Prologue
It's funny how death works. One minute, you're driving, minding your own business. The next, you're part of a physics experiment gone wrong.
It was supposed to be a regular night. The streets were quiet, bathed in the dull glow of streetlights. I had just finished another long shift at the workshop, the scent of oil and metal still clinging to my clothes. The hum of the engine beneath my hands was familiar, steady—one of the few constants in my life.
Then, out of nowhere—
BEEEEEEP!
A blaring horn. A flash of headlights. The screech of tires against wet asphalt.
I barely had time to react before a massive truck swerved into my lane. Instinct kicked in—I yanked the wheel, but it was too late. A force like a battering ram slammed into my car, metal shrieking as it crumpled around me. My head snapped forward, pain exploding behind my eyes.
Then… nothing.
For a moment, I thought I was still there, trapped in that fleeting instant before impact. But there was no wreckage, no sound. Just a vast, empty darkness stretching in all directions.
I was floating. Drifting. Weightless.
Was this death?
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Echoes in the Dark
A cold sweat clung to my skin as I jolted upright, heart hammering against my ribs. Darkness still surrounded me, but now it felt different—thicker, heavier, like it carried weight. My breath came in sharp, uneven gasps.
I had seen it all again. The crash. My parents' accident. My grandfather's death. A relentless cycle of loss, looping like a cruel joke inside my own mind.
I swallowed hard and looked around. My grandfather's workshop surrounded me, bathed in the dim glow of a single hanging light. Tools lay scattered across the workbench, the air thick with the scent of oil and warm metal. It felt so familiar, so real, but deep down, I knew the truth.
This was a dream.
"You look like you saw a ghost."
I turned, my throat tightening at the sight of him. My grandfather stood by the workbench, arms crossed, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. He looked exactly as I remembered—grizzled but kind, his face lined with the wisdom of years spent tinkering with machines. His overalls were stained with grease, and the ever-present scent of tobacco clung to him.
I opened my mouth, but no words came. My chest ached. My vision blurred.
"You dreaming again, Ryle?" he asked, pulling up a chair beside me.
I clenched my fists, trying to steady my breath. "I—I saw it all. The crash. Mom and Dad. Then you." My voice wavered. "And then… me."
Grandpa let out a slow sigh, rubbing his calloused hands together. "That's a lot of weight to carry in one dream, kid."
"I knew it wasn't real." My fingers dug into my arms. "I realized it halfway through, but… I didn't want to wake up."
He gave me a long, thoughtful look. "And why's that?"
I swallowed past the lump in my throat. "Because if I wake up, you won't be here."
Silence stretched between us. The old clock on the wall ticked softly, counting down moments that I didn't want to end.
"I don't want to go back," I admitted, my voice barely a whisper. "Not to that empty house. Not to that empty life."
Grandpa leaned back, exhaling through his nose. "Ryle, listen to me." His tone was gentle but firm. "We can't hold onto the past forever. Memories are just that—memories. They remind us where we've been, but they don't tell us where we're going."
I bit my lip, staring down at my trembling hands. "But if I let go… it feels like I'm losing you all over again."
He reached over and ruffled my hair, the warmth of his touch grounding me. "You're not losing me, kid. You're just making room for what's ahead."
I squeezed my eyes shut, my body trembling as I lunged forward, wrapping my arms around him. His embrace was solid, warm—the kind of hug that made the world feel less lonely.
"Just a little longer," I whispered. "Just let me stay a little longer."
His arms tightened around me, his voice soft and steady. "It's almost time to wake up, Ryle."
I clung to him, shaking my head. "Not yet."
His chest rumbled with a quiet chuckle. "You're stubborn. Just like me."
Memories flooded in—of days spent in this very workshop, watching him work. He was the one who taught me everything about machines. The way an engine breathed, how gears meshed in perfect harmony. I was just a kid, but he made it all seem like magic.
"This," he once said, holding up a tiny gear, "is life, Ryle. Every part has a purpose, every piece a role. You take care of the machine, and it'll take care of you."
Those words stuck with me. It was why I pursued mechanical engineering. Not because I was particularly gifted, but because it was the only thing that still connected me to him.
And then he was gone.
On the day of my graduation, of all days. He had been on his way to my university, excited, proud. But fate had other plans. A careless driver. A freak accident. By the time I got the call, my diploma was still in my hands.
I never even got to say goodbye.
The workshop around us began to fade. The scent of oil, the dim light, the warmth of his arms—all of it blurred at the edges, dissolving into the dark.
"Don't dwell on what's gone," he murmured. "Keep moving forward, kid. The gears of life don't stop turning."
The world around me shattered.
And then, I woke up.
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Waking Up in the Unknown
When I opened my eyes again, I wasn't in an emergency room or a roadside ditch. For a moment, I thought I was in my apartment—maybe what happened was all just a nightmare. But the rough texture of the wooden ceiling above me, the scent of damp earth, and the distant rustling of leaves shattered that illusion. My last memory was of headlights, a blaring horn, and then... nothing.
I tried moving, and something felt… wrong. My body was different. Smaller. Lighter. My limbs felt awkward, uncoordinated, as if they didn't quite belong to me. I swallowed hard, willing my brain to come up with a logical answer. Maybe I had survived the crash, and this was some off-the-grid cabin where someone had taken me in. Or maybe I had a concussion and was hallucinating.
My heart pounded in my chest as I lifted my hands in front of me. They were tiny, delicate—childlike. My breath hitched. My mind scrambled for explanations, but none of them made sense. I shifted, kicking off the rough blanket that covered me, and immediately noticed how much shorter my legs were. A sinking feeling settled in my gut.
