For a long stretch of nothing, Vin didn't feel his body—just the afterimage of a dream. Then sensation crept back into him: weight, skin, breath, and a cold ache along his ribs.

He blinked his eyes open.

A rocky ceiling stared back at him. '…A cave?'

He pushed himself upright on shaky hands.

The floor beneath him wasn't stone but a thick bed of black feathers—soft, warm, and long enough to belong to something massive. Purple flames lined the cave walls, protective of that space.

Vin scowled. "This is its nest."

Once those words left his mouth, he clasped his hand over his lips.

"What—" he started.

He'd never learned another language, yet every syllable that left his mouth was foreign to him. They were new, yet he understood them as if he'd spoken them his entire life.

Before he could process that, the Voice that introduced itself on Earth as the Body of Auroraan stabbed into his head again, overly crisp:

"98.7% of Earth's population has successfully jumped. All those unable to enter a bridge in time have perished."

Vin froze at those words—Earth's population… jumped—but his brain couldn't hold the thought still. His mind was a loose drawer: memories falling out, anxiety shoving them back in.

His nails dug into his skull.

'Three years…? What happened to Mom, Dad, Macy?'

And—

"Lynn…"

Her name was the only thing that still sounded the same.

Standing, he noticed his build had changed.

His arms and legs were longer, and his body was thinner, but he didn't feel weak—like he was reforged out of rock.

The Voice kept talking, oblivious:

"Please make yourself comfortable in your new settlement. The assimilation of your world has granted these lands new life, so you are free to rebuild your societies as you like."

"The Elves here are my devotees and will help you acclimate to this world."

"As per procedure, when a new planet is assimilated, all that world's languages are united into one common tongue. Earthian—as deemed by your world leader—has already been transcribed onto your minds."

A myriad of colors flashed before Vin unannounced.

A miniature lesser bridge tore a hole in space and spat out what looks like a book before disappearing.

Distrustful, Vin didn't bother to catch it but let it hit the ground before tastelessly kicking it further away.

"These are Magic Journals; they are linked with your mind, so they will understand your will. And if they are destroyed, a new one will appear on your command."

It seemed safe enough, so Vin decided to pick up the journal.

The exterior was a tough, aged leather, and the pages inside were smooth, sepia parchment. That in itself wasn't impressive; however, the first tab he flipped to—[Status]—automatically drew itself with self-guided ink.

[Status]

[Time:] 9:31 am

[Date:] 1/1/300 AD - (After the death of Archangel Constantine Verthry)

[Name:] Vin Dance

[Race:] Human

[Age:] 17

[Occupation:] N/A

[ ]

It knew his name and age without him saying anything...

There were four tabs in total: [Status], [Map], [Spells], and [World Info].

He stopped there and closed the journal.

His head throbbed with overstimulation—visions of swamp water, ice, fire, death. Too much. All at once.

He shut his eyes and breathed through the nausea twisting his stomach.

He wasn't poisoned anymore.

Not dying.

Alive.

Another chance.

"I want to really live this time…" he said, but the words felt and sounded weird again.

Rage and desperation tangled inside him, but at the bottom of it all was one truth: If he survived the swamp, then Lynn had to be alive somewhere too.

He'd find her and his family in this new world.

The Voice had still been rambling the entire time—he'd missed half of it—but clarity finally cut through the noise.

A goal.

A direction.

Something to chase that wasn't death or regret.

No god, no "quest," no cosmic assimilation was going to stop him now.