David was almost to the surface of the golden lake.

  A deafening screech tore through the tranquility, violating the sanctity of this ethereal realm.

  The void fractured, a jagged crack forming in space itself. W

  ith a thundering roar like shattering glass, the crack expanded, breaking into a massive hole that revealed an entirely different world. On the other side stood a dimly lit marble chamber, where a long table sat at the center.

  Around it, five figures loomed: giants, their presence commanding and immense.

  One of them, a veiled woman of gold, turned to face the opening. Her movements were slow and deliberate, yet there was an effortless grace in her towering frame.

  She approached, crossing through the unstable tear like a common door. Though her features were obscured, her gaze seemed to pierce through him. She reached out and plucked him from the golden strands, cradling his entire existence. Her touch was paradoxical—gentle but absolute, like the weight of the universe compressed into a single moment.

  David felt small, insignificant, and so inexplicably cared for. For a fleeting second, he thought he heard a whisper, not with his ears but in his soul: “May you be worth it.”

  With her other hand, she cut through the air, her gesture fluid, delicate, yet sending ripples across the world. A second tear opened, this one precise, smooth, revealing a young girl’s face.

  She lay writhing, her breath ragged and shallow, her face wrought in terrible pain. David felt himself drawn upward, toward the veil.

  The giantess paused briefly, as if examining him—or perhaps deciding something—and then, like blowing a kiss, she propelled him forward.

  The world stitched itself together behind him as he crossed through. The golden threads, the giants, the vast void—all of it vanished, leaving only the girl’s anguished face. His vision blurred, his consciousness faded, and the dreams began.

  His senses returned, raw and disoriented, as if the remnants of his being crystalized anew. The comforting warmth, the prickling of cold air, and the rhythm of something distant yet near.

  Light and shadow flickered in shifting patterns, their meanings just out of reach. The stream of his consciousness was abstract, untethered, but undeniably alive.

  There was a rhythm to it—a cycle of tension and release, of yearning and comfort. At times, he felt bound, unable to move, yet secure in a way that made no sense. Shadows came, heavy with sorrow and regret, but they were chased away by something brighter.

  Softness enveloped him, like an embrace without form, a sensation of safety so complete it felt unreal.

  Each time he dreamt of Marie, the ache surged, sharp and all-consuming, but each time, it lingered just a tiny bit less. Gentle waves of unconditional love swept it away, softening the edges of his despair. It was as though unseen hands were stitching his broken soul back together, piece by piece.

  He didn’t understand what was happening. The darkness filling the space between dreams was vast, confusing, but it wasn’t timeless, and it kept shrinking.

  And then, the dreams sharpened. He started to recognize patterns of sound and emotion. Every now and then a weird prickling would fill his body, intrusive, but not unpleasant. A force surging through him in waves.

  It was a long, long dream, but slowly, the puzzle unraveled, and the strings connected. A burning heat grew through him. The webs of emotion became more real, tangling his mind. Shapes, previously so detached, became a part of him. He felt himself becoming more lucid; grounded.

  And one day, without warning, the dreams stopped – He broke through illusions, his soul gasping for air. Pain and heat slammed into him, white-hot and unbearable. With the worst headache of his life, he woke up.

  David opened his eyes. He immediately felt that something was amiss but couldn’t quite place it. He looked at the wooden-and-straw ceiling over him and grew confused. It felt deeply familiar, yet utterly foreign.

  He pulled up his elbows to sit himself up, but the prickling of hay made him pause. A weird, straw bed. My bed. Never before has he experienced being so intimately accustomed to an object yet experiencing it for the first time.

  Did he somehow survive the suicide attempt and went into a coma? What was up with all those dreams? David wanted answers, but his body felt at peace in a contrarian manner.

  There was no physical rush or anxiety in him.

  Once he was sitting, he looked around. The room was unkempt, while feeling cozy. On his right there was a fireplace, extinguished but full of hot embers, together with an iron grate for cooking. He noticed some wooden furniture like a dresser, a table, a few chairs. They weren’t in the best shape. On his left there was a sizeable bed, much larger than his, in both length and width, but also made mostly of straw and fur.

  The room had windows protected by shutters and the wooden construction had many holes haphazardly patched with clay and straw. It was a far stretch from his modern apartment, or any apartment he ever saw, for that matter.

  Home. He knew it beyond any shadow of a doubt. And he also knew that it was empty. Someone was missing from the room. Who was it? It wasn’t Marie, she was gone. He knew that.

