Warmth.
For a fleeting second, he thought he was dreaming—maybe he had survived, maybe everything had been a nightmare. But the pain in his body told him otherwise. Dull aches echoed through his chest, and the cold breeze brushing his skin wasn't artificial. It was raw. Real.
Then he realized something… his head was resting on something soft.
He opened his eyes slowly.
A face. Delicate, serene. Pale-blue eyes stared down at him, framed by strands of moonlight-colored hair that shimmered under the rising sun. Her skin was almost porcelain, but her gaze—icy and unmoving—cut through him like frost on bare skin.
She blinked. "You're awake."
His heart skipped, not because of fear… but confusion. Who was she? Where was he?
And why did she look so calm, despite the monster he remembered lunging at him?
His face burned as he noticed—his head was resting in her lap. The fluster hit before any logic did. "Wha—!"
He tried to sit up too fast, and in a clumsy panic, tumbled backward, landing on his back in the snow. A sharp gasp escaped his lips. The impact jolted his already sore body, and his vision swam for a moment.
"Careful," she said softly, standing now. Her voice was melodic but distant, like a breeze that didn't quite reach your skin.
Before he could process what was happening, the woods around them rustled. Leaves shifted. Boots crunched.
Ten armored guards, all bearing the same silver crest—a crescent moon surrounded by frost-tipped roses—emerged from the trees. Swords were unsheathed, staffs raised. He tensed, instinctively backing away on his elbows.
The girl held up a hand. "Stand down."
At her command, the guards halted instantly, forming a loose semicircle around them. One stepped forward, tall and broad-shouldered, likely their commander.
"Lady Aeris, are you unharmed?" he asked, eyes flicking toward the boy with restrained caution.
"I'm fine. He's not a threat," she replied. "Just… confused."
One of the younger guards whispered, "Should we take him in for questioning?"
Aeris looked back at him, studying him with a strange intensity. "We'll take him… but not as a prisoner."
She turned to him, offering a hand. "Can you stand?"
He hesitated. His heart pounded—not from fear, but from something deeper. The ache of shame. Of being weak again. Of being pitied. But her hand was steady, patient.
He took it.
They walked for hours through the snow-covered forest, with the guards in a loose formation around them. Aeris stayed near him, silent but attentive. He noticed the glances—half-suspicious, half-curious—from the guards. He was a stranger in strange clothes, barefoot, scarred, and silent.
He didn't know what to say. He couldn't just tell them, I'm from another world. They'd think he was mad.
So he said nothing.
Eventually, the trees opened to a clearing on the edge of a sky cliff. A temporary camp had been set up—dozens of tents, guarded wagons, and a large hovering platform anchored with magical runes. He saw a flying ship docked in the distance, hovering just above the forest, shimmering with blue magic under its hull.
The sight stole his breath.
This isn't Earth.
No more doubt. He had truly been reborn.
They gave him a tent, food, and spare clothes. Nothing luxurious—just basic hospitality. But even that much felt alien. No yelling. No pain. No cold stares of disgust. Just silence, and an overwhelming weight in his chest.
That night, he sat outside his tent, staring at the sky.
It looked nothing like the one he remembered. The stars weren't in familiar shapes. There were floating landmasses in the far-off distance, some glowing, others shadowed by clouds. He watched one—a small island lit with orange flickers—drift quietly across the sky like a lone ship at sea.
He didn't realize Aeris had approached until she spoke.
"You've seen them before?"
He flinched. "H-huh?"
"The floating islands," she said, sitting beside him. "You looked at them like someone who forgot how to dream."
He stayed quiet.
"I don't know where you came from," she added gently, "but I saw the scar on your chest. The one you were clutching when I found you."
His hand unconsciously brushed against the spot. The ache was still there.
"You don't have to tell me now," she said, standing. "But you were given another chance. Don't waste it by staying silent forever."
She left, her cloak fluttering softly behind her.
And under that foreign sky, for the first time in both his lives, he wept… quietly.
Not from fear.
Not from pain.
But from something he couldn't name.