The morning passed in silence.
After sitting for a long time, Arin finally set the cup down and looked toward the narrow window. Astra Vale had already begun another day, but inside the apartment everything remained still. His thoughts had drifted away from cultivation for now and settled somewhere quieter.
They turned to his parents.
Not only the ones from this life, but those from before as well.
In this world, there were no ancestral halls or preserved spaces where names remained behind. When people died, what remained was reduced to records, notices, and memory. There was no fixed place for the dead—only what the living chose to create.
Before returning to the medical center, Arin decided to do one thing properly.
He changed into clean clothes, checked his terminal balance, and left the apartment.
The district below was already active. Shops had opened, delivery units moved through their routes, and people passed through the streets without paying him any attention. Everything continued as it always did.
Arin walked into the nearby commercial row and entered a small memorial goods shop.
It was quiet inside. Shelves were lined with simple items—incense, holders, white flowers, paper offerings, and small prepared sets. An older woman stood behind the counter, watching without speaking.
Arin selected what he needed quickly. A small bundle of incense, a plain holder, two white flowers, and a modest offering.
Nothing more.
At the counter, the woman scanned the items.
"For family?" she asked.
Arin gave a short nod.
She studied him briefly, then added two small white candles to the bag.
"No charge."
He accepted it.
"Thank you."
He returned home soon after.
The apartment was quiet when he entered.
Arin moved to the table and cleared a small space. The items were arranged with simple care—the holder placed at the center, the offering set in front, and the flowers set to either side. The candles were placed last.
There was no ceremony.
No formal steps.
Only intention.
He lit the candles, then the incense.
A thin trail of smoke rose into the still air, shifting the atmosphere of the room almost immediately.
Arin stood in front of it.
Memories came, but he did not hold onto them for long.
He did not let himself sink into them either.
"I'll use what you left behind properly," he said quietly. "For treatment. For the path ahead."
His voice remained calm.
"I won't waste it."
That was enough.
There were no long words.
No promises he could not keep.
Only a simple acknowledgment.
He stood there for a while, then lowered his head slightly.
Not in grief.
But in respect.
When he straightened again, his expression had already settled.
The past had been acknowledged.
There was no need to remain there.
After a short time, he cleared the table. The items were removed in the same quiet order, leaving the apartment as it had been before.
Nothing had changed on the surface.
But something had settled.
That evening, he rested early.
The next morning, Arin woke with clear thoughts and steady breathing.
Today was the day.
He washed, changed clothes, ate lightly, and checked his terminal balance one last time before leaving.
The city had already begun moving.
People filled the pathways, shops were open, and the rhythm of daily life continued without pause. Arin called a cab and entered as soon as it arrived.
"Central District Medical Center," he said.
The route was confirmed immediately.
The ride passed quietly. Arin did not look outside this time. His thoughts had already settled ahead of him.
By the time the cab stopped, his mind was calm.
He passed through the entrance scan and entered the reception hall.
The familiar blue projection formed above the panel.
Meda.
"Welcome back, Arin Solis," she said. "Your previous treatment record has been verified."
Arin stepped forward.
"I'm ready."
A panel appeared.
Post-Treatment Recovery Progress
Body stabilization: 94%
Cellular recovery: Active
Neural adaptation: Stable
Recommended wait time before core stabilization: 2 hours 36 minutes
Arin read it without reacting.
So it was not complete yet.
"Your biological restoration is progressing well," Meda said. "For optimal results, a short waiting period is recommended."
Going back and returning again would only waste effort.
"I'll wait here."
"Understood."
A quieter section of the hall opened to the side.
Arin moved there and took a seat near the outer glass.
Time passed without urgency.
He opened the public feed on his terminal and scrolled through it slowly. Reports moved one after another—conflicts in distant sectors, local events, security updates, and routine notices that shaped everyday life across the city.
The world had never stopped moving.
Even while he had struggled to survive, everything else had continued forward.
That thought did not trouble him.
It only made his position clearer.
He was still at the beginning.
When he checked again, the waiting time had dropped to less than an hour.
He closed the terminal and leaned back slightly.
The sounds around him remained distant—soft footsteps, muted system tones, and occasional announcements echoing through the hall.
People came and went.
Each carried their own concerns.
Eventually, Meda's voice sounded again.
"Arin Solis."
He looked up.
"Your recovery has reached the recommended threshold. Core stabilization may now begin."
Arin stood.
There was no hesitation this time.
He followed.