That question's weight settled over Leo's head like the crumbling ruins above him. It's cold, suffocating, dark, and impossibly real. It wasn't just fear anymore. It was something far deeper. The very foundation of what he believed was real was getting fractured.

For a moment, everything fell into complete silence.

Even the wind seemed to stop.

Then Mira, who was still standing, started walking.

Leo followed her without speaking, their footsteps barely disturbing the grass. The field they were in stretched endlessly in every direction. The grass swayed gently with the wind. Breeze passed through, and the grasses started moving as if whispering to one another, and it felt as if they were not welcoming us.

A dense mist rolled over the plain like a living thing, curling around their legs, and it was already swallowing the horizon. In the distance, shadows loom twisted and ancient remnants of broken walls and towers are now half-eaten by the passage of time and ivy, but there was something that wasn't right. its Not threatening exactly... but it feels like someone is definitely watching.

Leo slowed his pace.

Was the mist glowing?

He blinked, trying to focus on it. There was a soft shimmer hovering just above the grass, not sunlight, nor starlight, but something else entirely. its like Something alive. Then suddenly the air itself felt thick, not with heat but with the presence of something. Every breath buzzed hardly in his chest, as if the world were holding a secret and daring him to ask.

Then came the hum.

Soft, melodic, and ancient. It didn't come from wind, earth, or ruins. It came from Mira.

She was humming low, steady, in a language quite identify. The moment the sound left her lips, the air began to react. It shimmered just slightly, and Leo could feel the pressure rising, the world bending. The grass around them began to sway in rhythm to her voice, and even the shadows from the ruins seemed to stretch closer and closer.

He watched when Mira tilted the spell-bound in her hand.

Her fingers were moving slowly, as if she were extending them through the water. Then, without warning, she clenched her fist and reality shattered.

There was no explosion. No loud sound.

Just a crack—like glass breaking in another room—and suddenly, the space before them split open. A thin fracture in the air widened into a swirling tunnel, a passage made of light, mist, and colors Leo couldn't name. It pulsed softly, like a heartbeat from another world.

And it called to them.

He glanced once more at the ruins, now almost completely swallowed by fog. They felt distant now. Like a memory fading too fast.

Then, hand in hand, they stepped through the portal.

The transition was instant.

One breath—they were in the mist-filled field of echoes.

Warm air.

The scent of fresh bread and wood smoke.

Laughter.

As Leo blinked his eyes. They were stood in the middle of a stone path winding through a town glowing in the soft orange of streetlamps and lanterns. People walked by casually, chatting, carrying groceries, or heading home. Someone leaned against a bar door, laughing too loudly. Music drifted faintly from somewhere—soft and unhurried.Mawrech.

It was the same as the one he half-remembered from distant, shadowy memories. The images in his mind were blurred—faint cobblestone streets, muffled voices, a vague warmth he struggled to grasp. Yet in his memory, Mawrech had been broken, faded, almost lifeless. As Standing here in the present, beneath the lantern light, he could almost feel alive and bright again, warmer—shaped by lives and a story he was yet to fully understand.

Mawrech lay within the borders of the Kingdom of Valdros, which was a vassal Kingdom under the dominion of the Astravar Empire. Imperial banners still flew above it, but the soul of the place belonged to its own people, clinging to customs and stories that often drifted beyond the Empire's reach.

Children dashed across, chasing a hoop. A group of elders sat on a bench under a tree and murmured in low voices. A baker was closing up his shop and brushing off flour on his apron. There was a gentle clink of glasses from a nearby Bar, where people shared stories with their old friends.

But no one...

No one were noticed that two strangers had just stepped out of thin air.Not a single head turned.

There was no scream or questioned where they came from. To everyone else, the two of them were just part of the flow, as natural as the air drifting through the alleyways.

Leo stood still for a moment.

It felt surreal.

its because ruins pressed on him like a forgotten weight. But here... here, the world embraced him as it recognized him.

He began to step forward again, eyes wide, taking it all in.

The houses were crafted with stone foundations, carved wood beams, and flowering vines curling up the sides, and each window glowed with warm light, flickering from lamps and candles. The cobbled roads were uneven, worn down by time and countless footsteps. And the people smiled. They laughed. They lived.

It was... normal.

Too normal.

Like the kind of life you read about but never quite believe could exist after walking through the ruins of a dead kingdom.

The contrast struck him deeply.

That place... and this one...

One forgotten by time, drowning in echoes and shadows.

The other bursting with color, laughter, and life.

It felt impossible that they could be connected—and yet they were. By Mira. By whatever power she had used. By whatever had brought him here.

And yet...

Something gnawed at the edge of his thoughts.

Did the people of Mawrech really not know what lay just beyond the veil? Just a few steps, a few breaths, and they could stand on the bones of forgotten kings. They could feel the hum of a power that whispered to the very soul.

But no one looked up.

No one wondered.

They didn't know.

And maybe...

They weren't supposed to.

Leo glanced at Mira.

She was smiling slightly—not at him, not at anything in particular, just existing in the space. As if this moment were enough.

He let out a breath.

Maybe, for now, it was.

And yet...

As the stars began to blink into view above Mawrech, Leo couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning.

Somewhere out there, in the silence of the ruins and the echoes of that other world... something waited.

Something that had not yet finished with him.

And in the heart of the vibrant town, surrounded by people who laughed and lived without ever knowing what lurked just beyond the mist, Leo walked a little slower.

Watching.

