The sound of birds was all around.
Soft, gentle... living.
Ethan was standing in the center of a field covered with grass, without moving and with his eyes held wide out of disbelief. The sun in the morning had his face, warm and real — too real, in fact. The scent of grass, the breezy whisper of the wind, the nearby children's laughter… All of it was vivid. It was too vivid for a dream.
He could still recall it all — the blood, the fire, the shouting, and the last spell of the Demon Lord.
The whole battlefield was gone in a white flash.
Now, however, he was here.
How come?
He felt his body to be lither, smaller. His hands, once scarred from many fights, were now smooth and flawless like a baby's.
He couldn't take any step. He was unable to breathe even in a normal way.
The sight he was seeing was like a mountain of a burden on top of him.
> "Ethan! Hey, Ethan!"
A voice he knew shouted to him and brought him back from his trance.
Ethan very slowly turned his head around.
There...was a boy about his age standing a little distance away. He had a wooden sword in his hand, his brow was dripping with sweat, and a huge grin was on his face.
"Ethan, what's the matter? You have been staring absentmindedly for a long time," the boy said, swinging his hand in front of him.
Ethan blinked and his lips quivered.
"...Rick?"
Rick gave a quizzical look. "Uh, yeah? Who else would it be? Did you get knocked on the head or what?"
Ethan's breath was stuck in his throat. Rick — his closest friend. The very same Rick who had perished while defending him in that last fight.
But here he was — alive, smiling, and careless.
Ethan felt his heart melting and for a short period, he experienced something heavy and warm at the same time.
Rick awkwardly laughed. "You all right, buddy? We should be doing swordplay practice! You promised me today was the day you would finally beat me."
Raising the harmless wooden sword, he made a couple of swings that were just playful.
Ethan looked down at his own wooden sword, realizing what was happening.
It wasn't a battlefield. It was their old training spot… from when they were kids.
He swallowed hard, forcing a small, shaky smile.
"Oh… right. Swordplay."
Rick raised an eyebrow. "You sure you're okay? You look like you just saw a ghost."
Ethan chuckled weakly. "Yeah, I'm fine… I just—
His words trailed off as his mind suddenly flashed with images: his friends dying one by one, his parents' faces before the Demon Lord's flames consumed their house.
His chest tightened.
He couldn't take it anymore.
"I—I'll be back later, Rick!" Ethan blurted out, handing Rick his wooden sword and taking off before his friend could stop him. "Wait—Ethan! What's gotten into you?" Rick called after him, but Ethan was already running.
He dashed down the familiar village streets, by the old well, by the baker's shop that had been in ruins. Each face he passed was alive — individuals laughing, speaking, breathing.
Tears started falling before he could prevent them.
And then he saw it.
His house.
He came to an abrupt stop at the gate, shaking, gazing at the wooden door.
For an instant, he dared not open it — he was frightened that it would disappear if he did.
Then he heard it: the soft voice of his mother from within, humming while she cooked.
His knees almost buckled. He opened the door.
His mother turned to him from within, smiling warmly.
"Oh, Ethan, you're home early! Did you already finish training with Rick?"
He couldn't reply. His throat constricted. He just stood there, sobbing uncontrollably.
His dad glanced up from the dining table, an eyebrow raising. "What's wrong, son? Why are you crying?"
Ethan shook his head, weeping in between laughter. "You're… you're alive… You're really alive…"
His dad laughed, chuckling. "Of course we're alive! What kind of question is that?"
He rubbed Ethan's head, mussing his hair. "You must've had a weird dream, huh?"
Ethan laughed softly, unable to stop the tears. He hugged both of them tightly, holding on as if he'd never let go again.
His mother blinked in surprise, then smiled gently and hugged him back.
"Honestly, you're acting strange today," she said with a small laugh. "But… welcome home, Ethan."
And for the first time in what felt like forever, he was home. Truly home.
On that day, Ethan filled up every spare moment he had — laughing with his family, assisting his mother in the kitchen, playing with Rick until the sun went below the horizon.
It was a day of peace.
A day of warmth.
A day he had believed he would never see again.
But somewhere deep inside his heart, hidden under the relief and happiness, he could sense something weak —
a warmth burning inside his chest.
A mark.
A blessing he had no recollection of receiving.