The young man never even saw it coming.
One moment, he was walking toward his college campus, backpack slung over one shoulder, thoughts drifting between deadlines, unfinished assignments, and how empty everything felt lately. The next, there was the deafening sound of a horn, blinding headlights filling his vision…
And then nothing.
He was sure that was the end.
But slowly… very slowly… his senses returned.
The first was touch.
He felt sharp points beneath his body, poking into his skin, making him shift weakly in discomfort. It wasn't painful, just strange—uneven, rough, almost like lying on a mattress stuffed with dry hay. His fingers twitched, brushing against something coarse and brittle.
Then came sound.
At first, it was muffled, distant, like he was underwater. Gradually, it became clearer. He heard dull clinks and soft thuds, the sound of utensils being used—wood or clay, not metal. There were light footsteps too, careful and graceful, moving across the floor. And above all of it, a gentle humming, a soft and melodic voice carrying a tune he didn't recognize, but that felt warm somehow.
He forced his eyes open.
Pain flared instantly as bright light flooded his vision, making him groan and squeeze his eyes shut again. After a few seconds, he tried once more, blinking rapidly as his eyes adjusted.
He realized he was lying beside a window.
Sunlight poured in through it, illuminating the room in a soft, golden glow. Outside, the sky was a clear blue, dotted with lazy white clouds drifting by. A cool breeze slipped in through the open window, carrying with it the fresh scent of morning dew and damp earth.
For a brief moment, it was peaceful.
Then the pain hit.
A sharp, throbbing headache surged from the base of his neck, spreading across his skull like a pulse with every heartbeat. He let out a weak sound, his hand lifting shakily to his head.
And then, memories crashed into him.
Not just one life.
He remembered his old world: his small apartment, the dull job as a corporate ghostwriter, writing words that were never truly his. He remembered college, not as a dream, but as an obligation, something done for appearances rather than passion.
But layered over those memories were others.
Memories of a child in a medieval world.
A gentle, energetic, loving boy.
'Merlin.'
The name surfaced naturally, like it had always been there. He found it a little strange, but his mind was too foggy to question it deeply. Because he understood something important now.
Now he wasn't just Merlin.
As his thoughts drifted through those memories, searching for the most recent one, understanding slowly settled in.
The forest.
He remembered walking through the woods, sunlight filtering through the leaves above, the ground still damp from the rain the day before. He had been gathering herbs for tea, humming softly to himself, when he heard it.
A small, desperate chirping.
He followed the sound and found a tiny bird on the ground, hopping clumsily beneath a tree. Above them, high in the branches, sat a nest.
Merlin carefully picked the little bird up in one hand.
"Shh, shh," he said softly, his voice small and innocent. "It's okay. I'll help you. I'll take you home."
The bird looked at him, tilting its head, chirping again.
He looked up at the tree.
It was tall. The bark was dark and damp, still slick from the rain. Climbing it wouldn't be easy.
But the bird kept chirping.
Merlin puffed out his chest a little, trying to be brave.
"I can do it," he said quietly. "Don't worry."
Holding the bird carefully in one hand, he began to climb with the other. His fingers slipped a few times on the wet bark, his heart pounding as he struggled upward. He used thicker branches to steady himself, slowly gaining height.
When he got close to the nest, he stopped.
The branches were thinner here. Even he knew thin branches broke easily.
He hesitated.
Then he looked at the bird in his hand.
It stared back at him, chirping softly, almost expectantly.
Merlin swallowed.
"It's… it's right there," he muttered. "Just a little more."
He grabbed a thicker part of the branch with one hand and carefully placed his foot on another below it. Stretching his arm as far as he could, he tipped his hand forward.
With one last effort, the little bird tumbled gently into its nest.
Immediately, it began chirping happily.
Merlin smiled, relief flooding his face.
"I did it," he whispered proudly.
Then—
CRACK.
The branch beneath his foot snapped.
He felt weightless.
As he fell, the last thing he saw was the treetops of the forest spinning above him, sunlight flashing between the leaves.
Then everything went black.
'…So that was it ?'
Maybe that fall was what awakened the memories of his other life.
It felt a little cliché, he admitted weakly to himself. A car and a reincarnation ? But he was far too exhausted to be upset about it.
Slowly, painfully, he turned his head to the left.
That's when he saw her.
His mother.
She was carrying several clay pots in her arms, moving toward a wooden shelf while softly humming the same melody he had heard earlier. Her hair was tied back loosely, a few strands falling around her face.
Merlin tried to speak.
"M… Mom…"
It came out as little more than a breath.
But she heard it.
She froze, eyes widening as she turned toward him. One of the clay pots slipped from her hands, falling to the floor with a heavy thud and shattering into countless pieces.
"Merlin ?!"
She dropped everything else and rushed toward him, her voice shaking as she called his name. She knelt beside him, lowering herself until she was at eye level, her hands hovering as if afraid to touch him and make him disappear.
Tears filled her eyes as she stared at her son, awake and looking back at her.
"Merlin… my baby…"
Her voice broke.
