Fragments of the Past

The car ride home was quiet at first, filled only with the steady hum of the engine and the rhythmic clicking of the turn signal. The hero gazed out the window, watching the world rush by. It all looked familiar—yet distant, like a dream he couldn't quite place.

Everything felt awkward. The simplest things—clothing, shoes, even walking steadily—felt unfamiliar. It was as if he had to relearn how to exist in this body. Fortunately, his family was patient, guiding him through each step with gentle encouragement.

Leaving the hospital had been an experience in itself. The elevator doors had slid open with a soft chime, revealing a small, enclosed space. He had hesitated at the threshold, eyeing the smooth metal walls with suspicion.

Ellen had been by his side the whole way, her hand a reassuring presence on his arm. He remembered the way he had bolted down the hospital corridor a few days ago, too overwhelmed to notice the details. But now, with time to take it in, everything seemed… pristine. The floors gleamed, polished to perfection, without a single speck of dust. It was unlike anywhere he had ever been.

They passed a janitor methodically swiping a mop across the tiles, the scent of disinfectant lingering in the air.

"So that's how they keep it so clean," the hero mused, watching the way the man worked with practiced efficiency. He wanted to stop and examine everything—the strange contraption the janitor used, the subtle humming of the lights above—but his family was eager to leave.

"Come on, sweetheart," Ellen urged, smiling warmly as she guided him forward.

Reluctantly, he let himself be led away, filing the questions away for later. There was so much to learn.

The hero gazed out of the car window, taking in the unfamiliar world beyond. This thing he was in—something like a carriage—was called a car. But it was nothing like any carriage he had ever known. It was smooth, fast, and unbelievably comfortable.

Outside, the streets stretched endlessly, lined with towering buildings of glass and steel. People moved everywhere, walking purposefully, waiting at crosswalks, chatting on strange devices. He had never seen so many people gathered in one place at the same time. Even the empire's capital, Hauxen, with all its grandeur, paled in comparison.

He pressed his forehead lightly against the window, watching the blur of the city as they drove past. So much was different. So much to take in. Eventually, the weight of it all settled over him, and he let out a quiet breath. Not now. He would save the exploring for later. Right now, he just needed a moment to breathe.

Beside him, Ellen reached over and gently took his hand, her touch warm and reassuring.

"You okay, sweetheart?" she asked softly.

The hero opened his eyes, looking at her. The concern in her gaze made something in his chest tighten—not unpleasantly, but in a way he didn't quite understand.

He nodded, squeezing her hand back. "Yes. Just… taking it all in."

James glanced at them through the rearview mirror, his voice relaxed as he said, "No rush. Take your time. We'll help fill in the gaps."

The hero gave a small nod.

"It's so good to finally bring you home," Ellen said, her voice soft and full of warmth. "I know the hospital wasn't exactly comfortable."

The hero turned to her and nodded again. "Yes… I guess I'll have to get used to being home."

Andrea, sitting beside James, twisted around in her seat. "Yeah! Once you're home, I bet everything will start coming back! We have tons of pictures! Oh! And videos! You used to be so fast—like, really fast." She grinned. "Track and field champion!"

The hero blinked. "Track… and field?"

Andrea's excitement made her words spill out in every direction, but the hero could tell she was trying to lift the mood.

Ellen chuckled. "That's right. You started running in middle school. By high school, you had a shelf full of trophies."

"Trophies?" the hero echoed, trying to grasp the image. Did the people in this world practice heraldic symbols too? As a knight, he wasn't unfamiliar with such things—he'd won trophies of his own in battle.

"Oh, we still have them," James said with a smirk. "You were practically a local celebrity."

The hero was stunned. Maybe the original owner of this body wasn't so different from him after all.

Andrea huffed. "You could outrun everyone. Even me! And I trained so hard to catch up."

The hero raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite himself. "You?"

"I tried, okay? But you were too fast!" She crossed her arms. "It was kind of annoying."

A small laugh escaped the hero before he could stop it. It felt foreign, yet not unwelcome. Instantly, the mood in the car lightened.

—

By the time they arrived home two hours later, the hero hesitated at the doorstep.

The house stood before him—unfamiliar yet inviting. It was a cozy townhouse nestled in a quiet suburban street, with a neatly trimmed lawn and a small porch adorned with potted plants. Warm light spilled through the windows, casting a golden glow against the evening sky.

Home.

The thought felt foreign. His home was somewhere else—in another world, one under siege. What had become of it? Had the demons…? No. He refused to let his mind go there. His comrades were strong. They would fight. They would defend it. He had to believe that.

A gentle touch on his arm pulled him from his thoughts. Ellen smiled at him, reassuring.

"Tadaaa! Ladies and gentlemen, we have arrived at our humble abode," Andrea declared, sweeping into an exaggerated bow like a court jester.

The hero raised an eyebrow. It wasn't quite the customs he knew, but he understood what she was doing. He had seen her silent tears at the hospital. Now, not even a shadow of that sorrow remained. She was trying to be cheerful, to make things easier for him.

"Come on!" she urged, her grin unwavering. "Let's go inside!"

Stepping through the door was like trespassing into another man's memories.

A soft scent of vanilla hung in the air, warm and comforting. Framed photographs lined the walls—snapshots of birthdays, vacations, school events. Strangers' faces. And yet, there he was among them.

Andrea wasted no time grabbing a photo album from a nearby shelf. "Look at this one!" She flipped it open to an image of a younger Jack mid-sprint on a track, his expression fierce and focused. "You were a total beast."

