He woke up to light—too bright, too warm.
The sunlight speared through the cracks in his curtains and hit his face like a physical thing. Aster groaned, rolling onto his side. His body felt heavy, like stone—like he'd been asleep for far too long. His limbs ached, not with pain, but with something ghostly. The memory of pain.
He blinked slowly, eyes adjusting to the sharp edges of the world, and stared up at the ceiling above him. A white popcorn ceiling.
His heart stopped.
No...
He sat up quickly, ignoring the dizziness that followed, and took in the room. His room. The one from before. The familiar clutter, the outdated PC on his desk, the battered bookcase stuffed with old manga and reference guides. The scuffed walls. The posters. The faint smell of dust and detergent.
Everything was exactly as it used to be.
But it couldn't be.
He had died. He had bled out, alone, betrayed, and ruined. The phantom pain still lingered—his chest, his back, the coldness in his fingertips.
This was wrong. This was impossible.
Aster scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over the corner of a blanket. He spun toward the window, yanked the curtain open, and squinted into the cityscape beyond. tall buildings, peaceful streets. No monsters. No collapse. No chaos. Just early morning light and the distant hum of life still functioning.
Then, just as he started to breathe, it appeared—A sharp, chiming ding.
A translucent blue screen blinked into existence before his eyes.
[SYSTEM BOOT COMPLETE]Welcome back, User: Aster--codex-- initialized.
His blood ran cold. The font. The interface. The soft glow of it.
His system. The same one he had used to survive for a decade after the fall of humanity. The one that had cataloged every monster, stored every scrap of gear, guided him through war, survival, and eventual betrayal. The Codex.
"...No. No, no, no." His voice was hoarse, cracking at the edges.
He reached forward instinctively, and the screen responded to his movement. Real. Not a dream.
A sudden blaring sound made him jump.
Aster turned to the source—his phone vibrating violently on his nightstand, screen lit up in obnoxious neon green.
ALARM – 8:00 AMAUGUST 15, 20XX
He froze.
August 15?
His mind raced. He counted the days, the weeks, backward from the night it all began. From the first surge of aura. From the first rift. From the first scream on the news.
Six months.
He had gone back six months before Doomsday.
Aster stared at the date, at the system screen hovering beside it, at the familiar walls of his old life. His breath shook. A hundred emotions surged inside him—relief, confusion, dread.
And something darker.
This time, he wasn't powerless.
This time, he remembered everything.