The next time I opened my eyes, my body felt different again. The scents were unfamiliar, a mix of fresh linen, wood polish, and the faint, distant aroma of something like incense. A soft groan escaped my lips as I opened my eyes. I found myself staring up at a ceiling of dark, polished wooden beams, not the conduit-covered stone of the Crimson Sun Order's sanctum.
I felt a warm weight pressed against my right side. I turned my head slowly, my muscles aching with a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. Curled against me was a young woman with light olive skin and thick, chestnut hair that spilled across the pillow and over her bare shoulders. She was sleeping soundly, her expression peaceful.
To my left, on the other side of the spacious bed, another figure stirred. This one had short-cropped silver hair and pale skin covered in faint scars. She was propped on one elbow already, watching me with sharp blue eyes that held no surprise, only a grim sort of resignation. She didn't look like she'd been sleeping.
"Ah," she said in a low, raspy voice. "You're back with us." She glanced down at our shared state of undress beneath the thick blankets and snorted softly. "Not our finest hour."
Threesome?
A door on the far side of the room creaked open slight, and the small face of a child with wide green eyes and red hair peered in.
"Dad? Is Liza's dad awake yet?" the little girl whispered loudly to someone unseen behind her.
I could feel it then, not just the foreign body I now inhabited, but also memories that weren't mine beginning to surface: flashes of a farmstead on the outskirts of a village called Brindleton, three children (two girls and a boy), the woman sleeping beside me named Anya… and a name for me in this life: Elias.
A wave of disorientation washed over me as I pushed myself upright, the unfamiliar bed feeling far too large. I wiped a hand over my face, grounding myself with the simple, solid motion.
That's right, this is just another hallucination. I have to play it cool.
My gaze flicked between the two women on the bed. The setup was… certainly unclear, but I had no choice but to roll with it.
A low, rumbling voice came from the doorway as a tall man stepped into view, gently ushering the little girl back. He had a kind, wrinkled face and wore simple homespun clothes. "Hush now, poppet. Let him wake proper."
He glanced at me, then at the silver-haired woman on my other side. His eyes softened with a deep sympathy. "Elias? Son? How are you feeling?" His voice was thick with emotion. "It's been three days since the attack."
The memory, or rather Elias's memory, rushed forward: the village festival, the sky darkening with leathery wings, panic, screams, the smell of smoke... and a desperate last stand near the barn as Anya tried to get the children to safety. Elias had stayed behind to buy them time.
Anya finally stirred beside me, her eyes fluttering open. They were a warm hazel, and filled with immediate relief and lingering fear as they focused on my face. "Elias... you're awake," she whispered, her hand reaching out to grab mine tightly.
The silver-haired woman sat up fully now, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She wore a plain linen shift, and a long, nasty scar ran down her right arm. "He's awake," she confirmed in that same flat tone. "His body's weak, but the mind's his own again." She shot me a sideways glance that was disturbingly observant. "You with us in there?"
Alright, Erdan, calm down. You gotta act natural, even if you're a white dude now. This time, there isn't a dragon attacking you… or eating you.
I pushed myself up slowly, the world tilting for a moment before coming into balance. My hand came up to press against the dull ache in my temple, my fingers carefully touching the rough wrap of a bandage. A weak smile touched my lips as I looked between their concerned faces.
"Yeah," I breathed out, my voice a little hoarse and unfamiliar. "I'm... here. Just need a second to catch up."
"Good. Good," the older man, Elias's father, said, letting out a long, shaky breath. He came closer, resting a hand on my shoulder. "Thought we lost you, lad. You took a nasty blow to the head from one of those scaled horrors."
Anya was sitting up now as well, holding the blanket to her chest. Tears silently streaked down her cheeks. "You pushed me and the children into the cellar... I heard you fighting out there..." She sniffed, unable to finish.
