"Ethan, you have to be safe and not show yourself in the new world, at start." The fragmented words, barely audible, seemed to echo not in Ethan's ears but in the very core of his being. The words seemed to echo not just in his ears, but in the deepest parts of his fading consciousness, a warning, a command, a truth he was meant to carry. Low? Hidden? Why? What dangers awaited a world that needed such a warning, and why was he the one burdened with it?
Ethan's consciousness, already frayed from the unimaginable battle, felt on the verge of splintering entirely. But just as the abyss threatened to claim him, a profound shift occurred. The suffocating darkness that had surrounded him became, paradoxically, a canvas. From within his ravaged, yet still glowing form, intricate patterns of light, vibrant and iridescent, began to pulse outwards, shimmering across what felt like an infinite, liquid surface.
His consciousness, miraculously, stabilized. The oppressive blackness was gone, replaced by an astonishing, boundless expanse. He wasn't merely in the air anymore; he was adrift in a sea of fractured starlight, the very light itself a living current that pulled and caressed him. Above him, unseen, unnamed rays pierced through the depths of this cosmic ocean, bathing his ethereal self in a spectrum of impossible colors – hues that defied earthly descriptions, shifting and merging like a celestial dream. And then, as swiftly as he had been disembodied, he was back within his physical form. He felt the familiar, if broken, weight of his limbs, the ability to move his arm, to see through his own eyes. Around him, the shimmering, luminous expanse stretched infinitely, and the only thought that resonated in his mind, after witnessing this incredible transformation, was a single, profound word: "divine".
As he took in the awe-inspiring panorama, his gaze was suddenly drawn upward, caught by an irresistible force. He couldn't shift his eyes from what he saw: a being of immense, breathtaking scale, colossal beyond comprehension, entirely enveloped by a blinding, self-effulgent light. This was divinity made manifest, an entity so pure and powerful it seemed woven from the very essence of the cosmos itself.
The divine being slowly extended a hand towards Ethan's floating, vulnerable body. A primal terror, colder and more absolute than any fear he had known on the battlefield, seized him. He desperately wanted to protect himself, to recoil, to flee, but he was utterly paralyzed. Not by cold, not by physical restraint, but by the sheer, overwhelming dread radiating from the entity. Every part of his body was frozen, rigid with terror, save for his eyes, which remained fixed on the approaching limb. The hand, impossibly vast, felt like a distant, immense asteroid, gathering momentum, destined to collide with and obliterate him. The silence of the starlit sea was broken only by the frantic hammering of his own heart, a drumbeat of impending annihilation.
Then, just as the colossal hand seemed poised to touch him, everything went dark again for Ethan. But this darkness was different. It wasn't the void of unconsciousness, nor the terrifying emptiness of the previous moments. He could feel his body parts, distinct yet subtly altered, as if they had undergone a profound metamorphosis. He opened his eyes, blinking against a sudden, overwhelming dampness, to find himself cradled in someone's arms. It was a man, his face obscured by shadow and the driving rain.
Ethan, disoriented and bewildered, tried to speak, to ask where he was, what had happened. But when he opened his mouth, no sound emerged. His vocal cords, his tongue, refused to obey. He then looked down at himself, at his limbs, and saw them: small, tiny, fragile, like those of a newborn child. A chilling realization washed over him—this was him, yet not him. This was a past he couldn't recall, a beginning he couldn't comprehend. Suddenly, the heavens unleashed a torrential downpour, heavy rain lashing down, accompanied by deafening thunder and blinding flashes of lightning.
The man holding him was running, his breath ragged, his steps hurried. He wasn't alone; four other figures moved with him, dark shapes against the stormy landscape. They were cloaked, their movements purposeful and desperate. After what seemed like an eternity, they abruptly stopped, huddling together, their voices low and urgent in the roar of the storm. Ethan strained to understand, but their language was alien to him, a jumble of sounds without meaning. After their brief, tense conference, the man holding Ethan broke away, striking out alone in a different direction, while the other four vanished into the tempest.
A warm, thick droplet landed on Ethan's face. It wasn't rainwater. It was blood. He looked up to see that the man holding him was bleeding from his head, a dark stain spreading across his brow, mingling with the rain. Despite his injury, the man continued to run, driven by a desperate urgency. He knew that to stop, to even slow down, meant certain death. The world blurred past them—trees, shadows, the relentless drumming of the rain. After what felt like an agonizing eternity, they reached a destination: a small, unassuming village, barely more than a cluster of hovels, named Dawnbell.
At the rustic wooden gate of the village, the man carefully lowered Ethan, placing him gently into a sturdy basket he had carried on his back, a silent testament to his burden. As he turned to leave, his voice was a raw whisper, barely audible over the storm, but etched into Ethan's nascent consciousness: "I am sorry, please forgive me for this. Live a good life here in this village—Ethan". And then, like a ghost in the rain, he was gone, leaving Ethan, the reborn hero, at the threshold of a new, utterly unknown beginning.