Rowan woke up choking on air.
His body jerked upright as if pulled by an invisible string, lungs burning as they dragged in breath after breath. For a moment, panic consumed him—sharp, instinctive, overwhelming.
He was alive.
The realization struck harder than the fear.
Rowan sat up, hands pressed against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of a heart that should not exist anymore. The air around him was cool and carried a faint scent of wood and earth. Beneath him was a simple bed, its fabric rough but clean.
This wasn't the white void.
He looked around slowly.
The room was small. Plain wooden walls, a single window letting in pale morning light, and a simple table beside the bed. No wires. No screens. No familiar hum of the world he once knew.
"This is… Arias," Rowan whispered.
Saying it out loud made it real.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed. His feet touched the floor, solid and unmistakably real. When he stood, his body responded without delay—no weakness, no dizziness. If anything, he felt too stable, as if his balance had been perfected.
Rowan flexed his fingers.
Something stirred.
It wasn't visible, but he felt it clearly now—a presence deep within him, vast and calm, like a sea that never moved yet held unimaginable depth.
Mana.
The word surfaced naturally, without explanation.
Rowan swallowed. "So it wasn't a dream…"
A faint breeze slipped through the open window. Instinctively, Rowan turned his head toward it—and the air shifted.
The breeze thickened.
Not violently. Not suddenly. It simply obeyed.
Rowan froze.
The air before him twisted, slow and deliberate, spiraling around his outstretched hand as if waiting for instruction. His breath caught in his throat.
"I didn't say anything," he muttered.
The spiral dispersed at once, vanishing like it had never existed.
Rowan stepped back, heart racing.
That was magic. No chanting. No effort. Just a thought—and the world responded.
Eiran's words echoed faintly in his mind.
You will not lack energy to wield it.
Rowan closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. "Control," he murmured to himself. "I need control."
When he focused inward again, he understood something else—something unsettling.
The power inside him wasn't just large.
It was endless.
Rowan frowned. He tried to imagine pushing it, draining it, even emptying it. The concept felt… wrong. Like trying to scoop the ocean dry with his hands.
"That's not normal," he said quietly.
A quiet life suddenly felt very far away.
He looked around the room again, searching for distraction. His gaze fell on a small pouch resting on the table. It looked ordinary—worn leather, loosely tied.
Rowan picked it up.
The moment his fingers closed around it, his vision flickered.
Space unfolded.
Rowan gasped as the room vanished, replaced by a dark, endless expanse filled with nothing but floating points of light. No walls. No floor. No sense of distance.
"…Storage," he whispered.
He didn't know how he knew—but he did.
An infinite storage bag.
Rowan released the pouch, and the room snapped back into place. He stared at it for a long moment, then placed it carefully back on the table, as if it might explode.
"So this is what he meant by consequence," Rowan muttered.
A knock sounded suddenly.
Rowan stiffened.
Someone was outside.
He hadn't heard footsteps. No warning. Just the knock—soft, polite, real.
"Are you awake?" a woman's voice asked through the door.
Rowan hesitated, then answered, "Yes."
The door opened slowly.
A middle-aged woman stepped inside, carrying a small tray of bread and a wooden cup filled with something steaming. Her clothes were simple, her expression kind but curious.
"You were asleep longer than I expected," she said. "Travelers usually wake sooner."
Rowan nodded carefully, choosing his words. "I… had a long journey."
She smiled. "That much is obvious. Eat. You'll need strength if you plan to move on today."
"Thank you," Rowan replied.
She set the tray down and left without another word.
Rowan stared at the closed door after she was gone.
Travelers.
So this house wasn't his alone.
He sat down and ate slowly. The bread was warm. Real. Every bite grounded him further into this new reality.
When he finished, Rowan stood and walked outside.
The world of Arias unfolded before him.
A small village lay beyond the house—stone paths, wooden buildings, people moving about their lives with an ease that felt practiced. Some carried tools. Others wore light armor. And a few—only a few—carried an unmistakable presence, subtle but powerful.
Magic users.
Rowan felt it instinctively.
And then—
Something brushed against his awareness.
Not sound. Not sight.
A gaze.
Rowan's breath hitched.
He turned slowly, scanning the village, the forest line beyond it, the sky above.
Nothing looked out of place.
But the feeling remained.
I'm not alone, he realized.
Not just in the village.
In this world.
Rowan clenched his fist.
Eiran had asked him how he wanted to live. He had chosen peace. Quiet. Simplicity.
But Arias had already noticed him.
And somewhere, far beyond sight and reason, something ancient was beginning to listen.