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who am I ?
The first thing he saw was the night sky.
It was not the sky of Earth, nor any he had ever seen in the countless novels he had devoured. There was no sun, no moon, no horizon. Instead, an endless ocean of starlight stretched in every direction glittering motes suspended in a firmament without end. The stars did not twinkle; they burned steadily, solemn and eternal, watching him and everything else with quiet judgment as though they were ancient eyes gazing upon a dust.
For a long time, he simply stared. The sight was so overwhelming that thought itself scattered like frightened birds. There was no comforting blue, no promise of dawn or dusk. Only infinity raw, merciless, and magnificent.
Then, as if remembering himself, he looked down at his body.
The sight startled him.
He wore nothing more than a rough, worn-out coarse linen tunic, the kind peasants might wear in medieval depictions. His skin stretched tight over his bones, pale and fragile, with the look of someone who had missed too many meals. Malnourished arms, thin wrists, and legs like sticks spoke of weakness. Judging from his height, his build, the faint childish roundness that still clung to his features, he could not have been more than eleven or twelve years old.
"This… is me?" he whispered. His voice cracked young, high pitched, carrying no weight at all. It startled him more than the alien sky.
Slowly, he lowered himself onto his back. The grass cushioned him, cool against his skin. It was not like the grass he remembered from Earth. Each blade gleamed faintly, soft and fragrant, almost glowing in the starlight. As he stretched out upon it, he could feel its life humming against his skin, a subtle warmth rising into him.
Air filled his lungs, rich and sharp. Sweet. Refreshing. Almost too perfect, as though crafted with intention rather than chance. There was a crispness like mountain rain, a softness like spring blossoms, and something else a wild, indescribable taste that tickled his senses.
"…Where am I?"
The words slipped out of him before he could stop them. His own voice sounded alien in that vast silence, small and fragile against the immensity of the sky.
He forced himself to sit up after a time. All around, the world stretched out in unbroken majesty. Rolling fields spread into the horizonless distance, waves of grass swaying under a wind that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. The colors were unlike anything he had words for greens that shimmered with iridescence, golds that seemed to pour like molten sunlight. Flowers dotted the fields, their blossoms faintly glowing, humming with soft vibrations like a chorus at the edge of hearing.
It was a world out of a dream. And yet…
He felt no fear.
Instead, a strange familiarity tugged at his chest, faint but insistent. As though he had seen this all before, long ago, in a place beyond memory.
He searched his mind. But the harder he tried, the emptier it felt. His past was hazy, a mist through which only fragments glimmered. Earth yes, he remembered Earth. The endless crowds, the suffocating monotony, the gray weight of days that bled together. He remembered reading countless stories of transmigration, of isekai, of cultivation and ascension.
And he remembered longing.
Longing for escape. For adventure. For something greater than that caged existence. How many times had he prayed in his heart to be chosen, to wake in another world, to find destiny waiting for him?
And now
"…Don't tell me this is an isekai," he muttered, half in disbelief, half in excitement. He almost didn't dare to say it aloud, afraid the illusion might shatter.
Still, he had to know.
He pinched his arm.
Pain. Real.
He pressed his hand into the grass. The blades bent, cool and pliant beneath his touch. Real.
He tilted his head back at the infinite sky. Stars burned steadily, impossibly vast, impossibly close. Unreal.
A crooked smile tugged at his lips. "Heh. I guess this is it. A self insert."
The words felt ridiculous, childish, yet liberating. For the first time in years no, perhaps ever he felt alive.
But as the laugh escaped him, soft and disbelieving, something inside stirred.
It began as a faint thrum deep in his chest. A second heartbeat slower, heavier, impossibly vast. It resonated in his bones, in the very air around him. For the briefest instant, the stars above seemed to flare, brighter, so bright that it almost felt like it's morning.
He froze.
And then it was gone.
The silence returned, broken only by the whisper of wind through the alien flowers.
He shivered. "Hallucination. That's all. I've just read too many novels."
But even as he said it, a question lingered, heavy and unshakable:
"Who am I here?"
He touched his chest, feeling the frail bones, the thin skin. No scars, no marks. No memories of this body's past. Nothing of family, of name, of history. The emptiness stretched within him, frightening and liberating all at once.
"I don't remember anything… from whoever this was." His voice trembled. "So am I… just me?"
The wind shifted, carrying with it the faint song of unseen birds. He looked around again, searching for something anything that might anchor him.
In the distance, the fields dipped into a valley, where a stream glittered like liquid silver. Beyond that, shapes loomed vast trees, their trunks like pillars of jade, their crowns vanishing into the star filled sky. And beyond even that, he could almost swear he saw a wall of mist, faint and translucent, circling the world like an unfinished painting.
His chest tightened.
He hugged his knees, suddenly aware of his weakness. His body was frail, small, utterly unequipped for survival. There was no food, no shelter, no warmth but the grass and the wind. And yet, the fear that should have devoured him was muted, blunted by that lingering pulse inside him.
Like something vast and hidden slumbered within, watching, waiting.
He breathed out slowly, letting the alien air fill him once more. The stars remained steady. The grass continued its whispering dance. The flowers whispered amongst themselves
And deep inside, the second heartbeat echoed soft, patient, eternal.
He shivered. He was no longer certain whether he was trembling from fear… or anticipation.
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