The first thing Hayden felt was cold. The cool breeze swept over him, chilling him instantly. Someone should close the blinds... it was inhumane for a room to be this… cold?
Wait…
His eyes shot open, his body bolting upright. He stared at the sight in front of him—was this even a sight? It was a large room, yet simply furnished.
Besides the bed, there was a bookshelf filled with many books, some stacked neatly in large piles. Along the wall sat a large desk, clearly well-used judging by the piles of paper and the stained ink marks on the wood.
Where was he…?
The pain of dying was still present. It clung to him deeply—his body failing him, and above all, the weight of regret and grief he carried, his life forever left unanswered.
Was this what happened after death?
He got up, finding every movement strangely heavy. Looking down, he saw that his hands were skinny and long, the skin pale and white as snow.
Confusion set in as he searched himself for familiarity.
The scar he got when he first went skateboarding down his wrist, the callous from working in the warehouse during the summer… the tanned skin he earned as a lifeguard.
He hadn't realized how important those were to him until they were gone. A sinking feeling washed over him as he rushed to the counter and picked up a small mirror.
Hayden didn't understand at first. If he was truly dead, then how could he see his reflection? Moreover…
A boy stared back at him—long black hair like the abyss, and striking, indifferent crimson eyes, entirely unnatural from anything he had ever seen.
"What the hell?!" he cried, the movements of the boy mimicking his own.
His hands flew to his mouth, the mirror slipping from his grasp and shattering into tiny glass pieces.
That voice—youthful, unbroken.
He stared down at the fragmented pieces, at the crimson eyes that now belonged to him. He remained there for a long while, unsure of what to make of it.
Was this how death worked? Did everyone wake up in foreign bodies?
Slowly… the unfamiliar face began to bear resemblance.
A resemblance to a character he had only ever seen on a screen.
There was no way…
Just as he finished piecing things together, a commotion erupted beyond the double doors of the old room.
He heard the voices of men arguing. As he approached, a young woman's screams cut through the noise.
He didn't fully recognize the voice, yet it shook his mind, and his heart trembled.
His body moved on its own. The doors slammed open.
The hall was large and adorned with precious metals and gemstones—normally Hayden would have been awestruck, dreaming of owning such things for himself. However, he brushed past them like they were nothing.
He ran toward the stairs where the sounds originated, and there, at the entrance of the mansion, stood a large man clad in silver armor, towering over a young woman.
He halted, heart racing, skin clammy.
It can't be…
He inched slowly down the steps, fear and nervousness chaining him, his mind fogging over and his vision scattering.
A very, very bad feeling gripped him. He was forgetting something—something incredibly important…
The woman's long black hair cascaded down her frame, and he saw a familiar indifference in her gaze.
Everything fell into place. What was once only an inclination was now undeniable.
It couldn't be… and yet, with the shaking of his hand and the weight piling on his chest, his body confirmed it all.
Each step felt like sinking into an ocean. And when he saw the woman's crimson eyes in full, everything stopped.
He forgot all reason and ran toward the man. He knew—he remembered.
As if expecting it, the man raised his sword and whispered something to the woman, who kept her dignity, not a single tear falling.
Only when she glanced out of the corner of her eye and saw her baby boy did she crack—not with regret or anguish, not with sadness, but with pure, unconcealed joy.
"No!" he screamed, reaching out for her. But he was a moment too late.
The sword swung down, slicing into the woman's stomach, her blood splattering across his face.
He caught her, pulling her close, seeing her face in full: the soft smile, the indifferent eyes that only softened when they looked at him. And it was only then that everything came back.
He hugged his mother, tears pouring down his face.
A lump formed in his throat, so large it became hard to breathe or swallow.
His shaking hands pressed against her wound—the gash far too large for his tiny palms to cover.
He pushed down with all the desperation of someone refusing reality.
She placed her hand over his, a silent message that it was okay.
"Look at me…" Her voice was faint.
He hesitated, then met her gaze. She tried lifting her hand to his cheek but couldn't. He guided it there, and a deep smile washed over her.
The dam of emotions he had carried his whole life finally broke, and with it, his memories.
"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…" he choked out between sobs. "I remember…"
She nodded weakly. "I see you…"
He leaned closer to hear her fading voice.
"Live w-well… please live your life with happiness…"
The warmth of her touch slipped away, as did the life in her eyes.
She was gone.
She was gone.
His heartbeat stilled. His breath froze. The silence shattered with the knight's laugh.
"Disgusting. Like mother, like son…"
He spat onto her face, a glob of saliva dripping down her once-neat hair.
His footsteps faded as he exited the manor.
Hayden wiped the spit away calmly and did not move.
He didn't know how long he stayed there, or when the burning sensation on his wrist began.
He couldn't hear anything or think anything. Just the echo of her last breath replaying endlessly.
He had been reborn as Ilay Veldrace from the video game he once loved.
"Live your life with happiness…"
In the game, Ilay lived with the hope that his family would accept him, that they could all live happily, as his mother had wanted.
That childish dream was what led to his demise.
He carried his mother to her bedroom.
That wasn't happening this time around.