Darkness.
It wasn't just the absence of light. It was the absence of everything. No sound, no pain, no breath. Just a drifting sense of emptiness, as if even time had forgotten him.
Luca floated, his final moments flickering like dying embers.
The blood.
The searing pain.
Mr. Brown's frantic voice.
And then—silence.
Is this death?
He didn't feel sorrow. Just a numb, frozen stillness, detached from thought, from self.
But then, something stirred.
A sensation. Distant. Faint. A breath? No… a heartbeat.
Thump.
His mind clutched at it instinctively.
Thump. Thump.
It grew louder. More real.
And then—
Air.
He gasped, lungs burning as if he'd broken through the surface of deep water. His back arched, body convulsing. Light seared his eyes.
The ground beneath him was hard, cold, gritty. Dirt and stone pressed against his skin. His senses returned in waves: the scent of dust, the distant echo of voices, and...
"Hic… hic…"
A girl sobbing.
He turned his head, wincing at the sharp pain stabbing through his skull. His fingers moved on instinct, pressing against his temple. They came away wet.
Blood.
But… why his head?
He remembered being shot in the heart and lungs. Not his head.
Was it a misfire? No… that didn't make sense.
His breath came in shallow bursts. He tried to sit up but grimaced. One of his legs refused to move.
He looked down.
A heavyweight pinned it down. A slab of concrete rested across his lower leg.
His thoughts twisted.
Was he tortured?
His head ached too much to think straight. He lifted his hand once more, only to flinch in surprise.
His fingers were smaller. Delicate. Not his.
He stared at them.
Whose hands are these?
Beside him, water trickled gently in a narrow stream. He leaned closer and caught his reflection. A boy, no older than twelve, stared back. Pale skin. Raven-black hair. Eyes wide and lost.
"... Luca?"
Just then, a gentle voice called out beside him.
He turned and froze.
She was a small girl with black hair and dark eyes, her features so eerily familiar it felt like a mirror warped by memory, as if carved from the same soul.
Her face was streaked with dirt, her clothes ragged. Her eyes were puffy and red from all the crying.
When she saw him, her face bloomed with light, as if hope had sparked back to life.
"Luca!"
She rushed toward him, throwing her arms around his shoulders. He nearly blacked out again from the sudden impact.
"Hic... hic... I thought you were dead…"
She sobbed into him, clinging like she'd never let go.
"Please… don't leave me alone again…"
He stayed still, silent. Her hold was desperate, yet sincere.
Luca's gaze shifted past her to the crumbling world around them.
They were under a broken bridge. A narrow stream flowed nearby. Chunks of rubble lay scattered—sharp stones, concrete.
The bridge overhead was shattered. Half of it had collapsed.
An earthquake?
Distant shouts echoed. People calling out, searching, crying.
Whatever happened, it wasn't just a personal tragedy. It was a disaster.
Luca blinked against the pain and waited until the girl's sobs quieted. Before he spoke.
"...Can you help me move the rock on my leg?" Luca whispered, voice raw and hoarse.
Her eyes widened in alarm. She hadn't noticed it before. She nodded quickly and scrambled beside him, pushing at the slab. Despite her size, adrenaline lent her strength. With effort, the stone shifted.
Luca's breath hitched, but he nodded.
"Thank you… Now… Can you find two sticks, some cloth, and rope?"
She tilted her head, puzzled, but didn't question him. She ran into the debris. As if fate answered his request, she returned moments later, arms full. Broken wood, fabric, and rope.
Then he gave her a strip of cloth.
"Help me wash this… in the stream," Luca said, his voice low.
She listened and ran to the water. Returned with the cloth damp and clean.
When she returned, he began work. Cleaning the blood from his leg, then wrapping it with a tight cloth. He bound his leg with care, positioning the sticks properly and tying them securely. Then, he reached up to the gash on his head and treated it the same way.
It wasn't perfect.
But it would help him heal.
The girl watched, wide-eyed. And then, softly: "Lu… are you some kind of saint?" she whispered, wonder in her voice.
"What…?" He blinked at her.
"I mean a healer… like the saints. They help people when they're hurt," she said earnestly.
He stared at her. A healer?
"… I suppose," Luca said quietly.
"Really? That's amazing!"
"Thank you?"
A look of confusion crossed Luca's face. He wasn't sure what had just happened. Then he finally asked what had been gnawing at him.
"Who… are you?" Luca asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
She stopped. Her face fell.
"…What?"
