Blood. It pooled beneath him like ink, soaking through the fabric of his shirt, warm against his skin.
Aiden couldn't move. Couldn't even breathe right.
Had he jumped? Or had he fallen?
He didn't know. His mind was too fogged. His vision blurry.
All he knew was that he was dying.
Seventeen. That was it. A lifetime of nothing but scraped dignity, forgotten birthdays, and cold meals. No family who'd care about him, no friends who'd look back, no future to run toward. And now, no chance to fix it.
Even his death was miserable.
He let the cold take him.
Air hit his lungs. Hot and dry.
Aiden's eyes snapped open. For a moment, panic clawed up his throat — he had survived the fall? Was this a hospital? Was this what shock felt like?
But no — the ceiling above him was not plaster or sterile tiles. It was cloth. Worn, sun-bleached fabric rippling with the breeze. A tent?
He slowly sat up. The heat smacked him in the face, heavy and relentless. Sweat beaded instantly at his brow. His hands trembled as he scanned the space — rough rugs beneath him, wooden beams, no electricity, no machines. A small brass lantern flickered in the corner.
Its definitely not a hospital he thought.
He stood, legs shaking, his body light — too light. A rush of dizziness hit him, but he forced himself toward the large clay barrel at the edge of the tent.
Water. Actual water.
Without thinking, he dipped both hands and splashed the cool liquid against his face. Relief washed over him, but something felt off. His hands were smaller, paler. The texture of his skin was different. He looked down and caught his reflection rippling on the surface.
And froze.
The face staring back was not his.
Blond hair, sun-touched and wild. Crimson eyes like hot embers. A scar just below the left eye that Aiden knew for a fact he'd never had. He stumbled back, knocking over a stool and hitting the edge of the barrel, sloshing water everywhere.
"No. No no no—what the hell is this?"
He spun in place, heart thudding like a drum. This wasn't just somewhere strange — this wasn't his body. This wasn't real.
Did I transmigrate?
The thought came uninvited, insane but... what other explanation was there?
His thoughts were cut off when the tent flap opened suddenly. A small girl rushed in — dark-skinned, wrapped in layers of red and black cloth, wide amber eyes locking onto him. She shouted something in a language he couldn't understand, her voice high with urgency.
Aiden stumbled back again, hands raised instinctively. "Wait—wait, I don't understand—"
But the girl was already gone, vanishing through the flap like a desert wind.
Moments later, she returned — and this time, she wasn't alone.
A man stepped in behind her.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Cloaked in black robes with red trim. A curved blade hung from his belt, and his face was unreadable under the shadow of his hood. The way he moved was calm.
He said something to Aiden. A firm sentence in the same alien tongue.
Aiden backed away again. "I don't know what you're saying."
The man took a step forward.
Aiden hit the barrel again, water sloshing at his feet. His breath came in sharp, ragged gasps, and then — a pain.
White-hot pain.
A migraine exploded behind his eyes, dropping him to his knees. He clutched his skull, gasping as images, sounds, voices flooded his mind — memories not his own.
Rituals. A desert stretching beyond all sight.
His name — not Aiden — Ezra.
Ezra of the Naph Tribe. The Young "Light".
The girl: Tima. His sister.
The man: Rael. Advisor, protector...
The memories came in flashes, like shattered mirrors reflecting two lives at once.
And then the pain stopped.
He blinked, chest heaving. The world slowly came back into focus.
Rael — that was his name — stood before him now, hand extended.
Aiden hesitated.
But he reached out.
Their palms met. A calloused hand gripping a shaking one. Rael pulled him up in one smooth motion, studying him with unreadable eyes in his expression.
Still dazed, Aiden allowed himself to be led back toward the cot — the same one he'd woken on.
He sat, breath slowly calming. The desert wind whistled faintly through the tent seams.
Rael spoke again — but this time, Aiden understood.
"The heat must've struck you harder than we thought," Rael said, kneeling beside the bed. "You fainted before the rite finished."
Aiden's mouth parted.
The words had come through as if he'd always known them. The language, the tone, the meaning. All of it. Ezra's memories had flooded more than just faces — they had rewired his understanding.
