Jael woke up on a creaking bed.
The first thing he noticed was the smell—old wood, dust, and faint smoke that clung to the air like a memory that refused to fade. His eyes snapped open as his breath hitched, sweat soaking through his thin clothes.
He sat up abruptly.
"…My room?"
His gaze darted around in disbelief. The cracked wooden walls. The small table by the window. The torn curtain fluttering gently as moonlight poured in. Everything was intact.
Too intact.
"What am I doing in my room?" he muttered hoarsely. "It was all burned down… that night."
His chest tightened.
He swung his legs off the bed and staggered to his feet, the floor cold beneath his soles. His hands trembled as he pressed them against the wall, feeling the rough texture beneath his fingers.
Real.
Too real.
Outside the window, the moon hung low and calm, bathing the village in silver light. No screams. No smoke. No blood.
Just peace.
Jael swallowed.
"It can't be…" he whispered. "It's just like that night wh—"
He froze.
Voices.
Laughter.
Coming from beyond the door.
His heart slammed violently against his ribs.
No… no… no…
"They're alive?" he muttered, his voice breaking. "It can't be… I saw them die. No one survived except me…"
His legs felt heavy as lead as he slowly approached the wooden door. Every step felt wrong, like the world was resisting his movement.
He placed a trembling hand on the handle.
Cold.
He hesitated—then pushed it open.
Warm light spilled out.
Jael's breath caught.
Five figures sat gathered in the main room, an enchanted lantern glowing softly in the center. Shadows danced across the walls as familiar voices filled the air—laughing, talking, alive.
Too alive.
"Jael, why are you standing there like you've seen a ghost?"
A boy with pale blue eyes and dark brown hair looked over and chuckled. "Come and join us. Grandma's telling one of her great adventures."
Jael stood frozen.
His knees nearly gave out.
It's… them.
Lemi. Mira. Jade. The others.
Alive.
His vision blurred as tears streamed freely down his face.
"It seems…" he muttered faintly, "it seems everything I experienced… was just a bad dream."
He stepped forward slowly, as if afraid they would vanish if he moved too fast.
"Jael… why are you crying?"
A girl with hazel eyes and long black hair stood and approached him, her face filled with concern.
"It's nothing," he replied distantly. "Just… a bad dream."
She smiled gently and guided him toward the circle.
The warmth returned.
Laughter resumed.
At the center sat the old woman—calm grey eyes, weathered face, a quiet strength about her. She spoke slowly, her voice steady as she recounted tales of her travels.
"And that," she said, smiling, "is how I got this scar."
She pointed beneath her eye to a jagged mark.
The children gasped in unison.
Jael watched her closely.
Something felt… off.
Too perfect.
Too clean.
Suddenly—
Knock.
The sound was soft.
Yet it echoed unnaturally loud.
The room fell silent.
Another knock followed.
Slow.
Deliberate.
The boy with pale blue eyes stood up, his expression uneasy. "I'll get it," he said quietly.
Jael's heart dropped.
"No—" he tried to say, but no sound came out.
The boy opened the door.
His head fell to the ground.
Blood splattered across the wooden floor as a body collapsed forward.
A scream tore through the room.
A figure stepped inside.
Dark armor. Blood dripping from a long sword. His presence swallowed the light, the lantern flickering violently as if afraid.
"All who are related to you," the man said calmly, his voice cold and heavy, "and all you have bonds with—will die today, witch."
The old woman rose slowly.
"You again…" she whispered.
Jael couldn't move.
His limbs refused to obey him.
"This is the same," he muttered in despair. "It's the same as last time…"
The armored man moved.