Listening.

Wondering...

Why him?

Why now?

And most of all...

What comes next?

The world had gone quiet around Leo and Mira as they stepped through the field. The air held its breath. Time didn't stop—but it certainly felt like it wanted to.

The grass swayed gently under their feet, brushed by the night breeze. Fireflies flying above the paddy fields like falling stars, frozen midair. Each step they took disturbed nothing, as if the land itself welcomed them. At a far distance, the hills rose gently, and it crowned with dark, buzar trees, and above all of that, the moon poured silver light onto the far distance, casting soft shadows that stretched and vanished within every motion.

The fields stretched endlessly, glowing in waves under the moonlight. Every stalk of paddy shimmered like threads of silver silk in the moonlight. On their left, old wooden fences framed small vegetable gardens, and beyond them, lanterns flickered warmly in scattered village windows. The harmony of rustling trees and the occasional soft hoot of an owl echoed from the distance.

The road lay nestled at the base of a small slope, with cobblestone paths winding between cozy homes built of dark timber and smooth stone. Vines climbed through the walls, flowers peeked from garden pots, and smoke drifted lazily from chimneys. Despite the presence of life, it was calm, almost sacred.

They walked in silence, side by side, the warmth of her presence comforting him more than she realized.

Their house stood slightly apart from the others, at the village edge, close to the field. It was a two-story home with curved tiles on the roof, an old wind chime gently singing at the entrance. It looked untouched by time, like a memory carved into wood and stone.

Mira stopped in front of the door and turned to him. Her face felt softened by moonlight, her eyes bright and steady, reflecting something warm.

"Go and rest, Leo," she said gently, voice carrying a family tenderness that made his chest ache.

*****

 "I have to leave again tonight. We're heading to the Outer Realm ruins at dawn."

Leo blinked, confused. "Ruins? Realm?"

She smiled at his reaction. "I'll explain later. You need toget some rest now, okay."

Her expression changed. More focused now.

Mira raised her hand and grabbed the air—just like before. The space shattered and cracked, folding like broken glass until a glowing slit formed. A familiar portal. Behind it, stars flickered and swirled in an endless, shifting tunnel.

She looked back, hesitating. "Stay safe. I'll be back soon."

And just like that, she stepped through. The portal snapped shut behind her with a whisper.

Leo stood, unsure if he'd imagined it all. The night wind passed through his hair. The world carried on, but everything inside him had shifted.

Ruins? Realms? What kind of world is this? What have I fallen into?

He walked forward, pushing open the wooden door with a slow creak. The scent hit him first—warmth, spices, old books, woodsmoke, something faintly floral. The kind of smell that made you feel exactly where you were supposed to be. And yet...

Why does it feel like I've been here before?

The house was quiet. Wooden floors creaked beneath his feet. To his left, a small living room opened up. A table with two cups still set, a sofa perfectly worn in, and soft curtains swayed like they'd remembered countless summer breezes.

His eyes caught the wall.

Photos.

Not modern ones—but painted, sketched. A small gallery of moments caught in time.

A boy with messy brown hair and curious eyes. A girl—Mira—smiling, younger, holding a book too big for her arms. An older man with kind eyes. A woman in a garden, holding a basket of flowers.

These are... my memories. Aren't they?

His heart stuttered. The boy in the pictures... that's me.

He backed away slightly, breath catching, then turned and walked down the hallway. His hand grazed the wooden banister as he climbed the stairs. At the top, instinct guided him—right turn, second door.

He opened it slowly.

The room was small but inviting. A bed with dark blue sheets, a desk covered in scraps of parchment and half-drawn maps. Shelves lined with odd little relics—crystals, trinkets, feathers. A cracked mirror rested against the wall.

This is my room. Somehow, I know it is.

He stepped inside and sat on the bed. His legs gave out slightly—not from pain, but from weight. A weight he hadn't realized he was carrying.

Through the open window, the view stretched across the village.

From here, he saw it all—fireflies weaving through the air like living embers, children laughing and chasing them below. The paddy fields shimmered like a silver ocean, gently rippling under the moon's watchful eye. Trees rustled in the breeze, whispering things he couldn't yet understand.

It was too quiet. Too peaceful for the storm in his chest.

Why me? Why now? What comes next?

The same questions echoed again. Louder now. Deeper.

And still, no answers.

But something in the silence comforted him. The night didn't demand anything. It simply was. And for the first time since awakening in this strange world, Leo allowed himself to breathe.

Tomorrow, he'd chase answers.

But tonight, he would sleep in the home that felt both foreign and familiar.

He lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling as the sounds of the village wrapped around him—distant laughter, the soft chorus of insects, the low murmur of wind through leaves. For the first time since awakening in this strange world, Leo allowed himself to breathe.

Outside, the village dreamed quietly under a sky woven with stars and drifting fireflies. Moonlight shimmered across the paddy fields like silver water, and the wind carried the scent of earth and distant blossoms.

Then—

A creak.

The front door shifted, slow and deliberate.

Leo froze.

That wasn't the wind.

A whisper slipped through the narrow gap, low and broken, wrong in a way no sound should be. It didn't echo—it coiled.

"You... weren't supposed to come back."

A hand slid into view and gripped the edge of the doorframe.

Too long.

Too thin.

Fingers sharp as splinters, skin like dried paper stretched over bone.

The door groaned as it opened wider.

Leo stepped back, breath trapped in his chest.

And from the shadows beyond the threshold—

something began to step through.