Rony sat still, almost breathless atop the moss-covered rock. His small fingers gently gripped the frame of the glasses, the cracked lens catching glimmers of sunlight that filtered through the canopy above. His young face, too small for the adult-sized frames, peered ahead with wide eyes—eyes reflecting a blend of awe and uncertainty.
In the silence of the forest, broken only by the occasional chirp of distant birds and the soft rustle of leaves, the screen within the glasses shimmered again. A faint hum followed. The earbuds—nestled now with caution in his ears—pulsed with a low vibration.
Dding.
A chill traced Rony's spine. Then it happened.
A sharp click sounded from the glasses, and suddenly, a thin line of code began to scroll along the bottom edge of the lenses. It was written in a script he had never seen before—a spiraling, organic language that felt more alive than artificial. Simultaneously, a translucent circle formed in the center of the lens, followed by a flickering red dot. The circle zoomed in and out gently, tracking the movement of his iris.
"Eye scan initiated…" a calm, digital voice echoed from the earbuds.
He blinked, heart pounding, but the circle didn't disappear. Instead, it began to glow faintly with a soft azure hue, like the light of fireflies dancing in moonlight. The scan followed every tiny twitch of his pupil.
Then, a louder tone.
Dding.
"Scan complete. Host confirmed: Rony. Access granted."
His breath caught in his throat.
And then a different voice entered his ears.
It wasn't mechanical. It was human. Kind, warm, yet echoing with a hint of mystery. A male voice—young, friendly, but worn by experience.
"Hello, Rony," the voice said softly, as though the speaker knew he might be scared. "If you're hearing this, then everything worked. And that means… congratulations. You've been born again."
Rony's hands trembled.
The words weren't just playing like a pre-recorded message—they felt directed at him.
"I suppose you're confused," the voice continued, calm yet sincere. "You must be sitting there wondering: where am I? Why is this happening? Is this a dream? Or am I dead?"
The words struck too close to home. Rony's throat tightened.
"Yes, Rony… you did die," the voice said gently. "And no, this isn't a dream. This world, the one you see now with two suns, clean air, the chirping birds and vibrant mana—it's all real. This is your new life."
Tears threatened to well again in Rony's eyes, but he bit his lip, trying to hold them in.
"I know it hurts. To leave everything behind. Your sister… she must be strong now. You gave her everything. You did your best. And now, you've been given something few ever get—a second chance."
Rony sniffled, watching the words echo within the lens, glowing one by one like stars in the dusk.
"This device," the voice continued, "these glasses and earbuds… they're your link. They're your bridge. Your guide. I designed them to ease your journey. You're the only one who can see what you see. The system within is unique—part technology, part magic, built from the rare fusion of Earth's machines and this world's mana."
A sudden gust of wind blew past him. Leaves spiraled into the air around the rock. Sunlight broke through the clouds, casting a divine glow upon the forest clearing. For a moment, everything felt still—as if the entire world was listening alongside him.
Rony tightened his grip on the glasses. The cracked lens almost glinted with pride.
"I… am the Author," the voice said at last. "Not the author of the novel you read, no. But the architect of this new reality. I wove it carefully, lovingly. And you, Rony, were chosen—not for your strength, not for your intellect—but because of your heart."
The forest seemed to whisper in agreement, the trees swaying gently, birds hopping quietly along branches. The wind hugged him again, warmer this time.
"I'm sorry I can't answer everything now," the Author continued, voice tinged with a soft sorrow. "There are rules even I must follow. But in time, more will be revealed. Just live, Rony. Laugh, cry, struggle, and grow. This world is yours. No script. No role. Just freedom."
The words washed over Rony like a wave.
"Should you ever need guidance," the Author said, his voice fading slightly, "the glasses will know. And if you ever forget who you are… just look at your reflection. Remember your promise."
And then silence.
No more code. No more glowing letters. Just the gentle rustling of trees and the warmth of sunlight on his cheek.
Rony didn't move for a long time. He sat there, atop the mossy rock, letting the moment settle into his bones.
His heart still ached. But beneath that ache was a tiny flame—a flicker of something fragile, yet unbreakable.
Hope.