Pain.
That was the first thing Arin felt. But unlike the searing agony of his final moments on Earth, this one felt more like a head-splitting hangover sponsored by a nuclear migraine.
Then… warmth. A soft bed. Crisp air. The scent of bread — not burnt walls. Not gunpowder.
His eyes fluttered open.
Instead of charred beams and smoldering memories, he saw a wooden ceiling, polished and carved with swirling runes that glowed faintly. A chandelier hung above him, not electric, but floating — like stars trapped in a glass cage.
He blinked.
"...What?"
He sat up.
The room was… cozy. Not luxurious, but quaint. Like middle-class fantasy Pinterest threw up in a good way. A small stone fireplace flickered to the side. Bookshelves crammed with tomes and scrolls hugged the walls. A wardrobe carved with griffins stood in the corner, and a single wooden-framed mirror glimmered with a faint blue light.
He looked down.
Silken pajamas. Muscles. What the hell — was that a six-pack?!
He scrambled off the bed and tripped over a glowing slipper that whispered "Good morning!" in a squeaky voice.
As he hit the floor, a sudden rush of memories burst through his mind like a broken dam.
Running through these halls as a child...Practicing levitation spells in the backyard…Sobbing when the pet sprout-dragon died…Cheering at the acceptance letter from the Academy of Magica
It was his. And not his.
Both.
Two lives tangled together like knotted yarn. Two Arins — one broken by science and politics, the other raised by magic and pancakes.
Before he could process that emotional earthquake, a voice thundered from downstairs:
"ARIN! IF YOU DON'T GET DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW, YOU'LL MISS YOUR FIRST DAY OF UNIVERSITY!"
His eyes widened. "...What."
He scrambled to the door and sprinted down wooden stairs that were alive — quite literally. Each step lit up and giggled as he touched it.
He burst into a sunlit kitchen where chaos was breakfast.
His mom, a stern-looking woman with hair tied in a spell-threaded bun, floated multiple pans and plates with glowing kitchen magic. Eggs cooked themselves midair. Bacon strips danced onto plates. A sentient teacup was crying softly in a corner.
"Sit!" she barked. "Eat!"
At the table, his dad, a jolly man with a beard that occasionally blinked, raised a mug. "Look who finally woke up! Welcome to adulthood, champ!"
His sister, a teen with sparkly eyebrows and a deadly glare, rolled her eyes. "He's going to cry in public, isn't he? So embarrassing."
Arin just stood there, staring.
A warm breakfast. A loving — albeit loud — family. People who knew him, who loved him.
He slowly sat at the table. "...Is this really mine?"
"Eat your jamroot toast before it turns sentient," his mom snapped.
He bit in. It tasted like cinnamon sugar and joy.
For a moment, just a moment, he thought he might cry.
After an overly long hug from his dad, a finger-gun spell from his sister that temporarily made his left eyebrow glow, and a 27-minute monologue from his mom about Not Dying in University™, Arin finally left the house, clutching a leather satchel filled with books he hadn't read and memories he hadn't lived.
"Study hard!""Don't summon demons!""Text us using a talking pebble when you reach!"
At the transport station, he froze.
A giant fleshy worm with glowing eyes and twenty armored legs slithered to a stop. Its metallic harness opened to reveal a cozy passenger cabin inside its ribcage.
The train.
He laughed. "Okay. That's horrifying."
The worm groaned, wagged its tongue like a golden retriever, and let him board.
Inside, people sat calmly reading spellbooks, sipping tea, or petting mini-foxes in their laps.
He chose a window seat, and the train lurched forward.
As they zoomed through emerald forests, floating islands, and a lake where water nymphs played catch with a storm cloud, Arin leaned back and whispered,
"So this is the new world."
A smile tugged at his lips for the first time in years.
"Let's break it too."