  And yet there was supposed to be someone important here. His confusion only grew deeper. Sudden thoughts of his deceased beloved pained him, but oh so differently than they used to. The void didn’t threaten to consume him anymore, and yet he couldn’t understand why. Why did it suddenly feel like an old scar?

  Then the doors opened, and a young blonde woman stepped through. It’s her! From the dream! The realization struck him like a lightning bolt, the image from his fractured memories overlaying itself on her face.

  She seemed to be in her mid-twenties, a good few years younger than him and objectively quite attractive. She had a certain air about her, that put David at ease. Yes, she was the missing element of this room.

  This was her home after all. The unknown-yet-familiar woman wiped the sweat of her forehead, brushing aside a few strands of her curly blonde hair, which had caught on her tanned face. Her light, colorful dress was patchworked with various materials, worn and mended with care. It was sleeveless and hugged her frame snugly - she wore it daily.

  David paused on that thought. Why do I know it? He wondered, his mind scrambling for answers. How do I know it? His head grew hotter as he traced the information. His body knew her. Aura was her name.

  Unaware of his tribulations, the woman beamed a full smile towards him and spoke. “Lo kieńco wostelo, Marco!”

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  David did not recognize the language she used, yet he understood what she meant. “You’re finally up, Marco!” was the gist of it. He wanted to respond but couldn’t quite put his thoughts into words.

  The language felt foreign, and it didn’t exactly roll off his tongue. Before he could figure out what to do, he found himself patting his stomach and pleading in a high-pitched tone. “I’m hungry!”

  “Oh, you feel better enough to eat already? I’ll whip something up for you.”

  David watched as the woman danced around the room, her steps quick but deliberate. She stopped briefly in front of a shelf of brass instruments - Those didn’t match the ran down furniture nor the simplicity of the room. She snatched a few tools and continued.

  Her hands worked deftly, slicing the odd vegetables at astonishing speed and precision. When she added a pinch of dried herbs, the air filled with a scent he couldn’t place—invigorating and unfamiliar.

  David frowned. She wasn’t just an ordinary peasant. Her movements carried an unspoken confidence, like a professional chef. A mastery that seemed… out of place.

  She caught him staring and smiled, her tired eyes, so foreign on her young face, softening. The warmth of her expression filled the room, and David felt it wash over him as well. You’re not her. Stop.

  As she cooked, her shoulders sagged slightly. “I still miss some dust…” she muttered to herself. “I’ll figure it out in time, I always do. I’ll show them soon.”

  There was something he could recognize—that same tone he’d heard from young professionals in his old life. She believed in her skills while no one else did. He didn’t need to know the details to see it – he could already place her somewhere: she was probably good at what she did, but her skill wasn’t well utilized for some reason.

  I wonder what’s her profession. His body remembered her being around some colorful fluids. Maybe she’s a dyer? A reasonable guess, judging from all the discolored spots on her dress. Behind a smiling facade, David the engineer was trying to analyze every single bit of her.

  As contents of the pot started to boil, the woman came over towards the bed with a bucket of fresh water. She grabbed David under his armpits and… Lifted him? How strong is this woman?

  She pulled David out from under his blanket, then proceeded to delicately wipe his face with a wet rag. Once she was done, she lovingly caressed his head. Her hand felt unnaturally large as it touched him. The warmth of her touch seeped into his skin, disarming him in a way that felt comforting, yet devastatingly invasive. So much so in fact, that it raised all the alarm bells in his mind.

  His head tilted into her palm before he realized what was happening. He stiffened, willing himself to pull away, but the soothing sensation had already lulled him into stillness. It wasn’t fair! His body betrayed him! It took all of his effort and then some to not suddenly burst out in anger.

  It was at this point, that he really started paying attention to his own body. He was tiny – his arms were weak and frail, his legs were short. Huh.

  For lack of a better choice, he let the woman handle him as she pleased, and meanwhile, the food finished cooking.

  David took his first steps uncertainly, staggering as if he just finished a month of constant bike riding. The lack of coordination and control frightened him, but he pressed on. With every smack of his soft feet on the abrasive floor, he was getting used to the sensation.

  Finally, he got into one of the chairs. Beneath him, his legs swung rhythmically in anticipation, showcasing a primal carefreeness he wasn’t even aware of. But it was for good reason - a wooden plate full of hot food soon found its way in front of him.

  “Now be careful, it’s very hot! Can you eat by yourself? “

  “Sure can.” Both parts of him replied in unison, if for different reasons.

  “Good! Mommy has a lot of work to do.” The woman said.

