CHAPTER 2 — The Family I Lost Once
Aron sat on the edge of his bed, breathing slowly, trying to calm the storm inside his mind.
Is this real?
Am I dreaming?
Did I really… come back?
He pinched his arm. It hurt.
He pressed his hand against his chest. His heartbeat was fast and loud.
"This… isn't a dream," he whispered to himself.
The warmth of the room…
The sunlight…
The familiar smell of the wooden floor…
Everything was too real.
His last memory of falling into darkness felt distant, almost like a nightmare—but not even his mind could create something as real as this.
"No… that wasn't a dream," he muttered. "But whatever that was… I won't waste this chance."
Aron stood up slowly.
"In my last life, I just drifted… this time, I will work hard. I will not lay back like before."
He took a deep breath and stepped out of his room.
- The Path to the Dining Hall
The hallway smelled the same as his childhood—clean stone, polished wood, and a faint hint of herbs used by the maids. Aron walked slowly, taking in every detail.
He saw familiar faces—soldiers who guarded the estate, maids who once cared for him.
In his previous life, he barely spoke to them. He was introverted, quiet, and uninterested in social interaction.
Now, seeing them alive again made his chest tighten painfully.
I remember your faces… every one of you died protecting this house.
His steps grew heavier as he approached the dining hall. His heart beat faster.
Inside that room… the people he lost were waiting.
The Dining Table
The large wooden doors were half open. Aron pushed them gently.
His father sat at the head of the table.
Even in his thirties, he looked strong and confident—broad shoulders, sharp jawline, and calm golden eyes that carried the authority of a commander. He wasn't bulky or massive; he had a perfectly balanced build that showed strength and discipline. He was one of the top five strongest men in the entire empire, a master who had trained countless elite soldiers.
He rarely had time for the family, but Aron never misunderstood him. His father simply carried the weight of the empire. In his last life, that weight crushed him in the end.
Father… you fought demons until your last breath.
You saved so many people.
I was the weak one. I… couldn't save you.
Aron felt his throat tighten.
Next to him sat three of his siblings—alive, smiling, unaware of their future deaths.
Robin, the fourth youngest
The funny one, always cheerful.
Bright red hair, messy as ever, and energetic purple eyes that sparkled with life.
He waved at Aron with a big grin.
David, the third youngest
A large, sturdy body even as a teenager.
Brown hair, red eyes, and a steady aura that showed he was born for battle.
He nodded quietly at Aron, mature beyond his age.
Rina, only one year older than Aron
A prodigy.
A monster in swordsmanship.
The girl with short silver hair and blue eyes that were sharp like a blade.
In Aron's past life, she died protecting him.
Just looking at her nearly broke him.
Rina… you threw away your future for me.
If only I had been stronger…
If only I hadn't been such a burden…
He forced himself to sit with a straight face, but regret and sorrow leaked through.
His father noticed instantly.
"Aron," his father said, leaning slightly forward. "Are you alright?"
Aron froze.
He wanted to cry.
He wanted to hug him.
He wanted to apologize for everything.
But he swallowed the emotion.
"…Yes, Father," Aron answered softly.
His voice cracked slightly.
No one seemed to notice—except his father, whose sharp eyes narrowed with concern.
As Aron looked at his father—alive, calm, strong—another image overlapped in his mind, sharp enough to make his heart ache.
Father… the last time I saw you…
The memory hit him suddenly.
Flames.
Dust.
A battlefield filled with screams.
His father stood alone against a wave of demons, his sword burning with golden aura. Every swing shook the ground. Every strike tore through enemies far stronger than ordinary soldiers could handle.
But even then, his father was bleeding.
Breathing heavily.
Stumbling, yet refusing to fall.
Beside him fought Aron's cousins—three of them—warriors trained by his father himself. They fought bravely, matching the demons blow for blow, shouting commands, protecting each other.
Aron remembered standing far away, injured and unable to move, watching helplessly as the battle raged.
I couldn't do anything… nothing.
You were fighting desperately while I just watched.
If only I had trained harder… if only I hadn't wasted my early years…
His father had roared commands even as blood dripped down his arm:
"Retreat! Protect the civilians! DON'T LET THE LINE BREAK!"
His cousins responded with determination:
"Yes, Uncle!"
"We'll hold them!"
"Advance with us!"
They fought so bravely—so fearlessly—that Aron's chest tightened even now.
But soon… one cousin fell.
Then another.
And another.
