The ceiling was the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes.
Soren lay there in silence, his eyes blank and unfocused.
His body felt heavy, as if years of weight had pressed down on him all at once.
His chest rose and fell as shallow breaths escaped his lips, and as his eyes refocused, he finally realised where he was.
Freya's room.
More specifically, her bed.
He blinked slowly.
The memories clung to him like a second skin.
A childhood that wasn't his, and yet felt too real to ignore.
His mind kept replaying them against his will: a small hand reaching out for approval, tears that never seemed to stop, the emotionless mask a child wore to hide, and the feeling of clinging desperately to the one ally he had.
It was too vivid.
Too real.
Slowly, Soren raised his hands and pressed them against his face.
His palms were clammy, and his breathing uneven.
"What the fuck…" he muttered into the empty room.
The words felt weak.
They didn't come close to expressing the storm of emotions behind them.
He sat up slowly, dragging in a deep breath as the blanket slipped from his shoulders.
The faint scent of lavender hung in the air, just like it had in the memories.
He ran a hand through his tangled hair, trying to shake the haze from his head.
It had all been too real; none of it felt like a dream.
Every emotion lingered in his chest.
The quiet desperation.
The hollow acceptance.
The moment of warmth that only existed when she was there.
Soren let out a slow breath.
He could still feel the younger Soren's pain buried deep inside him, as if his own heart had absorbed it.
"...Shit."
He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palms.
The world around him came back into focus: the calming scent, the soft sheets beneath him, the gentle light slipping through the curtains.
It should have been comforting.
But it wasn't.
What he felt was anger, quiet at first, like a spark flickering in the dark.
Then it grew.
He could still hear Alice's cruel laughter, Sofia's soft voice dripping with poison, Osric's complete indifference, the servants' disdainful glares as they turned their heads away.
His jaw tightened.
He remembered how that boy, how Soren, sat at that table, still and silent, pretending not to hear.
Every word from his so-called family echoed in his mind like a slap.
Soren's hand curled into a fist, his nails digging into his palm until it bled.
"What kind of family…" he started with a whisper before his words came to a halt.
He hated them.
Every single one of them.
The way they smiled, the way they acted like it was normal to break a child down until there was nothing left.
His chest burned.
He wanted to scream, but all that came out was a quiet, bitter laugh.
After all, everything was similar.
Similar to his own life.
The indifference from his mother.
The condescension of his father.
The laughter of his sister.
Isaac was all too familiar with it.
And that's why the memories made him feel even worse.
"You really did everything you could, didn't you, Soren?" he muttered under his breath.
He could see it clearly, the boy's expressionless face, his careful posture, his hollow eyes.
It all made him sick.
Soren ran a hand over his face again, his fingers trembling slightly.
He had thought he understood the Arden family before, but he hadn't.
Not really.
He had seen their cruelty from the outside, but now he had felt it directly from within.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and stared at the floor.
The wooden boards blurred slightly as his thoughts spiralled.
"That boy…" he said quietly. "He just wanted to be loved."
The truth was too simple and too cruel.
That boy had been nothing more than a shadow, clinging desperately to the faint warmth Freya offered.
Every smile, every word, every small kindness had become his reason to keep going.
And then she left.
Soren's throat ached.
He swallowed hard, but the lump in his throat didn't go away.
He remembered the sound of her voice, the feel of her hand in his hair, and her promise.
– I'll never leave you, Ren. I'll always be there to protect you. Forever.
His chest tightened until he couldn't breathe.
He could almost hear her saying it again, whispering into the darkness.
It should have been comforting, but it wasn't.
He exhaled sharply as words escaped from his parted lips.
"...You liar."
The words came out before he could stop them.
The moment they did, a wave of guilt washed over him.
He didn't mean it, not really.
Freya hadn't wanted to die.
She had meant every word she said.
Yet that was what made it hurt more.
Because she really would have kept that promise if she had been given the chance.
Once again, the lines between Soren and Isaac blurred further.
His mind was muddled, and he couldn't tell where Isaac ended and Soren began.
He leaned back, staring at the ceiling again.
His vision blurred as the memories replayed over and over: The boy's tears, Freya's soft voice, her warm embrace, and her face as she left to go on her final mission years later.
The irony was cruel.
Her final promise had become the one thing she could not keep.
He closed his eyes and let out a slow, trembling breath.
It wasn't just sadness; it was everything: grief, anger, guilt, and a hollow kind of acceptance all mixed together.
Time passed quietly.
He didn't know how long he sat there.
The light from the window shifted, crawling slowly across the floor.
His body still felt heavy, but his mind was beginning to clear.
He wasn't sure what to make of it all.
Just why were these memories being forced onto him?
And what did it mean?
He didn't know.
He only knew one thing: he could feel that boy's emotions as if they were his own.
And that scared him.
The fear that one day he might disappear, that he would become an entirely different person.
It was terrifying.
But there was nothing he could do.
As far as he knew, there was no way for him to return to Earth.
Even if there was, he didn't want to go back.
He had no lingering attachments, and he had already begun enjoying his life here.
He didn't want to throw that all away because of fear.
The silence of the room wrapped around him.
Only the faint sound of the wind outside and his own heartbeat slowing down was heard.
He looked around the room again; the neatly kept shelves, the faint scent of lavender still clinging to every inch of the room.
It was strange.
Even after all this time, the room still felt like hers.
Like it had been intentionally preserved.
His eyes drifted to the bedside table, where a framed picture still stood.
Freya, smiling brightly in her academy uniform, her arm around a grumpy-looking Soren.
He stared at it for a long time before carefully placing it in his inventory.
A faint smile appeared on his face, but it didn't reach his eyes.
He took one last look around the room, then pushed himself to his feet.
His movements were slow and careful, as if treating the room like a treasure.
Standing by the window, he looked out at the fading light.
The sun was beginning to set, painting the world in gold and orange.
It was beautiful, and painfully quiet.
Soren rested his hand against the window frame, his reflection staring back at him.
For a moment, he saw the boy from his dreams looking back at him.
Small.
Fragile.
Scared.
He met that gaze and whispered.
"Don't worry, Things are different now."
The words were barely audible, but they carried weight.
He wasn't sure what he wanted to do about the memories he had acquired, nor why he had been given them, but he wouldn't let that past dictate his life.
He would never forgive the Ardens for what they did to Soren, but he wouldn't let them control his life.
He had made a resolution when he first came to this world, to enjoy his life, to live how he wanted.
It may not have been what the original Soren would have wanted, but it was the only thing he could do for the body he had taken over.
He stood there until the light dimmed and the outside turned to twilight.
Then, quietly, he turned away from the window.
As he left the room, the soft scent of lavender faded behind him, once again bringing him back to the dim and gloomy reality he had to live in.
————「❤︎」————