop yawned beneath him. Jagged stones jutted up like teeth at the bottom. He shuddered—
—but then, a flicker of hope: a hole, not far below. Roughly the size of two basketballs side by side. Maybe a cave entrance.
Maybe salvation.
He could feel the earth above vibrating. The snake was still searching for him.
Grimacing, Jin began his descent. Inch by inch, he lowered himself, clinging to fractured stone. His toes brushed the edge of the hole.
He shifted his grip. Slipped.
One misstep on algae-slicked stone sent him tumbling through the opening. He braced—
—and landed hard on his rear with a solid thud.
Groaning, he opened his eyes.
He was in a narrow corridor of stone and dirt. Torches lined the walls, their flames flickering unnaturally still, casting strange shadows across the cavern.
Jin blinked. The fear didn't fade—but awe crept in.
Compelled, he wandered forward. The corridor felt ancient. Timeless.
And then, a glint.
A shimmering object embedded in the wall caught his attention. It twinkled, reflecting torchlight like a star embedded in the rock.
He stepped closer, stretched out his hand, and grasped it.
With a sharp tug, it dislodged easily—and fell into his palm.