The rain fell in cold, heavy sheets over the capital city's concrete streets, turning every surface into a mirror for the orange glow of streetlights. Yuu hunched forward under the flimsy umbrella he'd grabbed from the office lobby, his dress shoes squelching through puddles that had already swallowed the curbs. It was 2:47 AM on December 23rd—he'd been at his desk for twenty-two hours straight, cross-checking thousands of medical records for the firm's annual compliance audit.
His chest tightened again, a familiar sharp ache that had been nagging at him for weeks. He pressed his palm against the spot just above his heart, forcing himself to take slow, deep breaths. Just a little farther, he told himself. Once I get home, I'll sleep for twelve hours. Maybe I'll even make myself real soup this time.
The thought of his mother's chicken soup made his throat burn. He'd spoken to her on the phone three days ago—she'd sounded worried, asking if he was eating properly. "We're fine here, Yuu," she'd said, her voice crackling through the line from thousands of miles away. "You don't need to send so much money. Take care of yourself first."
He'd lied and told her he was eating well, that he'd even joined a gym. The truth was, his tiny rented room had nothing but a single burner, a stack of instant noodle cups, and a half-empty carton of milk that was probably past its expiration date. His only exercise came from climbing three flights of stairs to his door and helping Mrs. Wong with her groceries each morning.
As he turned onto his street, he spotted the old woman's apartment building ahead. Through the rain-blurred glass of her ground-floor window, he could see her sitting by the table, sewing something under a warm lamp. She'd probably been waiting up for him—she always did when he was out late, leaving a thermos of hot tea by his door if she heard him come home.
Yuu managed a weak smile and waved. Mrs. Wong looked up, her face breaking into a wrinkled grin as she raised a hand in return. Then the pain in his chest exploded.
It was like being stabbed with a red-hot knife, spreading fire through his shoulders and down his left arm. His umbrella slipped from his fingers, tumbling into a puddle where the wind caught it and sent it rolling down the street. His vision blurred, the orange streetlights melting into streaks of gold. He reached for his phone in his pocket, but his fingers were numb, fumbling against the wet fabric of his pants.
I can't die here, he thought, his legs buckling beneath him. I haven't opened the clinic yet. I haven't seen Mom and Dad again. I haven't even told Mrs. Wong how much her tea means to me.
The cold pavement hit his cheek, and the smell of rain and wet asphalt filled his lungs. Through half-closed eyes, he saw Mrs. Wong's door burst open. She was shouting something, her small frame moving as fast as she could through the rain. Then he heard the wail of a siren in the distance, growing louder by the second.
They'll take care of her, Yuu thought as darkness crept in at the edges of his vision. Someone will help her carry her groceries. Someone will fix her broken window latch. I… I did what I could.
The last thing he felt was the warm press of Mrs. Wong's hand on his forehead, and the last thing he heard was her soft voice whispering, "It's okay, dear boy. Rest now."
The first thing Yuu noticed was the light—not the harsh glow of fluorescent bulbs or streetlights, but warm, golden sunlight filtering through leaves. The second thing was the smell: damp earth, blooming wildflowers, and fresh grass instead of rain and exhaust fumes.
He opened his eyes slowly, expecting to see the white ceiling of a hospital room. Instead, he was lying on a bed of soft straw and woven blankets, in a room made of rough-hewn wood. Sunlight streamed through a window with no glass—only wooden shutters that were propped open to let in the breeze. The walls were decorated with dried herbs hanging from beams, and a small fireplace in the corner held embers that cast dancing shadows across the floor.
Where am I? Yuu pushed himself up, wincing as his muscles protested. But the pain in his chest was gone—completely vanished, as if it had never existed. He looked down at his hands, and his breath caught in his throat.
They were smaller, slimmer, and covered in a fine layer of dirt and calluses he didn't recognize. His arms were lean and toned, not the pale, slightly flabby limbs he'd had from sitting at a desk all day. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, staggering slightly as he adjusted to his center of gravity—he was taller than he'd been before, maybe by a full head.
