The night was cold again. Bitter and sharp, like regret.

  He lay awake, eyes open, breath fogging in the dark.

  The same ceiling. The same silence.

  Three years had passed, but the weight in his chest never changed.

  The alarm shattered it.

  4:00 AM.

  He sat up. Blanket sliding to the floor. Bones aching like he hadn’t slept at all.

  The apartment was a graveyard of small failures—dishes crusted with old meals, stacks of unopened letters, dust dancing in the pale window light. It smelled like loneliness and old coffee. But the rent was paid. He still showed up. That counted for something.

  Maybe.

  His hands trembled as he pulled on his jacket. Not from cold. From memory.

  He squeezed his eyes shut, memories flashing like cruel spectres.

  His mother’s tired smile.

  The way she always said she was fine.

  The way he—too selfish to see beyond his own comfort—let himself believe her.

  When the doctors finally spoke, her first thought wasn’t for herself.

  “If I just had two more years,” she’d whispered, voice cracked and breathless, “I could settle you. Just enough to know you’d be alright.”

  Not just survival—she wanted him to live. To have what she never could. A steady home. A good life. A future not shaped by struggle.

  “Finish school. Write again,” she’d told him once. “You used to be so full of ideas…”

  Dragons, stars, second chances.

  Now, he couldn't even finish breakfast.

  He let it all slip through his fingers.

  Let the days drift.

  Let her worry in silence.

  The words hit like a dull blade but all he did was nod. He’d held her hand.

  But he hadn’t said the right things. Not the ones that mattered.

  He didn’t know how.

  Now, the silence knew them all.

  He stood still, the room pressing in on all sides.

  Then, softly, to no one:

  “If there’s a way—any way—to bring her back…”

  His throat tightened.

  “...give me a chance.”

  No answer. Just the wind slipping through the cracks in the window.

  He stepped outside.

  The city breathed around him—neon signs flickering like ghosts, cars slicing through puddles, strangers hurrying toward lives that still had meaning.

  He walked fast. Head down. Hands buried in his pockets. Her photo pressed to his chest.

  ‘I’ll be better, Ma. I swear.’

  His footsteps echoed between empty buildings.

  Streetlights buzzed above, casting shadows that flickered and broke apart.

  His heart thudded loud in his ears.

  He didn’t see the light change.

  Didn’t hear the car until it was too late.

  A flash of headlights.

  Screeching rubber.

  The sharp, cracking sound of metal and bone.

  Then—weightlessness.

  For a second, he thought he heard her voice.

  Soft. Laughing.

  Like it used to be, before the hospital smell clung to everything.

  Then—nothing.

  The world twisted. The sky flipped.

  Pain exploded behind his ribs.

  Cold seeped in where warmth had just been.

  He landed hard.

  Couldn’t move.

  His vision swam. Colours smeared like paint in the rain.

  Voices called from far away, muffled and slow.

  The photo slipped from his fingers, tumbling into the gutter.

  His mother’s face blurred.

  Then vanished.

  And the darkness came for him.

  ?? — ? — ??

  For a fleeting moment, there was only silence. The pain was gone.

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  ‘What was I thinking? Another chance...’

  He sighed as time stretched impossibly long. His thoughts raced. Was this how it would end? Would he finally see her again?

  Then—something shifted.

  The world cracked.

  Or maybe it had always been broken.

  Darkness surged, swallowing him whole—not the cold release of death, nor the warmth of an afterlife. Just… nothing.

  As his soul drifted through the abyss, something unseen coiled around him—weightless, voiceless, waiting.

  A presence too faint to be noticed, too ancient to be remembered. Hollow. Faded.

  No thoughts. Only the will to survive.

  A foreign fragment of something long forgotten sank deep into him—without struggle, without resistance.

  Then the world shifted again.

  Warmth seeped into his bones—gentle, yet powerful. It pulsed around him, wrapping him in an invisible cocoon. And suddenly—he was moving. Pulled, stretched, broken down, and reshaped.

