"Some read fiction to escape. I escaped fiction by becoming a story."
The wind drifted through the cracks in the wall, gentle but persistent. It carried the scent of cold wood, dry earth, and something fainter—a memory of rain that had fallen long ago.
He lay on a straw mat.
No pillow. No blanket. Just the aching press of time in his bones.
Each breath felt like pulling in winter.
His eyes fluttered open, adjusting slowly to the pale gray light leaking through the broken window slats.
The ceiling above him was wooden and sagging. Cobwebs hung in the corners like forgotten whispers. He turned his head with effort.
"Where... am I?"
His voice was hoarse. Thin. Not just from disuse, but from a throat that hadn't been fed properly in days—maybe longer.
He tried to sit up.
Bones creaked.
A low groan escaped his lips as pain crawled down his spine.
He paused, blinking at the trembling fingers that now hovered in front of him.
Thin.
Pale.
Veins like rivers drawn in ink beneath rice-paper skin.
"Feels like I went from writing stories to... being a corpse."
His hand dropped to the side.
He looked down at his body—bare ribs, a sunken stomach, legs like sticks, arms too frail to lift for long.
There was no mirror in the room, but he didn't need one.
This wasn't his body.
"Did I reincarnate? Or get dumped into a disease simulation?"
No answer. Just silence.
Dust swirled in the air as he coughed.
He leaned forward and gritted his teeth, pushing himself upright with both hands.
His legs dangled off the edge of the straw mat like the limbs of a marionette.
He inhaled, slow and careful.
"Okay. Step one: Figure out what the hell is going on. Step two: Complain."
And just then—as if the world had waited for that moment to notice him—
A mechanical chime echoed in his mind.
[The Aether Codex: System Integration Successful]
[User: Alein – Profile: Former Reader & Author turned Reincarnator]
[Status: Body Weak | Potential: Dormant]
[Awakener: Inactive]
[Genesis Forge: Linked]
[Clone Slot: 1 Available]
He blinked. Once. Twice.
"Wait, wait… I actually have a system?"
He let out a disbelieving scoff.
"So let me get this straight. I die, get tossed into a discount haunted shack, and the only thing working properly is a cheat-code simulator in my brain?"
He sighed.
"Fine. I'll take it. God-tier cheat, frail body. Guess it balances out."
He rolled his shoulders—then winced. Even sarcasm hurt.
"Note to self: avoid witty monologues until muscles work."
With effort, he pulled himself toward the window. His palms scraped against the cold floor. The wood felt rough. Real. Everything felt... real.
Each breath burned, but so did the fire in his chest—the stubborn little flame of curiosity that never quite died.
He reached the window. Pulled it open.
The light stung his eyes.
A simple town sprawled outside. Slanted rooftops. Stone paths. Wooden signs creaking in the wind.
Smoke rising from chimneys. Vendors opening stalls. People walking with baskets and sacks.
Normal life.
And here he was, an outsider barely alive, watching it all from the ruins of someone else's life.
"So I am in another world. Magic and systems, huh?"
He coughed.
"Still feels more like I reincarnated into a hospital bed."
But despite everything—
Something in him stirred.
Excitement.
Wonder.
Possibility.
He turned back to the empty room, now glowing faintly with system light.
A new line appeared in his vision:
[Genesis Forge – Activation?]
Yes ・ No
His hand hovered.
Shaking.
"Create someone... like a character? Like in my books?"
He paused.
Closed his eyes.
"Then make it count."
He pressed Yes.
Light pulsed through the room.
Symbols and circuits unfurled midair, forming a shifting circle beneath him. Glyphs turned like clock hands, waiting.
[Configuring Genesis Forge…]
[Set Identity]
He thought.
Then whispered:
"Make him... someone who once found peace under the moon.
A man who forgot how to live, who tried to sleep beneath stars and never woke."
"Let him walk again. Let him feel again."
The system responded.
Lines of data spun around the room.
[Name: Ashen]
[Memory: Fragmented—Lost Past, Moonlit Suicide]
[Personality: Melancholic Immortal, Gentle Nihilist]
[Class: Wandering Swordsman]
The light converged.
From it stepped a figure.
Tall. Lean. White hair drifting like moonlight. A tattered robe clung to him, and two eyes blinked open—one gold, one black.
Ashen.
He looked not at Alein, but at the world beyond the window.
"The sun... it feels different."
His voice was calm. A touch lost.
The wind stirred his hair.
Alein leaned back against the wall. His hand trembled, but not from weakness this time.
From wonder.
"He looks..." He smiled. "...cooler than I imagined."
More system lines appeared:
[Genesis Forge: Stable]
[Sync: 100%]
[Warning: Emotional Depth Limit Nearing Threshold]
[Note: Clone autonomy increasing rapidly]
Ashen turned briefly.
There was no recognition. But his gaze paused on Alein, as if sensing something beneath the surface.
"Go," Alein whispered. "Live as I couldn't."
Ashen didn't respond. He walked toward the door. It creaked open. Light poured in.
And he was gone.
Only silence remained.
Alein sat there, alone, the wind brushing his cheek.
He laughed softly.
"I'm still too weak to move. But somehow, I feel lighter."
He leaned his head back against the wall, staring at the wooden ceiling.
"Maybe I don't need to become a hero. Maybe creating one..."
"...is enough."
He closed his eyes.
The morning light kissed his skin.
"Let's write something unforgettable. Something I can feel... every day. Even if it's not me."