The sky above the commercial district looked like a puddle of dirty water; grey, thick, and oppressive. A fine drizzle moistened the pavement, carrying the scent of wet asphalt mixed with lung-choking exhaust fumes.
The city was never truly silent, yet time seemed to freeze for those trapped at the old bus stop. Two hours had passed, but the central route bus still showed no sign of its snout appearing through the low-hanging veil of pollution.
Grumbles of dissatisfaction rose from dozens of people, who were beginning to lose their sanity from the stolen wait. Amidst the clamor, a young man stood motionless with an odd tranquility, as if he existed in a different dimension from the chaos around him.
Michael Laurent, or often called Mike by his division colleagues, immersed himself in a bubble of digital isolation. Since stepping onto the bus stop, he had activated 'Do Not Disturb' mode on his phone, focusing meticulously on the algorithmic script he was building.
His attire was impeccable—a spotless, perfectly ironed uniform of a game development company. He was a rare talent; the CEO had noticed him since high school for his achievements in IT and writing, immediately recruiting him right after graduation.
Soon, the roar of a large engine finally cut through the tedious city noise. Mike was swept along by the furious crowd vying to get in, pushed into the middle of the cramped bus cabin where there was barely any room to move.
Even though breathing felt like a luxury amidst the sea of people, Mike still had a small opening to observe his surroundings. His eyes inadvertently caught a familiar figure in the corner near the window; a woman he had secretly admired from afar.
It was Alisa, Mike's colleague who usually wore her company uniform neatly every day. But today, Alisa looked different; she wore elegant, formal everyday attire, making her appear much more radiant yet unfamiliar in Mike's eyes.
Knowing Alisa was unaware of his presence, Mike decided to remain silent and returned his gaze to his phone. He didn't want to disturb the girl's peace amidst the bustling bus, so he continued his work as the bus slowly moved forward.
Suddenly, the screech of tires tore through the cabin's silence as the bus slammed its wheel extremely hard. The driver performed a masterful maneuver with sharp instincts to avoid a fatal accident occurring at the red light intersection.
The violent jolt sent the entire bus into hysterics, and in the chaos, a plain black leather-bound book slipped from Mike's coat pocket. The book flew over several passengers' shoulders, landing precisely at Alisa's feet, completely unnoticed by its owner.
Alisa picked up the book with a furrowed brow, but a small smile soon graced her lips as she read the name on the cover: Michael Laurent.
The name was clearly displayed, prompting Alisa to immediately search for its owner amidst the still-panicked crush of people.
Driven by curiosity, Alisa opened the first page of the book and became engrossed in the captivating narrative.
She continued reading, oblivious that the bus had arrived at its final destination, where Mike had already disembarked to wait.
Mike stood at the bus door, waiting for Alisa to alight, intending to invite her to walk to the office together. When Alisa finally stepped out, she greeted Mike, handing him the black book with an unreadable yet playful gaze.
"Turns out you're a great writer, Mike," Alisa said, explaining how she found the book after it flew. She then asked if she could borrow it for a week, finding the story of a character named Edwins within it very interesting.
Mike hesitated but eventually nodded, allowing Alisa to borrow the book that contained all his dreams. He then bravely asked why Alisa wasn't wearing her company uniform today, even though it was a workday.
Alisa chuckled, asking if Mike hadn't read the message in the office group chat stating that today was a holiday. Mike then realized that his 'Do Not Disturb' mode had drowned out an important announcement from the CEO, who wanted to go on vacation with his family.
Since Mike was already out, Alisa invited him to spend the holiday with her until late at night. The clock struck eleven at night when they finally parted ways at the nearly deserted and cold train station.
Inside the quiet carriage, Mike leaned his head against the cold glass window, reflecting on the day's events. The question of whether this could be called a date began to fill his mind, before heavy drowsiness finally dragged him into unconsciousness.
* * * * * *
In a ruined place
The sky above the battlefield was no longer blue, but a coppery red, stained by cosmic dust and explosion smoke. The land beneath it had been torn to the very core of the continent, signaling the end of a global-scale battle that had wagered a new destiny.
Amidst the ruins of buildings resembling the remnants of a grand steam-powered civilization, Edwins, a nobleman with the title of Count and an adventurer, lay weakly. His breaths were short and ragged, while blood seeped from beneath his tattered and ruined long suit.
A man of great presence approached with forced steps over the sharp debris scattered around them. The man, Edwins' comrade-in-arms who was usually cold and unshakeable, now appeared shattered by a pure rage and sorrow.
"Edwins! Wake up, you fool!" his comrade screamed, slamming his trembling fist into the ground beside Edwins' body. Though he tried to maintain his dignity and cold demeanor, the roar of anger could not hide his fragile spirit.
Edwins looked up at the grey sky, offering a faint smile that was utterly heartbreaking to anyone who witnessed it.