A wooden mirror hung on the wall opposite the bed. He walked over to it, his bare feet silent on the packed earth floor, and stared at his reflection.
The face looking back at him was his—sort of. The same gentle eyes, the same shape of his jaw, but everything was sharper, younger. His hair was longer, falling in dark waves to his shoulders, and his skin had a healthy sun-kissed glow instead of the pale pallor he'd carried for years. He looked like he was seventeen again—before the stress of exams and work had etched lines into his forehead.
"Yuu! You're awake!"
A woman's voice made him spin around. She was standing in the doorway, holding a wooden bowl in her hands—she had warm brown eyes, curly red hair tied back in a messy bun, and dirt smudged across her cheeks. She looked to be in her late thirties, and there was something familiar about the way she smiled, like the curve of his mother's lips but not quite the same.
She rushed forward, setting the bowl down on a small table and pressing her palm to his forehead. "Thank the stars. You've been asleep for two days. We were so worried—you just collapsed in the wheat field yesterday afternoon. Marcus thought you'd been struck by stray lightning, but the healer said there was no sign of magic on you."
Struck by lightning? Magic? Yuu's head spun. "I… I don't understand. Who are you? Where am I?"
The woman's smile faltered, her brow furrowing with concern. "Yuu, it's me—Elena, your mother. We're home, in Greenhollow Village. Don't you remember? You were helping your father harvest the wheat when you fell."
She reached for his hand, and Yuu flinched involuntarily. This wasn't his mother—his mother had gray streaks in her black hair, and her hands were soft from years of handling groceries, not rough from working the land. But as he looked into Elena's worried eyes, he felt a strange warmth in his chest—a sense of love and familiarity that he couldn't explain.
"Let me get your father," she said, pulling her hand back gently. "And I'll bring some porridge—you must be starving."
She hurried out of the room, leaving Yuu alone with his reflection. He touched his face again, as if to make sure it was real. This isn't possible, he thought. I was in the rain. I had a heart attack. I… I died.
Memories flooded in then—not his own, but fragments of another life. Running through fields of golden wheat with a boy his age named Finn. Learning to milk cows from Elena. Helping his father Marcus repair the wooden fence around their property. Watching the sky for signs of magical storms that could destroy their crops.
Aethermoor, a voice whispered in the back of his mind. This is Aethermoor. You're not in your world anymore.
The door swung open again, and a tall man with broad shoulders and dark hair strode in. He looked like an older version of Yuu's new face, with the same gentle eyes but a beard full of wheat stubble. He pulled Yuu into a tight hug, and despite his confusion, Yuu found himself melting into the embrace—this man felt like his father.
"Thank goodness, son," Marcus said, pulling back to look at him. "The healer said you were just exhausted, but we've been working you too hard. From now on, you'll only help with the light work—no more spending all day in the fields under the midday sun."
"But Dad, we need the harvest—" Yuu started, then stopped. The words had come out of his mouth naturally, as if he'd said them a hundred times before.
"We'll manage," Marcus said firmly. "Your health is more important. Now, eat your porridge. Elena made it with honey from the hives—your favorite."
Yuu sat at the small table as his parents fussed over him, watching them move around the room with easy familiarity. The porridge was warm and sweet, and as he ate, more memories surfaced. This life—his life in Aethermoor—was real. He'd been born here seventeen years ago, the only child of Marcus and Elena, farmers in Greenhollow Village. He'd never shown any ability to use magic, which had been a disappointment to many in the village—magic was everything here, the measure of a person's worth.
But there was something else, a memory that felt more like a dream than reality. He was standing by a waterfall, holding a long, curved blade in his hand. The metal gleamed like silver in the sunlight, and as he moved, his body flowed with a grace he'd never known in his old life. He could feel the weight of the sword, the way it balanced in his grip, the perfect angle to strike.
Katanas, he thought suddenly. That's what they're called. Swords from my world.
"Yuu? Are you alright?" Elena asked, touching his arm. "You've gone pale again."