The silver-haired woman stood and stretched, her movements smooth despite clearly being exhausted. "He's concussed. Memory might be foggy," she said, more to Anya and Elias's father than to me. "Name's Bryn. I was passing through when the sky fell. Helped him hold the line." She glanced at me again. "You remember your name?"
From the doorway, the redheaded little girl peeked back in, now holding a wooden toy horse. "Dad says you got a hero's knot," she piped up, pointing vaguely at my head.
A hero's knot... Hearing the word resurfaced another memory: a makeshift field bandage tied around a slash on Elias's temple during the chaos, applied by Bryn's quick hands.
I leaned back against the headboard, letting out a slow breath. The warmth of Anya's hand in mine felt real, almost too real. I could still smell the hay from the barn and the lingering scent of smoke clinging to my (Elias's) clothes, even though they were clean.
Bryn was watching me, her gaze steady and disturbingly direct, sizing me up
"Uh... yeah," I said, my voice coming out rougher than I meant it to. I cleared my throat, giving a small, uncertain smile to Anya and the old man. "Elias. Right."
The words felt heavy and strange in my mouth, like I was trying to be someone I'm not. I glanced at the little girl in the doorway and gave her what I hoped was a reassuring nod.
"I'm still here," I added quietly, more to myself than anyone else. "Just... took a hard knock."
Elias's father nodded, his own eyes wet. "Aye, you did. Doctor said you might be fuzzy for a while." He turned away, gently guiding the curious girl from the doorway. "Let's get breakfast started. Give them some peace."
Anya wiped her eyes, her grip on my hand tightening slightly before she released it to wrap the blanket tighter around herself. She looked at Bryn with immense gratitude. "Thank you. For staying with him... and for everything."
Bryn gave a single, slight nod and moved to a chair in the corner where a leather jacket and belt knife lay. She began pulling on her boots. "It was the work that needed doing," she said simply, her tone making it clear she didn't need any praise. "I'll need to check the perimeter in the light and see what's left."
She paused when she had one boot half on, and looked directly at me again. "When you're steady, we should talk. There's something off about those creatures. They didn't behave like normal wyverns."
"Yeah... okay," I managed, my voice still rough and heavy. I let my head fall back against the headboard and shut my eyes for a moment. This might be an illusion, but the warmth from Anya was real. The low voices from the kitchen was real too. But so were the echoes of the other lives: the wyvern's tail cracking ribs that weren't mine, the ash and ozone of a dragon's breath I'd never breathed, and the biting hope in an elven crowd's cheer, a hope for a future I would never see.
When I opened my eyes again, Anya was watching me with that same soft, worried look. I gave her a small smile, but it felt wobbly on my face.
"Sorry," I mumbled, rubbing the back of my neck. "My head's still... sorting things out."
How do I get out of this illusion? Do I have to die again? I want to go back to reality. What a pain!
No matter how much I tried, I found no exit out of this dream. All I felt was the dull ache of my head, Elias's head, and the weight of his family's fear. It was starting to feel more like living through something that already happened or might happen in the future. And if that's true, then… something else is coming. I could feel it inside my bones.
Anya reached out and brushed a strand of hair from my forehead, her touch gentle "There's nothing to be sorry for," she whispered. "Just rest. We're safe now. The militia drove them off."
Bryn finished tying her boot and stood up. She didn't leave immediately, instead studying me with that uncomfortably focused gaze. "The concussion could be making things... vivid," she stated, as if reading my thoughts about trauma. Her eyes held mine for a second too long, a flicker of something like understanding in their blue depths. "Hallucinations… memories that aren't yours. It tends to happen after a bad head wound." Her tone was matter-of-fact, giving me an explanation without needing to reveal anything.
She then moved to the door, pausing with her hand on the doorknob. "I'll be back before noon. Try to eat something." With that, she walked out, leaving me alone with Anya.
My 'wife' moved closer, feeling her warmth through the blanket between us. "Can I get you some water? Or broth? Father made a stew last night."
