Year 863, Polemaic Empire:
Under the pale glow of the twin moons, within a grand stone coliseum hidden deep in the empire's heart, a summoning began.
Robed figures, men and women alike, stood shoulder to shoulder, encircling a massive seal carved into the stone floor.
Runes pulsed with otherworldly light as the air thickened, crackling with magic.
Voices chanted in unison, rising like waves, ancient syllables laced with divine authority.
Then, a flash.
A wind, sharp and searing, tore through the formation.
And from the light, a boy fell.
He landed on one knee, head bowed, fingers scraping against the runes beneath him.
His breath caught in his throat, not because of the pain, but because...
He felt pain.
He blinked. Pain?
His fingers trembled.
Disbelief clawed at his breath as he lifted one hand to his chest, real, solid, warm.
Then, hesitantly, he reached up, fingertips brushing across his cheek.
His left eye… saw. It saw.
A ragged gasp escaped his lips.
He turned his head slowly, almost afraid the world would vanish again.
But the colors remained.
Shapes, light, depth.
His right hand twitched, then moved. Moved.
He stared at it like a stranger. As if it belonged to someone else.
"No…" he whispered, voice hoarse. "How…?"
His lips parted, not in agony, but wonder.
"Ow...?" he whispered, almost in disbelief.
That familiar sting of landing too hard, it shouldn't have been possible.
He had died. He remembered dying.
He looked up.
The chanting mages were still at work, eyes shut, focused on their ritual.
The spell hadn't fully closed yet.
Then, a voice.
Soft and reverent. Sweet like temple bells in spring.
"Young hero… thank you for answering our prayers."
A girl stepped forward, wrapped in ceremonial robes, her head bowed so deeply that her forehead touched the stone.
Her words were full of humility and worship.
Hansel didn't speak. Not yet.
Instead, he slowly rose to his feet, his limbs moving with cautious awe.
This body, unbroken, untouched by war felt impossibly light.
His heart thudded like a drum inside a chest not yet scarred.
His mind, though… was heavy.
This isn't the afterlife. This… is the beginning.
His eyes flicked toward the circle, the robes, the chanting.
He knew this.
And then it hit him, like a sword to the gut.
He had gone back.
Back before the demoness.
Back before Himmel.
Back before he became the devil they all feared.
Back to the day they called him "hero."
He masked the sudden storm inside him, exhaled quietly, and put on a face.
A face of clueless confusion.
"Hmmph," he said, scratching the back of his head. "What exactly is going on? I was at home with my dog, eating dinner, and now I'm… here?"
The girl bowed even lower, trembling with reverence.
"O noble hero, this world stands on the brink of ruin. The Demon King Dadon rises once more. You have been chosen by the goddess herself, to save us."
Dadon.
Hansel's brow twitched but only slightly.
Inside, he was reeling.
Dadon? Wasn't he the one defeated before his time?
Something was different. Wrong. This wasn't a perfect rewind. This was… altered.
Still, his voice remained calm.
"And you expect some random guy like me to fight a demon king?"
The girl's reply was graceful, unwavering.
"You are not random. You are the hero chosen by the goddess. She believes in you. We believe in you. Have faith in yourself."
Hansel gave a soft chuckle.
It echoed in the silent space like a crack in porcelain.
But he didn't answer her words.
Not directly.
Inside, his thoughts turned cold.
"Have faith in myself? You mean throw my life away so you can sleep peacefully. You mean save your world only to be tossed aside when I'm no longer useful. Again?"
He offered no visible hint of the storm behind his eyes.
The mages continued chanting. The formation pulsed.
The summoning wasn't complete until the hero stepped beyond the circle.
And Hansel… remained inside.
Because tradition said if the hero walked out, the summoning would be sealed.
And if the spell was broken prematurely, there was a chance, however small that the hero would vanish, erased, flung back.
They wouldn't risk that.
He knew the ritual. He knew it all.
So he stood there.
Still and composed in a leisure manner, letting the spell stretch just a little longer.
Hansel remained still, arms loosely crossed, one foot resting slightly back on his heel.
His eyes, calm but sharp, drifted over the circle.
He watched the priestess still bowed low, forehead pressed to the stone floor.
Her slender frame trembled ever so slightly.
He wondered... how long could she hold that pose before her knees gave out?
How long before the cold stone made her legs numb, before reverence gave way to pain?
The mages continued their chant around him, voices growing raw, rhythm slightly fraying.
How long until their throats dried, their magic faltered?
How long before fear cracked their perfect ritual discipline?
Hansel stood unmoving at the center like a monument, bathed in the glow of the summoning seal.
He could almost feel their unease, the desperation hidden beneath their devotion.
Then, her voice came again. Softer this time. Hesitant and a bit hopeful.
"Young hero… would you please come forth?"
The words echoed across the stone chamber like a prayer lost in a storm.
Hansel tilted his head just slightly, his gaze sliding down to the priestess still on her knees.
He could tell from her voice, she was smiling beneath her veil.
That same gentle hope. That same sincere belief.
And yet…
That single sentence was all it took to snap his heart backward, to another life, another time where he had heard that same voice, that same plea, cloaked in honeyed words and blind faith.
Come forth.
Be our hero.
Save us. Die for us. Be forgotten.
He let the silence stretch, drawing tension tighter.
Then, finally, with a faint sigh, he stepped forward, just one foot forward. Barely enough to count.
A hum pulsed through the seal.
But he did not cross.
Instead, he lowered his voice, letting it fall like frost.
"And if I don't?"
His gaze bore into the priestess. "Will the world end… just because one boy refused to step out of a circle?"
Gasps flared from some of the mages.
Their chants wavered, just for a breath.
Their expression contained fear and even confusion.
And Hansel didn't move a step forward.