Rain poured endlessly that night.
The city lights flickered like fireflies in the fog, and Aiden Cross walked through the crowd with his hood pulled low.
He was twenty-two, a college dropout who worked long shifts in a convenience store. His coworkers often called him "Zombie" because of his tired eyes and quiet voice.
"Another stormy night," he muttered, stepping off the curb. The air smelled of rain and gasoline.
Aiden lived every day waiting for something to change. He dreamed of a miracle, something beyond the dull rhythm of his life. He never expected that change to come through death.
A child's scream sliced through the downpour.
At the far end of the intersection, a small girl stood frozen in the middle of the road, clutching a soaked teddy bear. A truck rushed toward her, its tires skidding across the wet street.
Aiden did not think. He ran.
The world slowed to a heartbeat. The headlights shone white like lightning, and the roar of the engine swallowed every other sound. Aiden reached the girl and pushed her with all his strength toward the sidewalk.
Then came the crash.
Pain burst through his body like fire. The noise vanished, replaced by silence and a strange calm. He saw only darkness stretching without end.
There was no warmth, no sound, no breath. Only emptiness.
He floated there for what felt like an eternity.
Then a voice spoke, soft and distant, like wind echoing through a cavern.
"So you saved another life instead of your own. How very human."
Aiden tried to answer, but no sound came out.
"A soul that defies death deserves another chance," the voice said. "Not in your world, but in mine."
Light filled the darkness. It spread until everything vanished.
When Aiden opened his eyes, he was lying on soft grass beneath a sky painted with gold and violet clouds. The air smelled fresh and sweet, heavier than any air he had ever breathed.
He blinked in confusion. The noise of the city was gone. The storm was gone too.
He sat up slowly. A wooden cart stood beside him, half-filled with herbs and sacks of grain. His clothes were rough linen, not his jacket or jeans. His hands looked smaller and younger.
"What happened to me?" he whispered.
A shadow moved nearby. An old man with a gray beard approached, leaning on a wooden staff topped with a glowing blue crystal.
"Easy now, boy," the man said kindly. "You took quite a fall. Can you stand?"
Aiden tried to speak, but the words that came out were strange and musical, not English. Yet somehow he understood them perfectly.
"I think so."
"Good. What is your name?" the old man asked.
Aiden opened his mouth, but before he could speak, something inside him shifted. The name that came out was not his own.
"Lior."
The old man smiled. "Lior, is it? A strong name. You are lucky I found you before the wolves did."
"Where am I?" Lior asked.
The man raised an eyebrow. "Elyndra, of course. The western plains of Valenreach. You must have hit your head harder than I thought."
Elyndra. The name stirred something inside Lior's chest. It felt heavy with meaning he could not explain.
Suddenly, pain flared across his left hand. A faint light pulsed beneath his skin, forming a glowing symbol shaped like a broken crown.
"What is this?" he whispered.
The man leaned closer. "A mark? How strange. You might want to hide that. Some symbols bring trouble instead of blessings."
Lior covered the mark quickly.
The old man handed him a canteen. "Drink. I am Elder Thane. You can rest in my village until you regain your strength."
Lior took the water gratefully. Elyndra, a glowing mark, a new name, a new body. It was all too much.
He remembered the voice in the darkness. A soul that defies death deserves another chance.
It was real. He had been reborn.
The village appeared beyond the hill, a cluster of stone cottages surrounded by fields. Smoke rose gently from chimneys, and children laughed near a well.
For a moment, Lior felt something warm in his chest. Hope.
Elder Thane guided him to a small hut near the edge of the fields. "You can rest here for tonight," he said.
Lior nodded, then caught his reflection in a bucket of water beside the door.
The face that stared back was not his own. He looked younger, perhaps sixteen. His hair was dark, his gray eyes sharp, and a faint scar ran across his cheek like a quiet memory.
"Lior," he whispered. "I guess that is me now."
He clenched his fist. The mark on his hand glowed faintly, as if answering his thoughts.
He smiled for the first time in years.
"I do not know what this world is," he said softly, "but I will not waste this chance."
Thunder rolled in the distance. On the horizon, clouds twisted and burned with a red light.
Elder Thane followed his gaze. "The storms are coming early this year. Strange things are stirring in the north. Stay close to the village, boy."
Lior nodded, but his eyes never left the storm. He felt as if something out there was watching him.
Somewhere beyond those clouds, a dark laughter echoed.
A fragment of a shattered crown glowed faintly in the depths of the storm.