Panic surged through me, but before I could spiral, a flood of fragmented memories rushed in, clear as day. The conversation with my grandpa from my dream. His warm voice, his gentle but firm grip on my shoulders. He had told me not to dwell on the past too much. But why did it feel like the past itself had abandoned me?
Then, another wave hit—memories that didn't belong to my old life but to this one.
I gasped, clutching my head as images flooded in. This world—it wasn't my old one. I had lived here for some time now, though the memories were foggy at best. What I did remember was that my parents had left one day to hunt and never returned. That had been two years ago. Since then, I had survived alone, living off berries and whatever scraps the forest provided.
The realization sent a shiver down my spine. I wasn't just in a different body—I had been living in this world. This was my life now. My hands trembled as I traced my fingers over the rough wooden floor beneath me, feeling its reality. The quiet chirping of birds outside, the way the sunlight streamed through the cracks in the walls—it was all too vivid, too real to be a dream.
In my past life, I had no family left. And in this one? Well, history seemed to be repeating itself.
I let out a dry chuckle. "Guess I was always meant to be an orphan."
I exhaled slowly, pressing my fingers against my temples. This kind of thing… it happened in light novels, didn't it? Getting thrown into another world, waking up in a different body—it was almost cliché. And yet, here I was. Living it.
A bitter smile tugged at my lips. If this was really my second chance, what was I supposed to do with it?
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The Unexpected Visitors
A sudden noise shattered the stillness of the forest.
I stiffened, fingers tightening around the small knife I kept by my side. My first instinct? A wild animal. But as the footsteps grew clearer—heavy, uneven, deliberate—I knew better. Animals didn't move like that.
People did.
I grabbed my small pouch of supplies—dried berries, flint, and the knife—then slipped toward the hut's back exit, heart pounding. I had hiding spots in the forest, places thick with undergrowth where I could disappear without a trace. If trouble was coming, I wasn't about to stick around and invite it in.
But then I saw them.
Five figures. Women. They were just beyond my hut, gathered in a small clearing. My first thought? Bandits.
They looked like adventurers—armed, dressed for travel—but something was off. One of them, a dark-haired woman, was slumped against a tree, blood seeping through her tunic. Another, a blonde with sharp, commanding eyes, was pressing a cloth against the wound, her expression tense. The rest stood guard, their hands twitching toward their weapons at every small noise.
They weren't looting. They weren't searching for prey.
They were trying to survive.
I hesitated, lingering in the shadows.
My first thought? Not my problem.
I could just slip away, leave them to deal with their own mess. People came and went. That's how life worked. That's how it had always worked for me.
But then my gaze flicked to the injured woman. The way her breaths came short and ragged, the way her grip on consciousness wavered.
I knew that look.
I knew what it was like to watch someone slip away and realize, in that moment, you couldn't do a damn thing about it.
A familiar bitterness rose in my throat. My grandfather had died on the day of my graduation—my last tie to a family I barely had. I had spent years learning from him, idolizing him, only for life to rip him away at the moment it was supposed to mean something.
And in this world? My parents had vanished two years ago.
No goodbyes. No closure. Just… gone.
So why was I hesitating now?
I exhaled sharply. I wasn't some noble-hearted hero, and I wasn't about to pretend otherwise. But if I could stop someone from feeling that same helplessness, even just a little, then maybe—just maybe—it was worth the trouble.
I stepped out of the shadows.
"Hey," I called out. "You guys need help or what?"
The reaction was instant.
All five of them spun toward me, weapons half-raised.
I lifted my hands slightly, showing I wasn't a threat. "Relax. I don't have a weapon."
The blonde—clearly the one in charge—narrowed her eyes. "Who are you?"
"Just some kid living in the woods," I replied, my gaze flickering toward the injured woman. "You're hurt, right? I've got some herbs. They might help."
A brief pause. Then the dark-haired woman groaned. "Just take the damn herbs."
I tossed the pouch over, and the blonde caught it easily. She inspected the contents before giving a slight nod. "These will help."
"Great," I muttered, already regretting getting involved. "You can use my hut for shelter too. Just… don't mess with my stuff."
One of them raised an eyebrow. "You live out here alone?"
I shook my head. "I live with my parents."
That made them pause. I could see the flicker of confusion in their eyes, the way they exchanged quick glances before the blonde asked, "Then… will they mind us staying here?"
"Nope."
I turned on my heel and started walking, knowing they'd follow.
As we neared the hut, I caught them glancing around, taking in the surroundings. They were probably realizing just how isolated this place was.
The moment they stepped inside; I saw their expressions shift.
The hut wasn't much. A crude wooden bed, a small fireplace, a rickety table with a few worn-out chairs—everything was either old, patched together, or on its last legs. The wind slipped through the cracks, carrying the scent of damp wood.
One of them frowned. "Uh… where are your parents?"
I sat down in my usual spot near the fire pit and stretched my arms behind my head. "Out hunting."
A beat of silence. Then, hesitantly, the blonde spoke again.
"When will they return?"
I smirked. "Dunno. It's been two years. I'm still waiting."
I thought it was funny. A tasteless little joke, sure, but after spending so much time alone, I figured a bit of dark humor wouldn't hurt.
They didn't laugh.
Instead, an awkward silence filled the room. A few of them shifted uncomfortably. The blonde's expression tightened ever so slightly, though she masked it well.
I sighed, rubbing the back of my head. Welp. Guess that joke didn't land.
"…Right." The blonde cleared her throat. "Let's get that wound treated."
The others immediately got to work, tending to their injured companion. I leaned back, watching quietly.
I had given them a place to stay, some herbs, and a bad joke.
That was about as much social interaction as I was willing to deal with today.
Tomorrow?
That was tomorrow's problem.