The morning sun filtered weakly through the grimy hospital window, painting pale stripes across the tile floor. I sat on the edge of my bed, elbows on my knees, staring down at my hands. They were steady and strong—Daniel's hands, not mine—and I flexed them unconsciously, as if trying to remind myself what they could do.
Sleep had been fleeting. The memories of impossible feats and inhuman training still hummed in my veins, making rest feel pointless. My mind replayed the phantom sensation of breaking boards and stone, the wild surge of energy, the impossible flexibility. But when I tried to move, to channel that power, it was like reaching for a word on the tip of my tongue—always out of grasp.
I needed answers. I needed direction. But the hospital, with its shuffling nurses and antiseptic air, offered neither. Every day was a cycle of forced rest and gentle admonishments: I was to heal, to take it slow, to not strain myself. They didn't know my secret. They didn't understand that I was already someone else, someone who was supposed to be dead, and I was wasting time.
Restless, I stood and paced the room. My body wanted to move, to test itself. I tried a few slow stretches, feeling the latent power coil and unwind in my muscles. The movements felt natural—almost too natural. There were echoes of forms I didn't consciously know: a smooth pivot, a precise shift of weight, a stance that settled me low and balanced. I let my body lead, closing my eyes, and slipped into a flow of motion that both was and wasn't mine.
A nurse rapped on the door, startling me. I snapped upright, trying to look casual, but she just smiled and set a tray of food on the table. "You're up early, Daniel. You look stronger every day."
I returned her smile, saying nothing. The name Daniel still felt like a borrowed coat—fitting, but not truly mine.
After she left, I sat and tried to eat, but my mind was elsewhere. The drive to find Chloe burned inside me, sharper every day. I couldn't stay here forever. I needed to learn more about Daniel's world, about the Old Gods, about why I'd been given this second chance—and why it felt so much like a test.
I pushed the food aside and went to the window, looking out over the city. Somewhere out there, the Old Gods ruled. Somewhere, Chloe might still be alive. And somewhere, the answer to who I truly was—and what I was meant to do with this body—waited for me to find it.
Today, I promised myself, would be the day I started searching.
The decision became reality sooner than I expected. That afternoon, the doctor entered with a stack of paperwork and a small, knowing smile. "Congratulations, Daniel. You're being discharged."
The word felt both liberating and terrifying. The hospital had been a cocoon, a place to hide and recover, but the outside world loomed with unknown dangers and the constant shadow of the Old Gods. Still, I nodded, feigning relief.
The nurse helped me dress in clothes that felt unfamiliar, their weight and fit reminding me again that this body wasn't truly mine. With a few signatures, a handful of instructions, and a bottle of painkillers I didn't need, I was handed my freedom.
Stepping into the hallway, the sounds seemed sharper, the colors brighter—a world waiting to test me. The hospital doors slid open, and the city air greeted me, crisp and alive with possibility. For the first time since waking up, I felt the weight of my mission: to find Chloe, to uncover the truth of Daniel's world, and to discover why fate had placed me here.
I took my first step into the unknown, heart pounding, ready for whatever came next.