Warmth.
That was the first thing he noticed.
Not pain.
Not silence filled with screams.
Not the bone-deep exhaustion that came from holding the sky together with nothing but will.
Just… warmth.
Sunlight filtered in from behind silk curtains, golden and calm, brushing across white walls, gleaming marble, and a room too perfect to be real. The scent of lavender drifted faintly through the air — clean and familiar. Not the scent of scorched mana. Not blood.
He lay still.
His eyes moved slowly, taking in the ceiling. Smooth, unblemished, untouched by fire or war. There were no cracks, no bloodstains, no smoldering glyphs etched in desperation. Just white paint, delicately bordered by gold filigree near the edges.
It hadn't changed.
"My room," Eli thought to himself, heart hammering once, deep and slow.
"This… was my room."
He sat up.
The covers rustled gently. The silk sheets slid off his chest, and the faint chill of the marble floor touched his feet. There was no ache in his body. No magical recoil. No tension in his core. Just air. Still and quiet.
Silence.
Pure silence.
No warning sirens.
No cries echoing through comms.
No murmurs of collapsing cities or portal failures.
His breathing slowed.
He rose to his feet and crossed the room.
Each step was measured. Heavy. Careful. Like the wrong move would shatter the illusion.
The curtains responded to his presence — a faint motion of the smart sensors — and slid apart without a sound.
Light poured in.
And so did the city.
---
Astera.
The capital of Balar.
Still alive.
Still breathing.
Still standing.
Polished towers rose into the sky, their chrome surfaces catching the sun like blades of glass. Hover-rails glided silently overhead, casting shifting shadows on the streets below. Drones zipped past, delivering luxury goods or broadcasting soft advertisements. A thousand lives unfolded beneath him like a symphony of routine.
He leaned against the glass.
Eyes sharp.
Breath shallow.
Down below, on the sunlit streets…
A couple crossed the plaza, holding hands. She laughed — short, quiet, real — and leaned into her partner's shoulder.
Two teenage boys shared a drink by the vending tower. One shoved the other playfully when he tried to grab the last snack.
And tucked between two buildings — an alleyway cloaked in shadows.
Three men stood there.
Black jackets.
Tattooed necks.
Shifty eyes.
One of them flipped a pocketknife in his palm, slow and deliberate. Another leaned on the wall with a cigarette half-lit. The third adjusted something in his pocket — credits, maybe. Maybe something worse.
Eli narrowed his eyes.
"They'll die here."
"This very alley will become a rift zone. A second-level dungeon break."
His fingers curled slightly.
"A pack of Shades swarmed this spot. No survivors. Not one."
But then his brow furrowed.
He stepped back from the glass and turned toward the bedside. His heart was suddenly racing for a different reason.
"Wait..."
"How long has it been?"
"What day is this?"
---
The phone was right where he remembered it — resting on the wireless dock, polished and clean.
He picked it up.
The screen lit instantly.
[June 2nd, 2035. 07:44 A.M.]
Time stopped.
Eli stared at the numbers.
The sunlight outside.
The silence.
The untouched city.
Sera's voice humming from the next floor down…
Everything clicked into place.
"June 2nd," Eli thought to himself, staring blankly at the date.
"The day before Dominion appeared."
He closed his eyes.
"Tomorrow, the systems come. And five years after that..."
"Dominion will fuse with reality," he thought to himself, jaw tight, "ripping the world out of its rules and dragging us into theirs."
"And that alley will become a pit of corpses."
---
The elevator opened for him with a soft chime as he approached. It recognized his biometrics instantly. The piano music playing in the background was a soft instrumental — the kind of tune his sister used to hum when brushing her teeth.
He swallowed.
Please be here.
Please be alive.
The elevator opened onto the 10th floor lounge.
Air conditioning hummed gently from above. The lounge itself looked like a still-life painting — cream-colored leather couches, glass tabletops, and an entertainment wall playing morning cartoons on mute. The scent of toast and strawberries floated through the space.
And there, curled up in an oversized hoodie, feet tucked under her…
Sera.
She looked exactly the same.
Small frame. Lazy bun. A yellow star-shaped clip barely holding back a stubborn curl of hair. She had a plate of cut fruit in her lap and a half-buttered croissant in her mouth, crumbs stuck to her cheek.
Eli stood frozen in the doorway.
She glanced up, casually brushing her fingers on a napkin.
"You're up early," she said, chewing her bite as she raised an eyebrow. "Did someone delete your bank account?"
He didn't answer.
Couldn't.
Her voice.
Her expression.
Even the way she rolled her eyes… it was real.
He took a step forward. Then another. And then —
He dropped to his knees and hugged her tightly.
She yelped, the plate tilting slightly.
"H-Hey! Sticky hands!" she whined, flailing. "You're getting jam all over my hoodie!"
But she didn't push him away.
He held her. Eyes shut. Breathing uneven.
"You died," Eli thought to himself, pressing his forehead against her shoulder.
"Your school got swallowed in a rift when Dominion merged. There were no bodies left."
But here she was.
Alive.
Laughing.
Complaining about jam.
---
A voice echoed from the top of the stairwell above.
"What the hell's going on down there?" a familiar voice called, light with amusement. "Did the toast try to fight back?"
Jace.
His older brother.
He came down the spiral stairs in a sleeveless workout shirt, towel draped over his shoulder, sweat still fresh from his morning run.
He stopped at the bottom when he saw them.
Eli stood up slowly. He faced his brother.
Then walked forward and hugged him too.
Jace blinked, startled.
"Okay… are you dying?" he said, half-joking, slapping Eli's back twice. "Should I call Dad, or a therapist?"
Eli said nothing.
"You held the 7th District Gate for hours," Eli thought to himself, clenching his jaw.
"When I finally got there… all they found was your charred comm device."
Sera stared at them both with squinted eyes.
"Okay, what the hell?" she muttered. "Did I wake up in a drama simulation? What's with all the hugging today?"
Eli didn't respond. He stepped away from them both.
He entered the hallway. His reflection in the wall-length mirror barely looked different — nineteen, well-fed, still untouched by all that was coming. But his eyes…
His eyes held something cold.
Something tired.
Something that didn't belong in someone his age.
He stepped into the guest washroom and closed the door behind him.
Silence returned.
For a moment, he just stared at the marble sink. At his fingers. At the veins beneath his skin that still hummed with calm, stable mana.
Then he looked up.
The mirror showed him a face he hadn't seen in years. A boy on the edge of his adulthood. Unscarred. Untouched.
He raised one hand. Slowly. Then clenched it into a fist.
"I died saving the world."
"And it still wasn't enough."
He leaned closer to the glass, gaze sharpening.
"This time… I'll do more than save it."
"This time, I won't let it fall apart to begin with."
His lips barely moved.
But the words came out anyway.
A whisper.
A promise.
"No savior lives twice"