The morning dew still clung to the blades of grass, soaking his feet as he stepped barefoot through the forest. Each step pressed into the cool, damp earth, the wetness seeping into his skin. But it didn't feel unpleasant—it felt alive. The air was impossibly clean, like breathing in purity itself. Birds sang softly in the distance, their melodies floating through the misty silence.
Rony walked slowly, as if afraid to disturb the serenity around him. Every step he took felt like trespassing in a dream.
The forest was unlike anything he'd ever seen on Earth. The trees here stretched impossibly high into the heavens, their bark colored in shades of deep wine-red and purple. Their trunks were thick and curved in gentle arcs, as if frozen mid-dance. The leaves formed vast canopies, rich in color and texture, and when sunlight poured through the gaps, it bathed everything in radiant hues of rose-gold and copper. It was a forest that glowed with its own heartbeat.
Petals floated lazily in the air like confetti suspended in time, and leaves shimmered with dew that sparkled like stars. Purple flowers dotted the ground beneath him, small and delicate, trailing in thick patches along a winding path as if nature had gently painted the way forward.
It was beautiful.
So hauntingly, impossibly beautiful.
The golden sunlight filtered down in rays, but there was one in particular—a single, vertical beam—that cut straight through the canopy above. It poured down like a waterfall of light, illuminating a circular clearing ahead, and within it, a large smooth rock sat bathed in the glow. The moment Rony laid eyes on it, his breath caught in his throat.
He had returned.
This was the place.
He had no doubt about it now. This was the very spot where he had first awakened in this world, disoriented and broken, with no memories of how he had gotten here. He hadn't been ready then—his heart had been consumed by grief, his mind spiraling through confusion. But now, now that his heart had calmed, now that he had grown, he could finally return to this place with clarity.
And with purpose.
He walked forward, through the flowered path, past the whispering trees. The rustling leaves sounded almost like a lullaby now, gentle and dreamlike. He passed under thick branches that twisted above like guardians of ancient secrets. The deeper he stepped into the light, the more it felt like time was slowing.
And then he stood before it.
The boulder looked the same—smooth and wide, with moss growing across its base like nature's blanket. Around it, the grass had grown tall, almost to his waist. A ring of blue and purple flowers circled the clearing like a crown.
"So this is where I woke up..." he whispered, voice soft and trembling.
He stepped closer to the rock and instinctively placed his hand on its surface. It was cool to the touch, but there was something grounding about it—like a tether to reality. He let out a slow breath, then walked behind it.
The sunlight poured in here, brighter than anywhere else. It was almost divine, like a stage light cast upon the memory of a miracle.
And there, hidden in the tall grass, something caught his eye.
A shape.
Familiar.
His heart skipped.
He knelt quickly and pushed the grass aside. Nestled among the wildflowers and soil was a bag. His bag. The one he had taken on the day of the assassination attempt. The one that had been on his shoulder when everything fell apart.
His hands shook as he picked it up. The fabric was damp from the forest floor, but unmistakably his. The zippers, the worn straps, the small tear near the base—it was all there.
He blinked, unsure whether to laugh or cry.
With trembling fingers, he opened the bag and turned it upside down, letting the contents spill onto the mossy rock.
Out fell his glasses. The same cracked pair he always wore. A tangle of wireless earbuds. A keychain from an anime convention he'd once gone to with his sister. And then—his phones. Both of them.
Black. Scratched. Cold to the touch.
He stared in disbelief.
These were the same phones he had held in his final moments. One had slipped from his hand as he bled on the ground. The other he had used to call—
His throat tightened.
They shouldn't be here. None of this should be here.
He picked up one of the phones and pressed the power button. The screen flickered. It was dead, of course, but… it was real.
He slowly sank to sit on the grass, a heavy silence pressing down on him. The questions began to spiral.
"How... how did I get here?"
He had thought about it before—vaguely, between surviving in this strange world and trying to understand the new reality—but now, with physical proof of his past life in front of him, the question became unbearable.
Was it death that brought me here?
Was this an afterlife? A reincarnation? A dream?
He gritted his teeth. If this was reincarnation, then how did the bag come with him? Phones didn't reincarnate. Glasses didn't travel across souls. These items were physical. Tangible. They belonged to the world he left behind.
Was it some kind of portal?
Or a glitch in the universe?
He stared up at the sunbeam again, watching the particles dance in its golden embrace.
Or… was it someone's doing?
Some thing's doing?
He had read stories before—of divine beings playing games with fate, of gods pulling threads across worlds, of souls chosen for trials. Could it be something like that?
He touched the screen of his dead phone.
Was I chosen?
The word didn't sit right with him. Nothing about his life had ever made him feel "chosen." He had lived as an invisible extra in a story that wasn't his. A footnote. A joke.
But this world didn't feel random.
And neither did the rock, the sunlight, or this moment.
He looked back down at the bag and smiled sadly.
"You couldn't save me," he whispered. "But maybe… you brought me here."
The forest didn't respond. But somehow, he felt its acknowledgment.
He sat there for a while longer, legs crossed beside the rock, the soft glow of the forest surrounding him like a warm embrace. Birds sang overhead, and small glowing insects flitted around the clearing, their lights twinkling like stars in motion.
Even though he didn't understand, he no longer felt afraid.
He was alive.
He had memories.
He had questions.
And now, he had a mystery.
It was time to move forward.
But first, he sat there a little longer, under the golden beam of sunlight, letting its warmth soak into his skin—anchoring him. Healing him.
In this impossible forest, on this ancient rock, beneath a sacred sunbeam, Rony felt something he hadn't felt in a long time.
Hope.