  He couldn’t breathe. His body felt too small, too fragile. A strange pressure bore down—and then—

  Light.

  He choked, gasping as air poured into his lungs. Sharp. Raw. Too thick. Too warm.

  His tiny body convulsed. The weight of existence pressed down.

  Heat wrapped around him—fabric soft yet suffocating. His skin tingled, hypersensitive, like it had just been carved anew.

  A voice rose above the haze. Gentle. Lilting.

  Muffled but close.

  Familiar in a way that made his chest tighten.

  It felt like he’d heard it once…

  Long, long ago.

  Before everything broke.

  Before the guilt.

  Light bled through his closed lids, bright and flickering, carving strange shapes across the darkness behind his eyes. He squinted and turned away, but the glow clung to him like a second skin. The soft rustle of fabric brushed his ears. His fingers twitched, curling against something smooth and warm.

  The scent of clean linen filled his nose—mildly sweet, impossibly fresh. Too sharp. Too vivid. It pulled him further into consciousness, into something that felt uncomfortably real.

  What is this? The question echoed in his mind, half-formed, fragile.

  A voice answered—not his own. Not the one he longed for.

  “Look at him,” it whispered, laced with warmth. “He’s strong.”

  His vision swam, blurred like water stirred by a trembling hand. Slowly, the world began to take shape. A figure hovered above him—soft contours, careful movements. Kindness in the curve of her smile.

  But everything in him recoiled.

  The warmth. The scent. The safety. It was all wrong.

  Something inside him stirred, coiling low in his gut. A strange calm washed through his limbs, even as his thoughts screamed to fight it. His breath slowed against his will, his muscles slackening. He didn’t want to relax. Didn’t want to belong.

  Sleep pulled at him like a tide. His eyelids drooped, and though he fought to stay present, his body had already made its choice.

  A sharp breath escaped him. His chest felt too shallow, too fragile to hold the weight that settled there. Panic fluttered in his ribs. This body—this existence—it wasn’t his.

  Then it came. The memories.

  His mother’s fading voice.

  The accident.

  The pain.

  And now—this.

  The woman smiled, stroking his damp forehead with trembling fingers. There was a kindness in her touch, but beneath it, something rang hollow. Or perhaps he only imagined that emptiness, desperate to reject what comfort she offered.

  “You’ll be great one day, little one,” she whispered.

  But he didn’t want greatness. He had spent the last few years yearning for only one thing.

  Peace.

  His throat tightened. His tiny fists clenched, curling into the velvet cloth swaddling him. The weight of it pressed down, thick with heat and suffocating softness. The room tilted, not from exhaustion, but from the flood of memory he couldn’t contain. A tremor passed through him. Sweat beaded across his temple. The woman paused, startled by the sudden shift in his breathing.

  Then—footsteps echoed.

  A man entered with quiet urgency. He smiled at first. “How is he?”

  “He’s… restless,” the woman replied, holding him close.

  “Restless?” The man approached, concern tightening his brow. He bent down and kissed the child’s forehead. “Everything is fine. Father is here.”

  Their affection closed in like a cage. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t believe it.

  This isn’t real.

  He searched for answers—coma? Hallucination? Some cruel punishment?

  But the heartbeat pounding beneath her skin was real. The weight of his own limbs, small and burning with life, was real.

  And the most unbearable truth of all: he remembered everything.

  His body shook. The cloth wrapped around him was soaked with sweat. His mind teetered on the edge, spiralling between panic and disbelief. The woman held him tighter, her breath quickening. The man barked a command.

  A healer entered, cloaked in calm authority. He pressed a hand against the child’s chest and closed his eyes.

  A faint golden light spilled from his fingers, spreading like ripples through water. The air shifted. The room hushed. Magic pulsed, not just through flesh, but deep into the fabric of his being.

  He felt it.

  A warmth that wasn’t physical. A presence that brushed against his soul. It studied him—not just his body, but the thread that tethered him to this world.

  The healer’s brow creased.

