The path to the cabin seemed longer than the day before. The morning mist had not fully dissipated when Ilya entered the forest. The cold wind bit his skin, but he continued walking without hesitation. His boots stepped on the damp soil, following the path he had taken before, until he finally saw the cabin again.
His steps stopped when he saw a figure in a white cloak standing straight in front of him. Just like before, the man stood still and calm, a rifle slung over his shoulder. His gaze was fixed at Ilya, as if he had been waiting for his arrival.
Ilya approached him furiously, firing off the questions that had echoed in his mind.
"You—Who are you really?! What did you mean by yesterday?! You know it, right?! About myself, about the memories that haunt me. You know something, don't you?!"
Ilya's questions poured out in a torrent, his voice rising with emotions. Frustration, confusion, weariness, all mingled in his words.
Yet, Arvid remained silent, his gaze steady, unyielding. He just waited, patiently, until Ilya's outburst subsided.
The silence that followed was oppressive, heavy with unspoken meaning. And then, he finally spoke.
"You've seen it, haven't you? The regret and suffering that haunts you. A fragment of memory from the past."
Ilya's eyes locked onto him, his breathing labored, but he listened intently.
"In this world, there are people who are hated by fate," Arvid continued, his tone calm, detached. "They're given something they do not want, a burden that comes at the cost of their lives. They're not the chosen ones. They are cursed, cursed by the world itself. Both of us, you and I, were no exception."
***
Astra, a mysterious object that goes beyond logic, with unknown origin. They can take any form. From various weapons such as swords, spears, and arrows, to everyday objects.
Humans have studied them since ancient times, trying to push their greatest potential. Those who can use Astra are called Possessors.
They learn and hone various magic techniques drawn from Astra. Academies are established to train them, and with that their popularity increases drastically. Their names are printed in newspapers, depicted as symbols of national power.
Even so, there are always those who stand apart. Geniuses with extraordinary talents, chosen by the Astra itself. They are blessed by gods and deities, destined to be the saviors of the world.
But it all comes with a great price. They carry the memories of their past lives. All the suffering, sadness, regrets they have experienced, now comes back to torment them. An eternal cycle without an end, a nightmare that will continue to haunt them.
Their overwhelming power also gives people fears. People scared that they would go insane and kill everyone. As a result, many Possessors were executed before they could control their own powers, forced them to hide and live in the shadows.
They were not heroes who would save the humanities, nor geniuses who were gifted by the divines. They were just a ghost, remnants from the past trapped in a strange world.
Ilya sat in silence, listening to Arvid's explanation.
Inside the old cabin was warmer than Ilya had expected. A small fire crackling in a fireplace, tools and herbs hung on the walls, and a worn dining table stood within two wooden chairs.
Ilya struggled, couldn't believe what he was hearing.
Astra and Possessor weren't unfamiliar to him. But there was something that had been bothering him all this time, a vision. A vision of the past, plagued his sleeps. A nightmare that kept appearing in his sleep. The battlefield. The gunfire. The cries of the wounded. He wanted to ignore it, but it was all too real for him. Too real to be called as a dream.
Ilya looked down, looking at his hands that continued to tremble.
"I don't understand. Why me? Of all people—why it has to be me?!"
"...I don't know," Arvid replied. "Perhaps fate just playing dice, or maybe the world has some rules that we can't understand."
Looking out the window, Arvid continued. "I never chose to come back. I never asked for a second life. But the world gave it to me anyway."
Silence fell between them. Not because of awkwardness, but a shared of understanding.
Ilya's questions continued. "Why are you telling me all this?"
Arvid turned to Ilya. "Because your peaceful life won't last for so long. One day, you'll awaken your power, at that time, they'll come for you. Those who want to take advantage of you, and those who want to kill you. You need to be prepared."
Ilya's eyes narrow, his mind racing. He glanced on the fireplace, watching the flames dancing like his uncertain future. He knew that his peaceful life in the orphanage would begin to crumble.
Arvid walked over to an old wooden chest. He opened it, revealing a neatly folded black cloak inside. He paused for a moment, then took a deep breath.
"Follow me," he said firmly.
"Yes?"
Without waiting for a response, Arvid turned and walked towards the door.
Even though he didn't get an answer, Ilya knew what he meant. He couldn't ignore the vision any longer. Something was coming, and he needed to protect the people he cared about. As he walked, Ilya thought about the children in the orphanage, about Anna. He didn't really trust him, but he wanted to keep them safe. The memories of their smiles and laughter were too precious for him.
The choice before him was clear. Face the unknown, or risk losing everything he held dear. He had no doubts, no matter what happened in the future, he wouldn't regret his decision.