The word 'Father' threw me off. Was that just the respectful way a wife referred to her father-in-law here, or did this mean Anya and Elias were… brother and sister? I decided not to overthink it right now. Trying to figure out Elia's family tree wasn't the best way to spend my energy right now.
I managed a small, tired nod. My throat still felt dry, and speaking came out a little rougher than intended. "Just water for now, thanks."
Anya smiled, a sweet, relieved expression that lit up her face. She leaned over and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to my cheek before slipping out of bed. She wore a simple woolen nightgown that reached her ankles.
As she walked over to a jug and cup on a small table by the window, I could see she walked with a slight, familiar limp. A memory that wasn't mine provided the image of her twisting her ankle two years ago while chasing one of the children.
"Here," she said, returning and handing me a clay cup filled with water. "Drink slowly."
From the main room of the house, I could hear the comforting sounds of a family at breakfast: the clatter of bowls, the old man's low voice telling a story to the giggling children, the sizzle of something in a pan. The smell of frying bacon and porridge drifted in.
Anya sat on the edge of the bed, watching me drink. Her expression grew serious again. "Bryn... she's not from around here. A sellsword, I think. But we owe her everything. She pulled you from the rubble of the old mill wall after it collapsed." She bit her lip. "She didn't have to stay."
"Yeah," I said, the word coming out a little thick. I took another slow sip of water to clear my throat. "She… she really didn't have to stay. We definitely owe her."
I was speaking naturally, as if the words weren't coming from me directly. Every action I took, every word I spoke, it was all Elias.
Anya nodded, a tear running down her cheek which she quickly wiped away with the back of her hand. "When I saw you lying there... I thought..." She took a shaky breath and composed herself. "We'll find a way to repay her. Even if it's just a hot meal and a warm place to sleep for as long as she needs."
She stood and smoothed her nightgown. "I should help with the children. You rest. Come out when you feel steady." She gave me one more lingering, affectionate look before leaving the room, pulling the door mostly shut behind her.
I was alone now, in Elias's body, in Elias's life. The sounds and smells of a simple farmstead was all around me. My own clothes, consisting of a pair of simple trousers and a tunic, were folded neatly on a stool by the bed. On top of them lay my belt and the simple dagger Elias had used. It was clean now, but a few fresh nicks in the leather sheath told their own story.
Outside the small window, the morning light filtered through, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. I could see a corner of the farmyard where a chicken was pecking at the ground, and the edge of a stone well.
I stood up, my legs feeling a little shaky like they weren't quite used to holding this much weight. The tunic felt rough against my skin, and the dagger on my belt seemed heavier than it should.
I walked over to the window and looked out. The farmyard was quiet, just a few chickens scratching at the dirt. Everything seemed so… normal. Peaceful.
But it wasn't real. None of this was. I ran a hand through my hair, Elias's hair, and let out a slow breath.
I need to get out soon, or I'll truly become Elias.
But as the sound of muffled voices from the kitchen filled my ears, as Anya's lingering warmth and the general safety I felt with Elia's family settled into my bones, I began to think that maybe staying here wouldn't be so bad after all.
I had a loving wife, something I'd always dreamed of, and healthy children too. And if I returned, only responsibilities awaited me, responsibilities far greater than being a simple father.
Maybe… it would be better to just… give up.
As I stood at the window, the thought of that comfortable, simple future a seductive poison, a faint, cold prickle began to spread across my skin. It started at the base of my skull where the 'hero's knot' bandage was tied, and went down my spine.
A distant, muffled thump echoed from somewhere outside beyond the barn. A chicken cackled in alarm and flapped away. Then I felt a heavy, coppery scent, mixed with something rotten and wild.
Bryn's low, urgent voice was heard from just outside the front door of the house, speaking to Elias's father. "...found another one. Tracks lead right to the tree line. It still hasn't left. It's watching us instead."