Aron felt the same cold helplessness wash through him now as it did back then.
I couldn't save them.
I couldn't save him.
I didn't save anyone.
He closed his eyes for a brief moment.
Father… in the end, you died standing—protecting everyone except your own son who stood useless behind you.
Aron's fingers trembled slightly on the table.
He forced himself to breathe calmly, but the memory stabbed deeper into him.
Aron lowered his head slightly.
His father's question still echoed in his mind, but he couldn't bring himself to answer honestly. If he said anything—anything at all—the emotions he was barely holding back would spill out.
He quietly finished a few bites of food, unable to taste anything. Every glance at his siblings, every sound of their laughter, every small movement they made—each one dug into him like a needle.
These people died because of me.
And now they sit here… alive… smiling…
His heart felt too heavy.
"I… I'm done," Aron murmured, standing up.
His father raised an eyebrow, Robin looked confused, David stopped chewing, and Rina's eyes narrowed slightly. No one said anything, but they all watched him leave.
Except his father.
For a brief moment, Aron saw it—a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
Not mocking.
Not amused.
Something else.
As if he had expected something unusual from Aron today.
Aron couldn't understand it, so he walked away before his emotions broke loose.
Alone in His Room
The moment Aron shut the door, his breath began to shake.
He leaned against the wall, sliding down slowly until he was sitting on the floor.
His chest tightened. His hands trembled.
"Haa… haa… calm down… calm down…" he whispered, closing his eyes.
He was happy.
But also terrified.
Everything felt real.
But also unreal.
As if at any second, he might wake up in the middle of the battlefield again—surrounded by demons, blood, fire, and screams.
"Why… why am I back?" Aron whispered. "Who did this? How is something like this even possible?"
Was it fate?
Magic?
A miracle?
Or just a cruel trick?
The questions spiraled through him, crushing his heart. He hugged his knees tightly.
Just because he returned…
didn't mean his past life didn't happen.
Those deaths…
Those tears…
Those sacrifices…
They were real.
Burned into his memory forever.
Until suddenly—
A bright white light flashed inside his consciousness.
The same light he saw when he was dying.
Aron froze.
The light gathered into a small glowing orb floating before him.
A voice echoed directly into his mind—calm, deep, and ageless.
"Aron… one of the few chosen souls."
Aron staggered back.
"Who… who are you?"
The orb pulsed gently.
"You may call me the creator of this world… though names have little meaning here."
Aron's breath caught.
"I risked most of my power to turn everything back."
"This world—my creation was on the edge of extinction because of him."
Anger, sorrow, and disappointment filled the voice.
But also… hope.
"I can only tell you this much: you have been given a chance. A single chance to change fate."
Aron swallowed hard.
"Why me? I wasn't strong… I wasn't special."
The orb dimmed slightly.
"Strength was never the reason you were chosen."
"Hearts that break… are the ones capable of change."
Aron felt something twist inside him.
The orb continued:
"Help those who can grow. Become stronger yourself. The future will reveal what you seek when you are ready."
The voice softened.
"I can answer only one question. Ask."
Aron took a breath, gathered his courage, and asked the thing that bothered him most:
"How did time turn back? How is something like this possible… even with the power of creation?"
The orb paused.
Then the answer came—calm, philosophical, powerful.
Aron… time did not turn back."
A chill ran through his spine.
"The past remains unchanged. What happened, happened.
I merely placed the consciousness of your future self inside your younger body."
"You are not rewriting history. You are walking into it with knowledge you never had."
The light grew brighter, almost blinding.
"We cannot break the natural laws of this world—not even creators. But fate… fate itself bent for you."
Aron's eyes widened.
"Fate chooses its warriors when creation cannot."
The orb continued, voice heavy with ancient weight:
"We cannot fight the enemy that destroyed your world without shattering the laws that bind existence.
Such power can only be used once."
"This is our only chance."
The room trembled faintly.
"Change does not come by turning time.
Change comes when a single soul refuses to repeat the same mistakes."
The orb faded slowly.
"Aron… fate has chosen you.
Do not let this be in vain."
And with that, the light vanished.
Aron collapsed to his knees, shaking.
This wasn't just a second chance.
This was a responsibility greater than anything he had imagined.
He clenched his fists.
"Fate… chose me?"
He looked toward the window—toward the peaceful world he failed once.
This time, he wouldn't run.
He wouldn't hide.
He wouldn't be weak.
Not anymore.