"I'm sorry... it seems I can't keep my promise to come home," he whispered, his voice almost lost to the wind and the roar of destruction. "But... this battle is over. Please... take care of Lucia for me."
Edwins continued before his eyes slowly closed forever on the devastated land.
Heavy rain then fell, washing his corpse clean of bloodstains, leaving a terrifying tranquility in the silent battlefield.
Somewhere unseen, perched on the branch of a giant tree that grew beyond human perception, a female figure watched the tragedy in silence.
Her long white hair cascaded like silk, while her bright red eyes gleamed with an intensity that surpassed the stars. She wore a mesmerizing gown with a long skirt that had a high slit on the lower right, reaching her ankle.
Above her head, a semi-circular crown floated with her movements, radiating a mystical blend of black, white, and red. The long sleeves of her gown were adorned with intricate ornaments, with contrasting colored bracelets rotating on both her wrists.
A transparent cloak draped over her head like a grand concubine, while massive, terrifyingly beautiful wings, not attached to her body, encircled her waist.
Behind her back, an oddly shaped sword floated, following the delicate movements of her body, as if unbound by the world's gravity. She gazed at Edwins' lifeless body and whispered a sentence that shook the foundations of reality around her.
"A writer may kill his hero, but he will never kill the legend he has carved into the heartbeat of the world. This ending is merely a misplaced punctuation mark, before the Creator's pen once again drips ink upon a fresh page."
* * * * *
Mike gasped awake in the moving train, his breath ragged and tears uncontrollably streaming down his cheeks.
The pain in his chest felt intensely real, a sorrow that transcended the boundaries of dreams and the reality he had meticulously written in his black book.
Since his school days, he had always dreamed of being a character named Edwins, experiencing every inch of his life until he was compelled to write the entire story.
"Edwins... he shouldn't have died." Mike mumbled, sobbing, mourning the fate of the character he considered his soulmate.
BOOM! BOOM!
Suddenly, deafening thuds tore through the night's silence, followed by violent tremors that made the train carriage jump. The tunnel ahead of them exploded catastrophically due to a terrorist attack, creating an unavoidable wall of concrete rubble.
The conductor screamed in terror through the intercom before a horrifying crunch of metal devoured everything into burning debris. The train sped at high velocity, causing each carriage to collide and demolish anything within.
Hours later, the beam of flashlights from rescue teams cut through the dense dust within the completely collapsed tunnel.
"Damn terrorists, they really slaughtered civilians." growled the head of the rescue team as he examined the piles of bodies around him.
Suddenly, a crew member shrieked hysterically, "Captain! Someone's still breathing down here!" Panicked, they evacuated the dying person. His mangled body was rushed to the hospital with ambulance sirens slicing through the grim city night.
Awakening a week later in a cold treatment room, enveloped by the rhythmic beeping of the bedside monitor tracking his heart, that person was Mike.
By his bedside, Alisa lay asleep, face down and utterly exhausted, still clutching the black book she had borrowed days ago.
Mike moved his very weak hand, stroking Alisa's head and covering her shoulder with his last remaining strength.
"Please take care of that book, Alisa... actually, I like you." he whispered, his voice almost gone, just before his body succumbed to death.
The monitor then emitted a long, flat tone—a flatline—signaling the permanent cessation of Michael Laurent's heartbeat. Alisa jolted awake at the alarm, but she only found Mike's hand, now growing cold, resting on her head.
Alisa's sobs erupted as she realized the man was gone forever; she clutched the black book tightly to her chest with profound grief.
"I will take care of this book I borrowed, Mike... I promise," she wailed, unaware that Mike's final confession had been buried silently in his long sleep, unknown to anyone.
* * * * *
The Eden Empire, Count Ravehart's Residence.
Inside a magnificent room dominated by dark oak furniture and the scent of antique lamp oil, a boy opened his eyes. He had fine ashen-blonde hair and a pair of clear emerald-green eyes, shining like jewels in the darkness.
He tried to descend from the enormous canopy bed, but his legs felt weak, as if he was just learning to walk again in this body.
His steps faltered as he crossed the thick carpet, heading toward the grand window that offered a dazzling view of the city below.
Outside, giant clock towers stood tall amidst the steam haze and diesel smoke billowing from distant factories.
The scene was so real, so detailed, that he could smell the burning coal and feel the piercing cold. With trembling hands, he approached a large mirror in the corner of the luxurious room, staring at the reflection of a ten-year-old nobleman.
He touched his face, feeling the texture of his skin and the rapid thud of his heart beneath the silk sleepwear he wore.
"Isn't this..." he whispered in a child's unbroken voice, filled with overwhelming confusion and disbelief.
Michael Laurent's memory of death in the hospital collided with childhood memories forcibly flowing in from the body's owner.
A new realization struck his soul as he looked into the emerald-green eyes in the mirror, understanding a truth that transcended all mortal logic.
A question emerged from his trembling lips, barely holding back his surging emotions: "Did I reincarnate... as Edwins?"