The old man's reply was tense. "Gods above. I'll fetch the militia horn."
"Too slow," Bryn cut in, her voice grim. "It'll be on us by then. Get everyone into the root cellar. Now."
The comfortable warmth in my chest vanished, now replaced by the sinking feeling of dread. All of a sudden, a child's high-pitched scream of terror cut through the air from the direction of the barn.
Anya yelled from the kitchen, "Liza! Where's Liza?!"
I grabbed the belt from the stool, my fingers clumsy from the hurry. The weight and texture felt unfamiliar as I fumbled with the buckle before finally securing it tight. Then I moved out of the room and down the short hall, my heart beating against my chest from a worry that felt both borrowed and new.
It was chaos in the main room. Elias's father stood by the hearth, a rusted old hunting spear in his hands, his face pale. Anya was frantically scanning the room, her eyes wide with panic. "She went to check on her rabbit hutch! I told her to wait!"
Through the open front door, I could see Bryn. She had her back to the house, her short sword drawn as she faced the treeline fifty paces away. And from beyond the treeline, something moved.
It was low to the ground and sleek, with flecked grey-green scales that glistened darkly in the low light. It was long, lean, and built like a deformed lizard-wolf hybrid. Saliva dripped from its stretched-out jaws as it walked behind the shadow of the trees, one milky-white eye fixed on Bryn while the other spun towards the house.
The child's scream came again from the small, run-down tool shed beside the barn, weaker this time.
Liza was trapped there.
Bryn took a slow step sideways, trying to draw the creature's attention away from the shed. "Elias!" she yelled without looking back, "Get your family to the cellar! Now!"
"No, I'll do it." My voice came out steadier than I felt. I shot Bryn a look, holding it a second too long before the awkwardness caught up and I turned toward the shed. "Get them safe. Come find me after."
Bryn's jaw tightened, but she gave a sharp nod, her eyes never leaving the scaled beast. "Your funeral, farmer. Make it quick."
I ran across the muddy yard and past the startled chickens. The air was cold and thick with that coppery smell, and there at the distance, I could see the shed door slightly ajar. Inside, I could hear panicked, hitching sobs.
Pushing the door open wider, I finally saw her. Liza was backed into a corner, her face smeared with tears and dirt. Her little rabbit was at her feet, its neck turned at an unnatural angle.
She saw me and a fresh wave of relief and terror washed over her face. "D-Daddy! The monster! It got Mr. Hops!"
I knew I had to get Liza out, and fast. But as I took a step towards her, a large shadow fell across the shed's doorway.
The damn beast was there. Its giant body towered over the entrance, its body low, with one milky eye fixed on me and the other still tracking Bryn's movements outside. It just stared at me, studying, not making a sound.
In that split-second, a memory that was both mine and not mine surfaced: Elias practicing with the village militia captain years ago. He was taught a simple disarm maneuver: hook the leg, drive the shoulder.
It was a well-known move. It wasn't anything unique, just a muscle memory from a farmer who had done militia duty.
My body moved before my mind could process it.
My left foot shot out, hooking behind the creature's forward leg just above the knee joint. At the same time, my right shoulder rammed into its chest with all of Elias's strength.
The beast lost its balance with a startled shriek. It crashed sideways out of the doorway, landing in the mud with a heavy, wet thud and a violent jerk of its tail.
I didn't wait for it to get up. I snatched Liza up into my arms and bolted out of the shed, weaving away from the fallen monster.
Bryn was there in an instant, putting herself between me and the creature as it scrambled back to its feet, shaking its head as if disoriented. "Go!" she snarled.
As I ran for the house, I saw Elias's father at the cellar door, guiding a teary Anya and the other two children down the stairs. "Here! Here!"
I shoved Liza into her grandfather's waiting arms and turned back to Bryn.
