The sound of wind brushing against leaves used to soothe him. He remembered that feeling well—the kind of peace only a mountain trail could offer. But now, even the memory felt distant. All he could feel now was... nothing.
His chest rose in shallow gasps, cold biting against his skin. He lay in a hospital bed, sunlight filtering through a window he could no longer reach. The room reeked of sterile walls and broken dreams.
"So this is how it ends, huh?"
Toiya Arashi chuckled bitterly in his mind, though no sound came from his lips.
He had once been so full of life. Hiking, climbing, laughing with friends on mountaintops. He wanted to see the world. He wanted to live freely—unbound. But a single reckless mistake during that trip had taken it all away.
A shattered spine. A crippled body. And now, failing organs. No miracles. No second chances.
"If only I hadn't ignored the trail signs... if only I didn't try to climb that ledge alone..."
As his vision blurred and the lights above began to fade, one final thought whispered in his soul:
"I just wanted... to run again."
---
Somewhere Beyond Death...
Darkness.
He felt nothing at first. No weight, no warmth. Only void.
But then... color. A shimmer—silver threads of light stretching endlessly like veins through a cosmic sea. His consciousness floated, untethered.
He felt himself passing through something—layers of existence. Each one pressing against him, rearranging something deeper than flesh or thought. Something that changed him.
There was a presence. Distant. Vast. Watching.
Then nothing again.
---
Awakening...
A sharp gasp escaped his lips.
Air. Thick, dry, real.
Toiya's eyes flew open to an unfamiliar ceiling—wooden, cracked, and faintly lit by a flickering lantern. His heart thudded. He bolted upright, then froze.
He had moved. Moved.
His arms trembled under his weight, but they worked. His legs shifted, reacting to his will. Toiya—no, who was he now?—lifted his trembling hands and stared at them. Small. Frail. Definitely not his.
But they responded.
Tears welled in his eyes as the realization struck him like thunder.
He could feel his limbs again.
"I... I can move..." he whispered. His voice was that of a young boy.
His fingers clutched the threadbare sheets. His breathing was unsteady, not from pain—but from awe.
Wherever he was, whatever had happened—he was no longer paralyzed.
He was alive. In a new body.
The door creaked open. A woman peeked in—a middle-aged face with tired eyes. Not angry, not cruel, but distant.
"You're up," she said flatly, placing a wooden bowl on a table before walking out. No warmth in her voice. No hate, either. Just... indifference.
Toiya looked around the small wooden room, its faded curtains and cracked floorboards telling him everything: a slum. Poor. Worn.
His hand instinctively went to his chest. The heartbeat was real.
So was the air in his lungs. The hunger in his belly.
He was alive.
And yet, something felt wrong.
He could feel... something. Faint, pulsing through the room.
Like threads in the air.
But that would have to wait. He leaned back onto the bed and whispered to the dark ceiling above:
.. "Looks like I got my second chance…"