Somehow, I have obtained this young body—Arsta’s body. A boy filled with potential, a bright child with eyes full of hope. His dream was to become a knight, to protect the citizens, and most of all, his family.

  And in the blink of an eye, I stole everything from him.

  His dreams, his life, his beloved family… all of them now rest in the palm of my hands. And all I feel is guilt for inhabiting his body.

  "Stay with us," his mother whispers as she holds this body dearly, her hands trembling. Beside her, a bearded man—his father—wraps his arms around them both, his gaze heavy with unspoken sorrow. The mother gently caresses her stomach as her other hand on my hair. They remain like this for minutes, then for an hour. It almost feels as if they could stay this way for eternity.

  I do not speak. I do not dare. A single word from me could shatter their fragile soce.

  Yet I am guilty—guilty of stealing this body and keeping them imprisoned in a delusion. They believe I am their son. But I am not. And no matter how much I try, I cannot see them as my family.

  Despite my hesitation, the words slip from my lips.

  "Who are you?"

  The parents gasp. Their faces tighten with disbelief, unable to grasp the reality before them. But then, after a brief pause, they smile.

  "We are your family, my dear. Your dearest family," his mother says softly.

  His father gently rubs her shoulder. "It seems we’ll have to start again from scratch. Let me tell you about yourself, Arsta."

  Parents know their child best. As they recount Arsta’s life, their love for him becomes painfully evident. He was full of hope and ambition, a boy who longed to protect his country. And yet, here I am—I destroyed it all.

  He was smart, pyful, and kind. A little grumpy at times, but that was part of his charm. To the younger children, he was like an elder brother. To the elders, he was still a child at heart. He was the vilge’s favorite.

  But everything changed on the day of his Appraisal Ceremony.

  That was when they discovered the truth—he was a fated child of destiny. His future was woven into a grand prophecy, destined for glory. A hero. A hero who would one day rise to fight an impending, unknown threat.

  Since that day, his life had never been the same. He became a target, hunted from all directions. And then, one day... his family found him.

  Bleeding.

  Barely breathing.

  At death’s door.

  For a week, he y unconscious, hovering between life and death. And then, miraculously, he woke up.

  There was nothing in this world that could compare to the joy his family felt at that moment. Their beloved son had returned to them.

  But it was not him who woke up. It was me.

  And I felt nothing but emptiness—like staring into the abyss.

  I want to die. I crave it. I have seen something beyond death, something I long to return to. I cannot describe it—whether it was the bliss of nothingness or the radiance of the divine—but I yearn for it.

  Yet after hearing their story, I can no longer bring myself to do it. Not when I have seen the joy in their eyes. Not when I know the devastation they would feel if I left them again.

  For now, I will stay. I will observe.

  Perhaps, in time, I will find a reason to keep living.

  Or a reason to finally end it all.