The light was there.
Small, fragile, dancing in the void like a candle placed in the mouth of a storm.
And despite all the darkness, despite the desolation that surrounded him from every direction… he did not hesitate.
He stepped toward it.
The light did not promise safety, nor was it even entirely real. It was closer to an illusion… an echo of a lost memory, yet it gleamed despite all that had been lost.
With every step he took, the ground beneath his feet changed. It was no longer sticky like living tissue, but dry, cracked—like dead skin trying to scream.
The void around him groaned, not with sound, but with feeling. Sorrow… isolation… fear.
They gathered in the air, pouring into his chest like cold drops.
But he did not stop.
The closer he got to the light, the lighter his body became, as if something was peeling off him layer by layer. As if the darkness itself was devouring his burdens… or his memories.
Suddenly… he heard a voice.
"Stop."
The voice came from behind, strangely familiar… but he didn't turn.
"I said stop."
He froze.
Then slowly… he turned.
And he saw him.
Not a shadow, not a mirage—a man.
A man. Same height, same build… same features.
As if he were looking into a mirror—but a distorted one, one that reflected pain instead of reflection.
"Who… are you?" he asked, though deep inside, he already knew.
"I am what you buried," the other answered, eyes void of light. "I am you… before you forgot."
He wanted to deny it. To scream. To say it was a lie. But he couldn't.
The other version stepped closer.
"This light won't lead you to salvation, but to who you were before you were forgotten."
He shook his head. "I want to know. Even if pain awaits me there."
"You'll regret it."
"Maybe."
The other came closer. Until they stood face to face.
"Then let me remind you."
And as he said it, he reached out… and touched his forehead.
Everything collapsed.
He saw images.
Falling. Screaming. Smoke. A city collapsing. Men shouting, women fleeing, children being slaughtered.
Then he saw himself… holding a sword… running through flames.
But in that memory, he had a name.
He had a shadow.
And his heart was beating.
Then he saw betrayal.
He saw those he thought were brothers stabbing him in the back.
He saw the face of a woman crying, pushing him away from a small child.
Then he saw himself falling from a great height… falling… and never reaching the ground.
Only then did he understand.
That light… was not salvation.
It was memory.
It was the truth he tried to escape, and so memory cast him into this mysterious world… stripped of identity.
He opened his eyes, finding himself kneeling on the ground.
The other—his reflection—was gone.
But the light… had not disappeared.
It was still there.
And despite all he remembered, despite the pain tearing through his heart, he reached out toward it.
And touched the light.
The touch wasn't gentle.
It was agonizing.
As if he had placed his hand on a burning blade.
But he didn't pull away.
He surrendered to the pain… and drifted.
His eyes opened once more.
But he wasn't in the corridor.
Nor in the hall.
Nor in the city.
He was… in a room.
A dim gray light slipped through high windows.
The walls were covered in writings unlike any language he knew.
And in the center of the room… there was something.
A mirror.
But it didn't reflect his image… it showed something else.
A child.
A small child, sitting in the corner of a dark place, arms wrapped around his knees… crying.
He approached the mirror, slowly.
The child looked up.
And his eyes… were his eyes.
"I… was a child?" he asked himself, voice trembling.
But the child didn't answer.
He only pointed at him… then at the wall.
He turned.
And saw another door.
This time… it was not made of metal, nor wood, nor flesh.
It was made of light.
Pure… and painful to look at.
He reached out, and entered.
What he found behind the door was not a world.
It was a feeling.
It exploded inside him, engulfing his entire being.
He felt guilt. Loneliness. Loss.
But he also felt a power… that had been dormant within him all along.
As if his identity, his name, his past—even his pain—were keys to a strength beyond imagination.
And he heard a voice.
Not from outside.
But from within.
"You are no longer dead. No longer forgotten. You… have been born again."
He opened his eyes.
And he was standing in the middle of the city without ground.
But everything had changed.
The pillars had begun to collapse.
The mist was fading.
And a great scream—one that shook the very fabric of space—burst from the heart of the city.
Then… a new gate appeared.
A gate… not of salvation.
But of trial.
He didn't know if this was the end of the journey… or its true beginning.
But he felt something he hadn't felt since the story began.
Courage.
And he moved forward.