Merlin's mother broke into quiet sobs of relief the moment she truly understood that her son was awake, alive, and looking at her. Her shoulders trembled as she covered her mouth with one hand, tears slipping freely down her cheeks.
Merlin watched her, and for a brief moment, he simply took her in.
Not in a strange way.
She was just… beautiful.
Her face was soft and gentle, framed by long, dark hair that fell in loose waves over her shoulders. The color was deep, almost black with hints of warm brown where the sunlight touched it.
Her skin was pale and smooth, marked only by faint signs of exhaustion near her eyes, proof of sleepless nights spent worrying. Those eyes were striking, a calm green with flecks of gold, bright with emotion and still glossy with tears.
Her lips were full and naturally colored, trembling slightly as she tried to steady her breathing. There was a quiet grace to her, something warm and comforting, like a hearth fire on a cold evening.
Someone real.
Merlin forced himself to stop staring, feeling a little embarrassed by the thought.
"…Mom ?" he asked weakly. "How… how long was I asleep ?"
She sniffed, wiping her tears with the back of her hand, though her eyes never left him.
"Three days," she said softly. "You were unconscious for three whole days."
Merlin blinked.
"Three… days ?" he repeated, surprised. To him, it felt like nothing more than a short nap. But then again, considering he had just unlocked memories of an entirely different life, maybe that made sense.
"Oh," he murmured. "I guess… that explains the headache."
He paused for a moment, then frowned slightly.
"…Who found me ?" he asked. "I was really deep in the forest. It should've taken a long time for anyone to see me."
His mother nodded.
"It was Alastair," she said. "The hunter. He was out hunting deer and noticed something wrong near the trees. If he hadn't passed by when he did…" Her voice wavered, and she shook her head, unwilling to finish the thought.
She took a breath, then gently placed a hand behind Merlin's head.
"Stay still for a moment," she said, her tone careful.
She slowly lifted his head just enough to look at the back of his neck.
Then she froze.
"…What ?" Merlin asked, confused. "What is it ?"
Her eyes widened slightly.
"When they brought you back," she said, "you had a deep cut at the base of your neck. It was bad. I treated it with herbs from the forest, and changed the poultices every day."
She touched his skin gently with her fingertips.
"But now…" she whispered. "It's completely healed."
Merlin tilted his head as much as he could.
"Really ?" He let out a small, weak laugh. "That's good then. I wouldn't want a big ugly scar."
Her expression changed instantly.
She lowered his head back down and looked at him seriously, her brows knitting together.
"Merlin," she said sharply, "what were you thinking ?"
He blinked.
"Thinking…?"
"How did you manage to hurt yourself like that ?" she demanded, her voice tight with lingering fear. "Do you have any idea how worried I was ? I thought I was going to lose you."
Merlin's smile faded.
He felt a tight knot form in his chest.
"I didn't mean to," he said quietly. "I really didn't. I wasn't trying to be reckless."
He hesitated, then spoke honestly.
"I just wanted to help. There was a little bird… it fell from its nest. I thought I could put it back. That's all."
His mother stared at him for a long moment.
Then she sighed.
The anger slowly drained from her face, replaced by tired concern.
She reached out and placed her warm hand against his cheek, her thumb brushing lightly under his eye.
"I know," she said softly. "Your heart has always been too big for your own good. You're kind, and that's precious."
Her voice grew firmer, though still gentle.
"But I don't ever want to see you hurt because of it."
Merlin swallowed.
"I'll be more careful," he said cautiously. "I promise. I… I'll avoid climbing trees."
That earned a small, affectionate smile.
"That's all I could ask for," she replied.
She leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, lingering there for a moment longer than necessary.
Merlin's mother slowly stood up, wiping the remaining tears from her face. Her movements were careful, practiced, as if she were afraid that any sudden motion might wake him from a fragile dream.
"I'll make you something to eat," she said softly. "Something proper."
She glanced back at him as she moved toward the small hearth.
"For the past three days, you've only had broths and teas," she continued. "Your body needs something more solid now."
Merlin nodded faintly.
"Okay," he murmured.
She gave him one last look, warm, protective, before turning away. He listened as she moved around the room, the quiet sounds of clay bowls being set down, water poured, something gently stirred over the fire. The familiar rhythm of it all felt strangely comforting.
Left alone with his thoughts, Merlin turned his head slightly toward the window beside him.
The sky outside was beautiful.
A deep, clear blue stretched endlessly above, with soft white clouds drifting lazily across it. Sunlight spilled through the open window, painting warm shapes on the wooden floor. The breeze brushed against his face, cool and gentle, carrying the scent of grass, earth, and distant trees.
He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing it in.
This world felt different.
Quieter. Slower.
There were no honking cars, no glowing screens, no constant pressure pressing down on his chest. No deadlines waiting to swallow him whole. Just birdsong in the distance, the crackle of fire, and the soft presence of someone who cared deeply for him.
He opened his eyes again and watched the clouds move.
'Maybe…' he thought, 'this life won't be so bad after all.'