By the time I had turned, the beast had already recovered. It was circling her again, more cautiously now, its milky eye blinking rapidly. It seemed... confused, as if the simple act of being tripped had been a shock. Bryn seeing the advantage, pressed forward, her blade moving in a tight, controlled arc that forced it to skitter back.
I stood at the doorway of the cellar, torn between staying with my family and going to Bryn's aid. Anya's hand shot out from below, grabbing my wrist. "Elias, please! Come down!"
But leaving one woman against that eerily intelligent creature felt wrong. It feinted left, then lunged right, its claws making contact and scraping against her blade. Bryn was skilled, but she was being forced back step by step toward the old stone well.
But upon closer, I noticed that Bryn had deliberately let herself be backed toward the well. She shot a glance toward the house, then toward me, and her eyes narrowed for a second, a signal for me to make my move.
The monster took another step forward, its white eye fixed on her, the other still scanning the surroundings. Its jaw was still dripping with that coppery saliva, standing ten steps from the well's edge. It lunged at Bryn, who met its claw with her blade, but it was knocked off her hand and landed a few meters ahead of me.
A flash of memory slammed into me out of nowhere. It wasn't the memory of Elias this time, but my own: sitting in my room back on Earth, mouse in hand, the screen lit up with a medieval fighting game called For Honor. I remembered the satisfying crunch of an execution move, the precise button combination that made my character swing a weapon in a fluid arc, and the hellish hours I spent on it before mustering up the courage to delete it for good.
My body moved without thinking, rolling forward and picking up the shortsword. The Skill Elias possessed — [Perfect Replication] — not just a farmhand muscle memory, activated. My grip on the dagger and sword shifted to imitate the Peacekeeper from For Honor, positioning my feet by instinct in a way that made no sense for a farmer but perfect sense for a warrior.
Bryn saw me move, and her eyes widened at the unfamiliar stance. The monster took this chance and snapped its jaw at her. But I was already moving, my feet carrying me in a sliding rush across the mud, the first steps of that memorized digital combo.
The world felt smaller, as if it had narrowed down to the space between the beast and Bryn. My body wasn't mine, moving as if following a script executed by Elias' Skill. I launched forward with a sidestep, followed by a low slash at the beast's closest leg, then using the dagger in my off-hand to hook the inside of its jaw as it jerked back, yanking its head down. I brought up my shortsword in a final, brutal arc, a heavy attack aimed between its neck and shoulder.
The sword bit deep into its flesh, blood spraying across my face and clothing. The beast's shriek cut off into a wet gurgle as it chocked on its blood, before collapsing, the coppery stench already palpable.
I panted, dropping the weapons I was holding, the sudden rush of adrenaline coming to a halt, replaced by a heavy weariness.
What was I doing? Why did I accept this life so easily? Who am I really?
This sudden clarity seemed to make something shift in the air, the wind stilling and the sounds growing duller. Bryn didn't look at the fallen monster, her sharp blue eyes instead locked on me. They almost looked… sad, as if she was watching someone close leaving.
"You remembered," she said, her voice no longer raspy, but one that made my body, no, my soul sting. I recognized it as a voice from the first hallucination. Lieutenant Richard's voice.
"Remembered?" I panted, still holding the bloody sword in that perfect stance. "Remembered what?"
"That you're not one of us," she said softly. "You're just visiting. A phantom inhabiting a body of the past."
Body of the past?
As she took a step forward, her eyes began to melt and spin into gold, and then into a blinding white color. The farmyard, the house, Anya's cry from the cellar: all of it began to fade away, like waking up from a dream.
"Time to wake up, Hero," the not-Bryn said, her form breaking down into nothingness. "They're waiting for you."
Everything went pure white, and then completely dark. And in that final, formless silence between one life and my own, the truth settled over me like a burial shroud.
These weren't the memories of legendary heroes from the stories. They were just… people. Soldiers, leaders, fathers. People who fought, hoped, and died without ever relying on the Heroes. And now I was supposed to be the one who saves everyone like them?