"I'm fine," Yuu said, forcing a smile. "Just… thinking."
After he'd finished eating, his parents left him to rest, heading back out to the fields to finish the harvest. Yuu lay back on the bed, staring up at the wooden beams overhead. He was dead in his old world—he was sure of it. But here, in Aethermoor, he was alive again. A farmer with no magic, but with memories of another life where he'd dreamed of being a doctor.
Maybe that's why I'm here, he thought. In a world ruled by magic, maybe someone who knows about medicine—real medicine, not spells—can still help people.
He sat up again, his new body feeling strong and full of energy. He'd spent his old life working himself to death trying to help others. Now he had a second chance. He didn't know why he'd been brought to Aethermoor, or why he was the only one who could remember his past life. But he did know one thing: he wasn't going to waste this opportunity.
Yuu stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the world beyond. Golden wheat fields stretched to the horizon, dotted with wildflowers in shades of purple and yellow. In the distance, he could see the dark green of a forest, and rising above the trees, the faint sparkle of what looked like a waterfall.
I need to see that place, he thought. I need to find out if that dream about the sword was real.
He pulled on a pair of rough wool trousers and a linen shirt—clothes that felt worn but comfortable—and slipped out of the house. The sun was warm on his skin, and the air was clean and fresh. As he walked toward the forest, he passed other farmhouses, where people waved and called out greetings. He recognized their faces from his new memories—Finn's family, the baker Mr. Thorne, the healer Mrs. Willow.
No one seemed to think it was strange that he was walking so soon after collapsing. They just smiled and wished him well, their kindness reminding him of the people in his old world.
As he entered the forest, the trees closed overhead, dappling the ground with sunlight. The sound of birds singing filled the air, and somewhere ahead, he could hear the rush of water. He followed the sound, his feet finding a narrow path that wound through the undergrowth.
Ten minutes later, he stepped into a small clearing, and his breath caught.
The waterfall was even more beautiful than he'd imagined—water tumbled down a cliff face covered in moss and ivy, crashing into a crystal-clear pool below. Rainbow light danced in the mist, and wildflowers grew thick along the banks. And leaning against a tree at the edge of the clearing was a long, curved blade—exactly like the one in his dream.
It was a katana, its metal polished to a high shine, wrapped in leather at the hilt. It looked ancient, but well-cared for, as if someone had left it there just for him.
Yuu walked slowly toward it, his heart pounding in his chest. He reached out and took the hilt in his hand, and a jolt of energy shot up his arm. The memories flooded in then—clear and sharp, not like dreams at all.
He was in a dojo in his old world, as a child, learning the basics of swordsmanship from his grandfather. "The sword is not a tool of destruction," his grandfather had said, his voice low and steady. "It is a tool of protection. You use it only to keep others safe."
Yuu raised the katana, feeling its weight balance perfectly in his grip. He moved without thinking, his body remembering forms he hadn't practiced in decades. He spun, his arm extending in a clean arc, slicing through the air with a sharp whoosh. He stepped forward, his feet planting firmly on the grass, and struck again, then again, each movement fluid and precise.
He didn't know how long he practiced, lost in the rhythm of the blade. But when he finally stopped, breathing hard but not tired, he knew that this was why he was here. In a world of magic, he had no spells to cast. But he had something no one else did—skill with a weapon that no one in Aethermoor had ever seen before.
As he sheathed the katana and turned to leave, he heard a sound behind him—a soft rustle of leaves. He spun around, his hand on the hilt of his sword, and froze.
Standing at the edge of the clearing was a woman—or something that looked like a woman—with silver hair that flowed like water down her back, and wings as delicate as rose petals, shimmering with iridescent light. Her eyes were the color of emeralds, and they were fixed on him with an expression of wonder.
"Who are you?" Yuu asked, his voice steady despite the shock coursing through him.
The woman smiled, and the forest seemed to glow brighter around her. "I am Lirael," she said, her voice like the sound of wind through leaves. "And I've been waiting for you, Yuu of Greenhollow. The Blade Guardian has returned."