  David flinched, his fork halted half-way. Pardon me? The words nearly burst out of him, but he clamped his lips shut in the nick of time.

  He resumed eating. Luckily, she left the room before she could have noticed his stunned expression. He was around halfway through his meal when he finished processing her words.

  M-m-mommy? He froze mid-bite and the absurdity fully kicked in. My mother died 19 years ago. Along with the memory, his mind filled with discomfort and resentment, churning in his guts – He was forced to live an orphan, having no one to care for before he met Marie. It felt as if the woman stomped his wounds. He hid his face in his hands.

  Have I done anything to deserve this? No.

  And yet, he found himself eating weird, hot potatoes in some medieval-peasant-esque hut, with a woman few years his junior calling herself his mommy. His head was ringing, his ears hot. If only Marie were here…

  A vision of her smile, now lost, was enough to get even the carefree body anxious. His breathing quickened, his eyes watered and his chest was growing tighter. Oh no.

  A small whimper escaped his throat despite his best efforts. He felt himself losing control, base instincts taking over. In seconds, he was on the verge of wailing. Breathe in. Breathe out. Slowly. Count to 10. His nose filled with foreign smell of spices unknown – David grounded himself by fully focusing on them. I cannot afford to have a panic attack now.

  His past life felt vivid but distant, like a story told long ago. Reincarnation? A child with memories of another life? The profound questions swirled in his head, but his body strongly reminded him of reality by injecting quite the contrasting thought: the food was getting cold, and he was hungry.

  His rational mind struggled to comprehend, but his body quickly returned to calm. His instincts told him that everything was as it should be. Even the meal, as simple as it was – a far stretch from his last supper - brought him joy that made no sense to his mind.

  It felt a lot like piloting a machine. His body mindlessly shoveled the food as he tried to rationalize his predicament. In the time it took him to finish the meal, he came to another, seemingly safe, conclusion – He was lost.

  He would have cried, but the risk - and fear - of losing control, of giving in to the alien instincts kept him silent. The last time he lost control, he ended his life. Never again.

  He sat there, over the empty plate, his legs now swinging more slowly. David’s most pressing concern was to hide. If he failed and his secret was found out… Would that woman still look at him so fondly? Or would she be the first to light the stake under him? Maybe leave him in a deep forest for wolves to tear him apart? Abuse him for his knowledge?

  That brought a different issue to mind - he didn’t quite understand how a family is supposed to work, so acting out the part of a child could be troublesome.

  He had lost his parents to a drunken driver and was orphaned at the age of 8, similar to his current physical age.

  Even though the orphanage in which he lived until he reached the age of 16 was a fine place where he was well taken care of, it ultimately had quite a different dynamic.

  Being in a unique situation tickled his ego and was, despite his best efforts, quite the pleasant sensation, but it also brought a premonition of danger.

  After all, it was just a single dream ago that he was terribly hurt, and it would be a sick cosmic joke if he got reincarnated, just to get the same sort of ending. There was one saving grace to it all, at least – He wasn’t sure whether it was his roleplay practice or the internal disconnect, but his interior barely showed on his face.

  He had time to think.

  He didn’t feel like letting life break him anymore. He lost his love, but he would carry her memory – And he would do his best to never be so helpless again. First things first – He would figure out how to approach this ‘family’ situation and then move from there.

  It took the woman some time to return, and when she did, she was visibly winded. Her clothes were smeared with charcoal here and there and her cheeks were vibrant red. Putting her hands on her hips, she eyed the empty plate with a satisfied look.

  “You done? Good. You can come help me out, then.”

  Oh-ho. Play-chores or child labor?

  David couldn’t help being cynical, a stark difference from how he used to behave around Marie. But could anyone blame him? To give himself time and space to figure it all out, he decided to behave as he imagined a child would.

  “Sure!” He screamed energetically, then jumped off the chair. With sheer will he stopped himself from looking unsteady again.

  The woman was surprised but clearly happy to see it. David, his steps straighter now, followed her through the door.

  He took one long look at the world before him... and everything started spinning.

  His nose was assaulted by a mix of foul smells, his ears picked up unfamiliar chirping and the horizon… The horizon warped in front of him.

  He struggled to make sense of what he saw, inducing the strongest case of vertigo he had ever felt – His stomach tumbled, and for a moment, his entire world seemed to turn upside down.

  It overwhelmed him in seconds. He subsequently collapsed, to the horror of his caretaker.

  Unfamiliar time, place, and people. What would you do in that situation?