Light.
Coldness.
Warmth.
Memories.
Pain.
Comfort…
Mother…
Each sensation drifted through Razan's mind like fragments of a dream—disconnected yet familiar, flickering one after another in an endless loop.
They came not as thoughts, but as feelings… raw and weightless, flowing through his very soul.
It was as if something was gently pulling the pieces of his being back together, reminding him of who he was, and what he once felt.
A pulse stirred within him.
Slow at first,
then stronger,
spreading warmth through the void around him.
It filled him—soft and bright—like sunlight breaking through a frozen surface.
It wasn't just warmth…
it was essence.
Something alive.
Something that belonged to him and him alone.
He could feel himself floating—no gravity, no sound, only stillness.
Yet at the same time, his senses were tangled,
half awake and half asleep.
He could hear voices, distant and layered.
A choir, deep and powerful, singing in perfect harmony as if welcoming him somewhere beyond the edge of life.
But through that ocean of voices… there was another.
A woman's voice.
It was soft, almost fragile, but carried a weight that reached into his core.
It felt familiar—like he had heard it once before, long ago in a forgotten place.
Yet at the same time, it felt divine, far too pure, too distant to belong to the mortal world.
"Eik in… veak' Vrynn… hin… Hestoria…" the voice sang in a tongue Razan could not understand, ancient and fluid, carrying a melody that wrapped around him like silk.
"Hin… rast Hundar eik' Razan…" it continued, the tone softening into what felt like a lullaby, a whisper that touched something deep within him.
His name… he heard his name.
"Vekren in… Estroda im impertor…"
Each word echoed gently in the space around him, vibrating through his mind like a heartbeat.
The warmth within him grew stronger, flooding his body until he could almost feel his fingers again.
.
.
.
Then came the last whisper—clear, tender, and human.
"Wake up now… my dearest."
And in that instant, everything turned bright.
"Haah!"
With a violent jolt, Razan's body sprang to life.
"Haah! Haah… hah…"
His chest rose sharply as he gasped for air, his lungs burning as though he had just surfaced from the deepest depths of the ocean.
The breath that escaped him was heavy, shaky, desperate—his first true breath in this new world.
His eyes shot open, but his vision was a blur of color and light.
Everything spun for a few seconds, his hearing muffled by a dull ringing that echoed inside his skull.
The world around him felt distant, unreal—like a dream refusing to fade.
He stayed still, breathing heavily, letting his senses slowly return.
The ringing in his ears began to fade first, replaced by faint sounds—the whisper of wind, distant murmurs, and the hum of life.
Then, his sight began to focus.
The first thing he saw was the sky—a strange, otherworldly red hue that looked very unnatural.
It was tinted in shades of red and blue, shimmering softly like the horizon after a storm.
The clouds moved slowly, glowing faintly with streaks of pale light, unlike anything he had ever seen back on Earth.
He blinked several times before shifting his gaze lower.
Before him stood a series of pillars, tall and intricately carved, each one glowing faintly with symbols that pulsed like veins of light.
Beyond those pillars,
in the distance,
He saw a massive castle, its walls rising high into the sky.
The structure looked ancient yet alive—its surface glimmering as if breathing, with banners fluttering under a wind that carried both warmth and chill.
Then came the voices.
"...So it is true…the great return was true…!"
"...they must have come from different worlds…just as the scriptures had foretold…"
"...Mama, look at that person's horns…!"
"...May Vrynn bless us…these must be the allies they've sent to aid us!"
When Razan turned his head slightly, he saw people—dozens of them—standing beyond a faintly glowing perimeter.
They stared at him, whispering among themselves, their voices low but curious.
Some of them were dressed in ornate robes, lined with golden embroidery that marked nobility or high status, their figures numbering to at least more than a dozen as they sat on ornate chairs.
Others wore leather and steel, armor that looked practical and battle-worn, suggesting warriors or adventurers, standing nearby—perhaps scouting for potential allies, who knows?.
And among them were those in simple, humble clothing—villagers or common folk who seemed just as confused as he was.
Their murmurs filled the air, overlapping one another.
Some were curious, some cautious, and a few fearful.
Razan blinked again, his breathing finally slowing.
The ground beneath him was solid and warm.
He could feel the faint hum of energy running through it—alive, vibrant, and different.
Then, Razan's gaze shifted toward the figures nearest to him.
His eyes landed on Haeryn, sitting just a few feet away.
"Urgh…"
She was clutching her head, her breathing uneven, her expression dazed as though she'd just woken from a nightmare.
Her blonde hair was scattered across her shoulders, and her wide eyes darted around, trying to make sense of everything.
"Haeryn…" Razan muttered softly, his voice still hoarse.
She looked at him briefly, confusion and relief flickering across her face, but before either could speak, Razan's attention was drawn to something else—
something much stranger.
Surrounding them were dozens of other people, all stirring from unconsciousness.
"Agh… where are we…?"
"Shit…"
Some groaned as they sat up, some blinked rapidly in disbelief, and others simply stared at their surroundings in silent shock.
But what truly caught Razan's attention… was what they looked like.
Not all of them were human.
A few meters away, a tall figure stood up, his posture sharp and elegant—but his ears were long, tapering to fine points that glowed faintly beneath the strange light of this world.
His eyes, pitch black with a faint silver sheen, gleamed as if reflecting a hidden energy.
He looked like those elves he had seen in fantasy movies.
Nearby, another being rose from the ground—her skin a deep crimson, her eyes burning with a golden hue.
Small horns curved gently from her forehead, and faint patterns glowed along her arms like molten metal.
Razan's gaze moved again—to a group standing close together.
They were short, their builds compact and muscular, their shoulders broad and firm like carved stone.
Their clothes were rough and simple, their faces rugged and scarred, and yet they moved with discipline, as if born from battle.
He took it all in, his mind racing.
It was surreal—like stepping into a dream where reality and fiction blurred together.
These people,
these beings,
were unlike anything that existed on Earth.
Yet… there was something in their expressions, something that mirrored his own confusion and disbelief.
They were looking around too, their eyes darting to the sky, to the castle, to the golden symbols carved into the ground.
They didn't know where they were either.
Razan slowly came to realize it.
These beings—these elves, demons, dwarves, whatever they were—weren't native here either.
They looked just as disoriented, just as lost.
It clicked in his mind.
They must have gone through the same thing.
Their worlds too must have collapsed.
Their people too must have seen their heavens fall.
And just like humanity, they were all transferred here.
Or as the system had called it—
"returned."