Ellen laughed as she pointed to another picture. "And this was your birthday a few years ago." It showed Jack holding a cake, grinning while Andrea made bunny ears behind him.

The hero stared.

It was the original Jack—the face of the body he now inhabited. Brown eyes, brown hair. Just an average guy. But he looked… happy. The kind of happiness he rarely saw in his world. There, smiles were fleeting, weighed down by hardship. But here? People were light. Even in moments of struggle, they carried an unshaken belief in tomorrow.

A nudge on his shoulder snapped him out of his thoughts. James stood beside him, his expression kind. "We know it's a lot, but we'll help you remember. No pressure, alright?"

The hero nodded slowly. "Thanks…"

He wasn't sure if he'd ever feel like this life was truly his. But for now, he could try.

"Let's just get settled and let Jack rest, alright? It was a long ride from the hospital," James said, hoisting their bags from the trunk.

"Right, goodness—look at the time. It's almost dinner," Ellen mused, already heading toward the kitchen. She turned back to Jack with a warm smile. "You must be starving. Hospital food isn't exactly known for being the best."

The hero hesitated. "I, uh…"

Was hospital food supposed to be bad? It had tasted fine to him—delicious, even. What did that say about the food in this world? Was it even better?

"I'll eat whatever you make," he said stiffly, still unused to the easy warmth of their concern.

For a brief second, Ellen's expression faltered—just a flicker of something unreadable—but she recovered just as quickly, her smile never fading.

"Then I'll make one of your favorites."

—

The hero lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The soft glow of the streetlamp filtered through the drawn curtains, casting faint patterns across the room. Outside, the night was still, interrupted only by the occasional bark of a distant dog.

Finally—some time alone. Time to think.

At the hospital, solitude had been rare. Nurses and doctors checked in constantly, and his family was always nearby. Even his so-called teammates had visited often.

His thoughts drifted back to dinner. It had been simple, but Ellen's cooking was leagues beyond anything he'd had at the hospital. His reaction must have given him away, because Andrea had burst into laughter and teased him relentlessly for it.

A small smile tugged at his lips. The warmth of this home—of these people—had felt suffocating at first. But maybe… maybe it wasn't so bad.

Was this what it meant to have a family?

He remembered his comrades back in the other world, the way they fought not just out of duty, but for the people waiting for them at home. He had fought too, but it had always been because he was supposed to. Because that was how he was raised.

Maybe now he understood. Maybe that was why they were willing to give everything.

Before heading to bed, Ellen had hugged him.

"Thanks for coming back to me, sweetheart."

The hero's breath hitched. He didn't know how to react. Guilt crept up his chest, heavy and unshakable. If only she knew the truth—that her real son was gone, and he was nothing more than an impostor wearing his face.

Still, he hesitated only a moment before patting her back, awkward but sincere.

"Goodnight, Jack," she murmured. "Just call me if you need anything, alright?"

He felt the lingering warmth of her embrace even after she left. He let it settle over him, deciding, just for tonight, to be in the moment.

The house fell into silence. When the world outside was completely still, he exhaled slowly, closed his eyes, and focused on his breathing.

Time to be serious.

As a knight, he had been trained to harness energy from his surroundings, drawing it into his body in a cycle known as mana circulation. When focused, this energy could strengthen the body, forming aura—an invisible force that enhanced recovery, strength, and agility.

Back in the hospital, the moment he had woken up, he had instinctively drawn on aura to strengthen himself. That was why he had been able to move, even run, right away. A normal person in his condition never could have managed it.

But it hadn't been easy. The unfamiliarity of this body had made mana circulation sluggish, where once it had been second nature. Back in his world, channeling mana was as effortless as breathing. Here, every attempt had been strained, frustrating. Still, even a little bit had helped. His recovery had been unnaturally fast—his body was nearly as good as new, save for some lingering stiffness.

But that wasn't enough.

Call it instinct, but without the steady flow of mana coursing through him, he felt exposed. Vulnerable. Incomplete.

That's why, every night, when the world was quiet and no one was watching, he trained.

He wanted to reach the first stage as soon as possible. It was the foundation—where one could feel mana settling within the mind, solidifying its presence.

The practice was rooted in the teachings of Arkun, the patron deity of knights, who preached that stillness of the mind must come before taking up arms. Rushing ahead, skipping steps, and forcing aura prematurely would only cause more harm in the long run.

For him, it was even more crucial. He had already known the feeling of wielding aura. If he wasn't careful, his body might instinctively try to draw too much, overextending itself before it was ready.

Step by step. No shortcuts.

The hero inhaled deeply, focusing inward.

In his mind's eye, he pictured the energy around him, unseen but present, drawn into his lungs with every breath. He guided it through his body—through his veins, his muscles—until it reached his mind, where thought and will resided.

He repeated the cycle, again and again, careful not to let his concentration waver.

All sensations rushed through him like a raging river, surging through his mind, tumbling thoughts like boulders along its currents. The river roared, wild and unrelenting, until it reached the edge—plunging over a waterfall, crashing into the depths below.

Then, silence.

A single drop of water rippled across the stillness, its soft plink echoing in the quiet expanse of his mind.

He had done it. His mind was steady—clear as a tranquil lake. Now, he just had to—

Something shattered.

Heat.

Swirling flames.

Suffocating darkness.

A voice. Desperate. Calling out through the chaos.

"Jack!"

The hero turned toward the sound.

A man stood there, reaching for him.

"DAD!"

The cry tore from his throat—high-pitched, raw, young.

The hero jolted. This… wasn't his memory.

It was Jack's.

And the world around him was burning.