The First Bloom 46

Jianyu blinked.

Or at least, he thought he did.

The world around him wavered, unsteady, like ink bleeding through wet paper. For a fleeting moment, he wasn't sure if he had truly returned or if he was still trapped—still caught between past and present, between memory and reality.

His breath hitched. His fingers twitched at his sides, seeking something—anything—solid. But the weight of the past still clung to him, thick and suffocating, like a phantom pressing against his skin. The echo of distant voices lingered in his ears, fading yet refusing to disappear entirely.

Then, like a cord snapping taut, the present reasserted itself.

The cold air in the room. The muted glow of the system's interface. The dull ache settling into his bones.

He is back.

Back in his body. Back in the now.