Darkness.
Not the same as before. There was no weight, no pressure, no sense of a body. Only awareness remained, quiet and detached, as if everything else had been stripped away.
A faint light appeared in the distance. At first, it was small and unclear, barely noticeable against the surrounding emptiness. But as his attention settled on it, the darkness around it began to shift.
A ripple formed, circular and unstable. It didn't feel like something that belonged there.
Yet he moved toward it, or something pulled him closer.
The distance closed without movement, the space itself bending as the ripple grew clearer. The moment he reached it, everything changed. The surface distorted, folding inward as if it couldn't hold its own shape.
For an instant, a figure stood before him.
Familiar.
The same face, but not the same.
The presence felt different, distant in a way he couldn't understand. The clothing, the posture—everything carried a sense of separation, as if they stood on opposite sides of something unseen.
He tried to speak, but no sound came. The thought formed, yet it never reached beyond him.
Before anything could settle, the space twisted sharply. The ripple spun, pulling everything into itself as the surrounding darkness collapsed inward.
Then, nothing.
After an unknown time, Arin's eyes opened.
The first thing he felt was weakness. Not gradual, not subtle. It was immediate and absolute, spreading through his body the moment awareness returned. His limbs felt light and unstable, as if they might give out under even slight strain.
He didn't move right away. His breathing was uneven, his chest rising slowly before falling again, as if even that required effort.
Something was wrong.
No—different.
He shifted slightly, testing the response. A faint tremor ran through his arms before settling, leaving behind a quiet strain that didn't fade.
Fragments of memory surfaced, incomplete and scattered. A room, silence stretching over days, a body that didn't respond. The feeling of waiting without change.
A sharp pain followed.
His head throbbed suddenly, the fragments breaking apart before they could form anything clear. The sensation lingered, dull but persistent, forcing him to remain still.
Another fragment pushed through.
A voice.
Low. Urgent.
"He won't last like this."
The words echoed faintly before fading again, leaving only a vague pressure behind them.
Arin remained still, letting the fragments pass without forcing them into place. There was no clarity yet, only pieces without connection.
But something felt familiar.
Not the memories.
The state.
A brief image surfaced. A road, a flash of light, and the moment of impact before everything went dark.
He knew that feeling.
The moment before everything ended.
But this was different.
The weakness, the instability, the unfamiliar strain running through his body—none of it matched what he remembered. This wasn't the same.
His thoughts slowed slightly as the pieces began to align. Not fully, but enough.
He wasn't where he had been before.
And this body was not his original one.
He drew a slow breath, steadying himself before attempting to move. There was no need to rush. The condition of this body wouldn't allow it.
He pressed his hand against the surface beside him and slowly pushed himself up. The movement was careful, but even then, his arm trembled under the strain before stabilizing.
So this was the condition.
Not just weak, but unstable.
He adjusted his posture slightly and paused, letting the strain pass before moving again. Even small actions carried weight, as if the body resisted every effort to function.
His gaze lowered to his hands. Thin, lacking strength, unfamiliar in a way that didn't need explanation.
This would not last long without support.
Arin remained still for a moment, letting everything settle.
For now, there was only one thing that mattered.
How long it could last.