"I mean… who exactly are you?"
Her lower lip trembled. Tears welled up again, but she held them back.
She stepped closer and gently placed a hand on his arm.
"I'm your sister… Evelyn."
Her voice was soft. Certain. But fragile, as if begging him to believe it.
Luca stared.
That name… he had never heard it before.
A sister?
It felt surreal. Like he'd stepped into a play midway through, not knowing his role.
Still, something in her eyes made it hard to reject outright.
"… Evelyn. What happened?"
Her face lit up when he said her name.
"You used to call me 'Sister' all the time."
"The earthquake… the bridge collapsed. You hit your head, and I—I thought I was going to lose you too." Her voice cracked again.
Luca nodded slowly.
"I see. Sister, where are we?"
She paused, voice soft.
"...You really don't remember?"
"I'm sorry… I don't."
"Lu… are you okay?" Evelyn's voice quivered, eyes searching his face.
"I… I think. I lost some memories." He murmured.
She blinked away tears, then leaned a little closer, voice gentle like a lullaby.
"It's okay… your sister's right here. I'll help you remember."
"We're in Naporia City, Lu… It's part of the Silverwind Kingdom, under the Emberhold Empire." She explained with a calm smile.
Luca blinked.
Naporia? Silverwind? Emberhold?
None of those were Earth.
He looked down at his hands. His reflection. His frame.
Confused. Disbelief.
He drew a slow, shaky breath.
"What year is it?"
She tilted her head.
"It's the 27th month 07, 8000."
Eight thousand? Were they in the far future?
But this didn't look like the future. No advanced tech. No skyscrapers. Just rubble, torn tarps, broken lives.
He barely noticed Evelyn crouching beside him until she placed a hand on his shoulder again.
"Lu… you should lie down. You're still hurt."
Luca was confused. He couldn't accept that he'd been transmigrated to somewhere else. Yet the pain from his injuries was sharp and undeniable. Even the girl who called herself his sister felt like a stranger. Nothing around him felt real.
He fell silent, considering it carefully, before giving a nod.
"...Alright. I will rest for a bit."
"Mm…"
Her reply was gentle, nearly a hum.
She helped him onto the makeshift bedding, little more than cloth and leaves, but warm.
He sank into it, too tired to ask. The pain dulled, his limbs heavy.
Maybe this is a coma.
He thought.
Maybe he will wake up in a hospital. Mr. Brown by his side… or his parents.
His chest tightened.
"Rest well, Lu…" Evelyn whispered.
Moments later, a gentle lullaby slipped into his ears, sung softly from beside him. He'd never heard it before, but it made him feel peaceful, lulling him toward sleep.
Under the willow, soft winds cry,
Stars fall slow through a broken sky.
Hush now, darling, close your eyes,
Morning waits where silence lies…
A breeze stirred the dust as Luca closed his eyes.
Then, all at once...
Darkness.
***
"It's been so long…"
The voice did not echo.
It seeped, and low, through the air like mold creeping across a stone.
The place wasn't built. But, carved out like a wound in reality. The walls bent and twisted where they shouldn't, shaping space into things that made no sense.
And at the center stood a throne.
It had grown from the bones of some dead giant. For centuries, lay dormant, lost to time.
Crimson light trickled down in thin tendrils, writhing like blood spilled in water. The moon hung beyond the chamber, bleeding its glow like an open eye.
The figure on the throne did not move.
Stillness had lasted for an age.
And then—movement.
Twin gates of towering black metal swung open with surprising ease, seeming to recognize the one who approached.
The echoes of footsteps were swallowed by the cavernous space.
From beyond the gates, a figure stepped through.
But there was something off about him, something quiet and wrong. He moved like he was following a memory instead of walking, as if this moment had already happened, and he was simply catching up.
Then he looked forward. Not at the skyline. Not at the moon. But beyond.
His eyes locked on a point that didn't exist.
He smiled.
Not cruel. Not kind.
Just inevitable.
That was drawn by something older, something buried in the blueprint of its being.
The figure spoke again, his mouth moving as if to speak—yet the voice poured from every direction.
From behind, beneath, inside.
From the bones.
From the silence.
"You've come late…"
Then, eyes. So many. Seemed to blink open inside the void of the figure's gaze. Unseen things stared through the man, from somewhere beyond the veil of space.
And the shadows on the wall bent slightly, like a glitch.
Above him, the red moon bled its light through the ancient dome, casting a glow that felt both sacred and cursed.