The smell of iron was the first thing to return—thick, metallic, and suffocating. It clung to the back of my throat like a physical weight. My eyelids felt as though they had been fused shut with lead, and every attempt to draw a breath felt like pulling air through a filter of wet wool. Somewhere in the dark periphery of my consciousness, a sound drifted toward me. A soft, jagged whimper. Someone was crying.
I forced my eyes open. The world was a blur of grey and shadow. I was lying on a cold floor in a room that smelled of damp wood and ancient, lingering rot. As my vision cleared, I saw her. A girl was huddled in the corner, her hair as black as a midsummer midnight. But it was her eyes that arrested me—piercing, ruby-red orbs that seemed to glow with a faint, unnatural light in the gloom.
"Brother… why did you leave me?" Her voice was a fragile thread, snapping under the weight of her grief. "Just like… just like Mom and Dad…"
She wiped at her cheeks, but the tears were relentless, glistening like spilt jewels. "You promised… you said you wouldn't leave me alone."
The sound of her sobbing pierced through the fog in my brain, causing a sharp, physical ache in my chest. I tried to speak, but my throat was a desert. "W-w-who… are you?" I croaked.
"Brother!" she shrieked, flinging herself toward me. "I thought… I thought you were dead!"
"I'm alive," I whispered, the words feeling foreign in my mouth. "No need to cry… I'm here."
As I lay there, fragments of a life that didn't feel like mine began to flicker behind my eyes. Who am I? Where is this place? The girl's desperate warmth was the only anchor I had. "I… I'll go back to sleep for a while. Don't cry," I managed to say, my own weakness terrifying me.
Hours bled into an indeterminate span of time. When I woke again, the copper tang of blood had been replaced by the faint, earthy scent of dried herbs. The girl was still there, watching me with those haunting red eyes.
"Yawn… it's that girl who cries so much," I muttered, the thought surfacing involuntarily.
"Hello… brother," she said, her voice small. "You woke up again? I thought… I thought I'd have to die with you.""
"Die with me?" I frowned. "What are you talking about?"
"Mom and Dad said if you left me, I wouldn't survive in Area 4," she whispered, her gaze dropping to the floor. "The cults… they'd take me for a blood summon."
Blood summon. Cults. Area 4. The terms sparked a violent rhythm in my heart. This wasn't the world I knew, yet a primal part of my mind recognized the danger. This was a world where magic was a currency paid in life, and we were currently bankrupt.
"Luna…" The name surfaced from the depths of my subconscious like a bubble rising from a dark lake.
"Yes, brother?" she asked, looking up. The recognition was instant. This girl wasn't a stranger. She was my sister.
"Are you hungry? I… I can cook," I said, the offer surprising even me. My hands felt steady, as if they possessed a muscle memory my mind had lost. I looked at the meagre scraps of food in the corner—wilted vegetables and a few grains. I moved with a strange, practised grace, chopping and stirring until the aroma of a simple stew filled the cold room.
"Here… Luna. I hope you like it."
She took the plate with trembling hands and took a bite. "It's… delicious," she whispered. "Even when we have nothing, your cooking always smells like… like you care."
The words stung. They spoke of a life of absolute scarcity, a life where a bowl of scrap-stew was the only luxury. "Why do I say these things… like I remember?" I whispered to the shadows. "Luna… what happened? Why was I on the floor?"
The girl froze, her fork clattering against the plate. "B-b-brother… you stabbed yourself. I saw the knife. I thought you were gone, and I knew the cults would come for me next. Mom and Dad… they said they were not good people before they died. They said only you could protect me."
She began to sob again, the trauma of the night finally breaking her. I reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You won't die. Not today. Not ever. I promise."
As the words left my lips, her body went limp. She had fainted from the sheer exhaustion of her vigil. I scooped her up—she was terrifyingly light—and laid her gently on the small, lumpy bed.
I stood back and surveyed our "home." It was a grim, medieval structure—stone walls, low ceilings, and a fireplace that produced more smoke than heat. If this was ancient Europe, my situation was dire. In a world of superstition, a man who returns from the dead is rarely welcomed with open arms. They would call me a devil or a witch and put me to the flame.
Cults. Magic. If those things were real, then I needed to be more than a victim. I needed to be a predator. I thought of the stories of mages, of taming beasts, and amassing gold. But as I looked at my calloused, trembling hands, I realized why the previous occupant of this body had given up. He had no magic. He was a "commoner" in a world of gods, trying to shield a child from monsters with nothing but a kitchen knife.
My name… I need to remember my name.
Helios.
The name struck me with the force of a lightning bolt. Luna meant the Moon, a light in the darkness. Helios meant the Sun, the source of warmth and hope. Our parents must have loved us, even if they were "bad people." They wanted us to be the celestial lights of this dark world.
The floor was biting cold against my feet, and my limbs felt like leaden weights. Clarity was still a distant dream, but a promise was hardening in my chest.
My previous life was gone, and this new one was cruel, impoverished, and dangerous. But as I watched Luna sleep, I knew I wouldn't be picking up that knife to end things again. Whatever cults or monsters haunted Area 4, they would find that the Sun had returned—and I would burn anything that tried to touch my Moon.
I closed my eyes and let sleep take me, ready to face the dawn of a very different world.