Darkness remained, but it was no longer the same. There was no weight, no pressure, no sense of a body—only awareness, quiet and detached, as if everything else had been removed.
A faint light appeared in the distance, small and indistinct at first, barely visible against the emptiness. As attention settled on it, the surrounding darkness began to shift. A ripple formed—circular, like a distorted mirror, its surface unstable as if it couldn't hold its own shape.
The distance closed without movement. Space itself bent, compressing the gap as the ripple grew clearer. When it reached him, the surface warped inward, folding unevenly.
A figure appeared within it.
Familiar.
The same face—but younger.
Around ten years old.
The body was thin, almost bony, lacking any strength. Even standing still, it didn't look stable.
Not a reflection.
Something separate.
There was a distance between them that couldn't be crossed. The thought of speaking formed, but no sound followed. The connection didn't exist.
Before anything could settle, the surface twisted again. The surrounding darkness collapsed inward, pulled into the center as everything was reduced into a single point.
Then nothing remained.
Arin opened his eyes.
Weakness spread through his body immediately, not gradual, but complete. His limbs felt unstable, as if they wouldn't hold under even minimal strain. Breathing carried resistance, each inhale slower than expected, each exhale heavier.
This wasn't his body.
Fragments of unfamiliar memory surfaced, incomplete and scattered. A room, long periods of stillness, a body that didn't respond properly. As the fragments formed, a brief headache followed, interrupting the process before they could fully connect. The strain faded quickly, leaving only incomplete pieces behind.
The fragments didn't align.
The body couldn't support it yet.
Another fragment surfaced—a voice, low and urgent.
"He won't last like this."
The words faded quickly, leaving behind only a lingering impression.
That was enough.
The condition was already clear.
He had died.
What remained was only awareness carried forward.
And this body was not his own.
He pushed himself up slowly. Even that simple movement required effort. A tremor ran through his arm before stabilizing, but the strain didn't disappear. It remained, embedded in the structure of the body itself.
This wasn't temporary weakness.
It was instability.
His gaze lowered to his hands. Thin, lacking strength, unable to support even basic strain for long. The condition didn't need further confirmation.
This body wouldn't last long.
At this state, even basic function was unstable. Collapse wasn't distant—it would come immediately if nothing changed.
The fragments didn't return, but their direction was already clear.
This wasn't recovery.
It was survival.
He steadied his breathing and allowed the strain to settle instead of forcing movement. Every action had to be controlled. Rushing would only accelerate the collapse.
Time was limited.
Waiting wasn't an option.