  His eyes opened, the glow fading.

  “There is no wound. No illness. His body is whole.”

  The mother’s voice cracked. “Then why—why is he like this?”

  “We need someone else. If anything happens to him, I—”

  Her husband pulled her into his arms, steadying her panic with his own fear.

  “Then what is wrong?” he asked, voice tight.

  The healer hesitated. Then, with a slow breath, he answered.

  “It’s not the body that resists life. It’s the soul.”

  Silence gripped the room.

  “It’s as if… he does not wish to be here.”

  The mother gasped, clutching her chest. The father stiffened, cradling the child closer.

  “No… that can’t be true. You’re my son. You can’t die. I won’t let you.”

  The infant, caught between exhaustion and the weight of unfamiliar sensations, wrestled with the chaos in his mind. Memories of his past clashed with the suffocating reality of the present, a life he had never asked for.

  When he woke up again, The healer had already taken his leave with quiet steps, robes rustling like whispers. The door shut behind him, soft but final.

  Silence returned. Heavy. Stretching like fog.

  The mother sat down slowly, rocking him in her arms. Her breath trembled, brushing his cheek like ghost-wind.

  “I don’t understand,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

  “He’s here. He’s warm. Why does it feel like he’s slipping away?”

  The man placed a steady hand on her shoulder. “He’s strong. You heard the healer. He just needs time.”

  Time.

  That word again.

  They didn’t understand. This wasn’t some childhood fever to be nursed through with soup and lullabies. This wasn’t a soul waiting to bloom. It was one struggling not to tear itself apart.

  Inside, he was screaming.

  But all they heard was the occasional twitch, a soft breath, the sigh of a sleeping child.

  His mother was dead. His real mother.

  And no amount of warmth could smother the cold lodged in his chest.

  Still… he heard her voice again.

  "If I had two more years..."

  Would this be the price?

  To carry her memory into a world where no one remembered her name?

  Something wet brushed his cheek. The woman holding him had begun to cry again.

  Tears for a child she thought she might lose.

  A stranger’s love.

  He didn’t want it.

  But he felt it.

  And that made it worse.

  Because her grief was real too.

  Even if she wasn’t his mother.

  His small fists clenched again. He hated the weight in his chest. Not the grief—he was used to that. It was the guilt.

  He was a wound wrapped in love he couldn’t return—and she was bleeding for it. He was hurting her.

  And she didn’t deserve it.

  Her voice broke. “Do you think he blames me?”

  The man froze.

  “Don’t say that,” he said, too quickly.

  “Then what is this?” She looked down at him, her hands trembling. “What child is born already grieving?”

  Her words struck deep, as if they were meant for him. As if somehow, she did know.

  He shut his eyes tight. He didn’t want this. This pain. This confusion. This second life.

  Then, the words returned to him.

  “Even if Death itself comes for you, I will fight it. And if I fail… I will find the immortals and drag you back myself.”

  His breath hitched. His tiny heart pounded.

  His thoughts, once clouded in despair, now flickered with something else.

  ‘Bring me back… after Death?’

  It was foolish. Desperate.

  And yet—he felt this world defied his logic somehow.

  If this world could defy death, then so would he.

  And at this moment, deep in his eyes, a cruel, stubborn ember flickered.

  If the heavens had ripped him from death, then he would find a way to make it right.

  Even if it meant dragging the stars down with him.

  If there was even the slightest chance to bring her back—

  He would tear heaven and earth apart to find it.

  One breath. One heartbeat. One moment at a time.

  He’d survive.

  He’d grow.

  He’d endure every smile, every kindness, every lie.

  And one day, when he was strong enough…

  He’d bring her back.

  Even if the world bled for it.

  Destiny Reckoning, and both stories exist in the same universe. That means—sooner or later—their paths will cross.

  12 chapters posted for you to dive into. Make sure to leave your thoughts, questions, and comments—I love reading them. Don’t forget to follow, maybe add this book to your favorites, and if you enjoy the story, a review would mean a lot!