He looked at Tima. Her small fingers clutched the edge of the cot. Her gaze held hope.
"You're really back?" she whispered.
Aiden swallowed hard. "I... yeah."
His voice cracked — not with dehydration, but the weight of two lives crashing into one. He didn't know how to be Ezra. But he was Ezra now. And someone — somewhere — had chosen him to walk in this boy's place.
Rael stood. "The elders await your word. The rites will begins soon."
"Rites?"
"Yes, Young Light," Rael said. "And now, yhey await you to speak. I know it must be difficult for you to do but its the tradition."
Aiden's fingers curled in the fabric of his robe. Red and black. The colors of the Naph. The title "Young Light" echoed in his head like a curse.
He looked once more at his hands.
They trembled a little bit.
I just died a moment ago, and now i have to speak to some elders i still don't know nothing about this world, the best i can do is to do what they ask me and not raise any suspicion for now.
Rael waited, arms crossed behind his back like a soldier ready to escort a prince — or perhaps a prisoner. Tima watched in silence, eyes flickering with something between worry and wonder.
Aiden stood slowly.
His legs still wobbled beneath him, and sweat clung to his back, but he straightened. There was no time to ask questions, no pause to figure things out. Whoever Ezra had been, whatever he meant to these people — they were expecting him to wear that name like a crown.
The Young Light.
He wasn't ready. But he couldn't afford to look unsure.
"Lead the way," Aiden said quietly.
Rael gave a short nod and pulled back the flap of the tent. Blinding sun spilled in like molten gold, the heat immediate and ferocious. Aiden squinted, one hand instinctively raised to shield his face.
Outside, the desert stretched wide and wild. Rolling dunes, windswept and harsh, shimmered under the rising sun. Distant figures moved in slow procession toward a circle of standing stones, half-buried in the sand like broken teeth. Red and black flags fluttered from tall wooden poles, and drums beat somewhere beyond the dunes, slow and ceremonial.
They passed other tents — dozens of them, stitched from the hides of great beasts and dyed in rich colors. People paused as he walked past, some bowing their heads, others whispering behind their hands. A few stared too long, eyes narrow, calculating. Among them, Aiden caught sight of a girl his age — tall, with sharp eyes and hair bound in bronze cords. She wore the same red-and-black robes but with different trim, a symbols embroidered in thread looking like a crimson moon.
She didn't bow.
Then Rael as he follow the gaze of Aiden spoke.
"She will challenge you soon," Rael murmured as they walked. "She has a right. Many believe her better suited for leadership than a boy who is mostly sick."
Aiden wanted to ask what he meant by that, but they had already reached the circle of stones.
Inside, seated on woven mats under shaded canopies, were a half-dozen elders. Their robes were older, more worn, but adorned with an intricate symbol—a crescent moons. One held a staff of carved bone. Another had a necklace of dried monster claws. Their faces were all lined and weathered, their gazes sharp as obsidian.
Rael stepped forward and bowed.
"Ezra, Young Light of the Naph, returns to us."
Murmurs. Some murmurs of approval. Others doubtful.
Aiden stepped forward, heart hammering. He tried to stand tall, but it was like being shoved onto a stage without a script.
"Speak, Young Light," one of the elders said — a woman with long white hair braided with beads of glass. "Speak so we may know what is your descision."
Aiden hesitated.
Everything in him screamed to run — but instead, he reached inside himself for something… anything. He thought of fire. Of heat. Of survival. He let the sand in the wind sting his skin and ground himself in the feel of the moment.
He spoke, not with perfect confidence, but with enough to pass.
"I am Ezra," he said as he bow lightly. "May i know what you want me to talk about i think i kinda forgot what was going since i faint."
There was a heavy silence.
Then a slow nod from the woman elder. "Fine, Ezra. I will tell you, what answer we need from you." As she make a pose to regain her breath. "What are we doing of the corpse of Alysha your mother wathever is your descision the tribe will follow."
Aiden exhaled quietly. They want to know my descision about the corpse of the mother of this original body since i don't have yet all the memory of Ezra i don't know what answer they want to hear, so think Aiden what the most logical thing to do?