The first thing he felt wasn't light.
It was cold wood beneath his fingers, splintered and damp. He opened his eyes to see the broken roof of a shack above him, sunlight bleeding through cracks in the rotted beams. The air smelled of dirt and moss, old and unfamiliar.
He was alive.
But his heart still ached.
Not just emotionally—literally. A sharp, dull throb in his chest reminded him: some things don't heal, not even with death.
He sat up slowly. His body was thinner than he remembered, pale, trembling. His fingers reached for his chest, and he winced. The pain pulsed steadily beneath his ribs.
"A new world," he whispered, voice dry. "But the same broken heart…"
He stood, swaying on unsteady legs. The floor creaked beneath him. The shack was empty—no furniture, no supplies, just silence and shadow.
With a shaky breath, he walked toward the doorway, pushed it open…
And froze.
There, standing a few feet away in the tall grass, was a beast—its body thick with muscle, fur like midnight smoke, eyes gleaming like molten gold. A wolf, but not like any from his old world. This one stood taller than a car, fangs longer than his forearm, its breath misting in the morning air.
It stared at him.
He stared back.
His heart beat faster—weak, fragile.
"Seriously…?" he muttered, lips curling into a bitter, tired smile. "Even here? I get reborn just to be food?"
He didn't run. He didn't scream.
He simply closed his eyes.
Maybe this was what he deserved. Maybe fate didn't change, no matter what world you landed in.
The wolf growled—and charged.
Wind screamed past his ears as the ground trembled beneath its weight. He braced for the pain, the end, whatever waited beyond this life.
But it never came.
A crack of thunder.
A flash of silver.
And silence.
He opened his eyes.
The beast lay at his feet—motionless, smoke rising from a deep gash across its neck. Blood soaked the grass like spilled ink.
Standing between him and death was a girl—barely older than him. A blade longer than her arm was strapped to her back, and her cloak fluttered in the wind like a shadow with wings. Her eyes were calm, but sharp—like someone who'd seen too much and still walked forward anyway.
"You're not from here, are you?" she asked.
He shook his head slowly.
"I didn't think so," she said, sheathing her blade. "You've got that look. The kind that doesn't belong."
He opened his mouth to speak—but the weight of his body collapsed before the words could come.
Darkness took him again.
But this time… someone was there to catch him.