I woke up in a room that felt like it belonged to royalty. No—royalty seemed too small a word. It was sacred. Like the sort of place myths whispered about but mortals never stepped foot inside.
The ceiling above me wasn't just high—it was cathedral high, vaulting upward like the heavens themselves had dipped a hand into the architecture. Golden patterns swept across it in delicate arcs, catching the morning sun as it poured in through the massive window beside me. The light didn't simply illuminate—it kissed everything it touched.
I blinked slowly, unsure if I was still dreaming.
The bed beneath me was so soft I sank into it like it wanted to cradle me. The sheets were silk, cool and smooth, infused with the scent of lavender and something warmer, sweeter—like fresh honey and wild lilies. The air itself felt purified, untouched by time. Every breath I took filled my lungs with a clarity that felt otherworldly.
It wasn't just a bedroom. It was a sanctuary.
I sat up slowly, muscles stiff from disuse but unburdened by pain. The world around me remained quiet, as though holding its breath.
And then the memories returned.
The crowd.
The light.
The wings.
The Blessing.
My hand shot to my chest, fingers splaying over my sternum, half-expecting to feel heat still radiating from within—but there was nothing. Only skin, cool to the touch. My heart beat steadily beneath it, quieter now, as if calmed by something far greater than sleep.
No pain.
No pressure.
Only stillness.
I swung my legs off the bed, bare feet sinking into a carpet so plush it muffled even my heartbeat. With quiet steps, I crossed the marble floor and approached the tall window.
Then the view stole my breath.
Beyond the glass—and the open arch that led onto a wide terrace—sprawled a city unlike anything I had seen before. Snowy mountains stood tall on the horizon like silent sentinels, guarding a land painted in greens and whites. Below, sweeping forests lined the edge of what must have been the Holy Capital, and within it, towers of white stone gleamed like celestial beacons. Domes shimmered under the early sun. Cathedrals rose like monuments to light itself, their spires slicing the sky.
And people—so many people—moved below like a flowing river. Courtyards thrummed with life, their marble floors glowing faintly in the light. Flags stirred on tall poles. Bells rang distantly, and the sound seemed to hum through my bones.
And just beyond my reach was a grand terrace.
The balcony stretched outward, wide enough to host a gathering. The railings were carved with vines and wings, looping in elegant spirals of white silver. I stepped through the arch and into the open air.
Cold.
Fresh.
Crisp.
The wind carried scents—roses, lilies, fresh rain on stone. The sunlight warmed my face without burning, as though the sky itself had bent to caress me gently.
'This room alone is probably worth more than my entire life back on Earth.'
That thought hit harder than expected. I closed my eyes briefly, letting it settle. It wasn't bitterness I felt. It was… distance. Like standing on one end of a bridge that had already begun to crumble behind me.
I turned back inside, letting my curiosity lead me.
There was more to this room than beauty. A fireplace sat nestled beneath an arched mantle carved with winged figures. A grand bookshelf, lined with scrolls and tomes, hugged one wall. There was even a vanity—its silver-framed mirror catching light like a pool of stars—and a wardrobe so large it could have been a hidden chamber in disguise.
And inside that wardrobe… decadence.
Robes, cloaks, tunics. Every piece of clothing shimmered faintly, embroidered with gold thread and adorned with gemstones I didn't dare touch. Each outfit looked ceremonial, sacred—meant for processions or rituals, not everyday life. It was like the closet of a holy figure.
But none of it compared to the mirror at the edge of the wardrobe.
It stood nearly as tall as me, framed with silver branches and crystal buds. The glass shimmered faintly—not with magic, but with clarity so pure it felt enchanted.
I stepped toward it, heart beating faster with every inch.
And then I saw him.
I froze.
The boy in the reflection wasn't Jake. Not the old me. Not the boy from Earth who lived on cheap coffee, dreams, and deadlines.
His—my—skin was pale, smooth, and flawless. No blemishes. No scars. Just a soft glow, like moonlight on marble. My hair, which had once been dull brown and forgettable, now glinted with warm chestnut tones interwoven with fine golden strands that danced under the light.
But the eyes—
The eyes were what unraveled me.
Bright blue. But not cold or hard. They were deep and luminous, like glacial lakes under the morning sun. They looked... calm. Like they had seen something beyond this world and come back softer, not harder.
I leaned in. Touched the mirror.
The reflection did the same.
'Is this really me?'
The boy's jawline was soft. His cheeks held a faint flush. His features looked untouched by time or sorrow. Pure, innocent—like someone who hadn't yet known true pain.
But I had. I remembered pain.
And that's what made it feel so surreal.
Even though I'd known I was reincarnated… even though I'd felt the changes in my body, this was the first time I saw them. The first time I faced the reality that I was someone else now.
Yesha.
That was my name now.
The Saint.
My fingers curled slowly against the mirror. A strange ache grew behind my ribs—soft, but persistent. Like a farewell I'd never spoken. Not to a person. To a version of me that had died quietly, without fanfare, beneath hospital lights.
But beneath that ache… awe.
Wonder.
'Who was this boy? And why… me?'
Before I could answer, the silence broke.
A soft click as the door opened.
I turned away from the mirror, startled.
Three people entered—two attendants, and a woman dressed in flowing robes that shimmered faintly like woven light. Her presence felt immediately commanding, even without a word.
All three paused when they saw me standing.
One of the attendants gasped quietly, his hand flying to his chest.
"You're awake—!" the woman exclaimed, stepping forward quickly. Her voice was warm but tinged with alarm. "Please, don't exert yourself. You fainted after... after the oracle."
'Oracle?'
The word twisted in my mind. I frowned, lips parting, but before I could say anything, all three bowed deeply before me.
"We were told that your miracle was seen throughout the Holy Capital," she said, looking up at me with reverence I didn't understand. "But none expected you to cast such a divine blessing on your first day."
She paused, voice softening further. "The moment you collapsed, the entire empire was shaken. You've only just awakened, Young Saint. Please, allow us to care for you."
I stood still.
Young Saint.
The words felt like thunder in my ears.
So the light I saw—the wings, the warmth—it wasn't a hallucination.
And they saw it too?
I glanced down at my hands again. They didn't look powerful. They didn't feel divine.
But they believed.
The woman smiled at my stunned silence, kneeling slowly with grace that made my breath catch. "You are the Saint, Your Holiness. You need not understand. The divine acts through you."
I swallowed hard.
"I… I didn't know," I whispered.
The other attendant stepped forward gently, her voice calm. "You were unconscious for nearly two days. We tended to you with utmost care."
The third bowed slightly. "There were traces of dirt and dried blood on you… but not a single wound. Your garments were soaked in sacred light. We preserved what we could."
The woman in robes placed her hand over her chest, eyes kind. "We remained by your side all this time. We could not risk your divine vessel being left alone."
Vessel.
Saint.
Oracle.
I didn't know what any of it meant—not truly. But the weight of their belief settled onto my shoulders like a cloak I hadn't asked for.
I didn't feel like a saint.
I didn't feel like someone holy.
I just felt like a boy who had died once—and somehow been given a second life in a world that already worshipped him.
And I had no idea what to do with that.