The room was quiet except for the low hum of the fan and the music playing through his headphones.
He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes as he stared at the open chemistry textbook on his desk. Reaction formulas blurred together, half-remembered and half-forgotten.
Oxidation, reduction… Why did I think cramming this late was a good idea?
He reached for his phone without thinking.
3:17 a.m.
"…Shit."
It was a school night. Whatever he was going to retain at this point probably wasn't worth the headache tomorrow. He closed the book, stacked his notes neatly out of habit, and stood up with a stretch.
The room felt dim and familiar. Posters on the wall. Clothes tossed over a chair. Nothing unusual.
He pulled off his headphones, set his phone on the desk, and headed to bed.
As he lay down, the ceiling fan spun lazily above him. His thoughts slowed, drifting aimlessly as exhaustion finally caught up.
Hopefully I get a good score tomorrow…
Darkness crept in.
—
Cold
That was the first thing he noticed.
Not sharp or painful, but ever-present, like the air itself was pressing against him. His eyes snapped open.
"…What?"
He wasn't in his room.
He was standing outside. He staggered forward, nearly losing his balance as his boots crunched against snow.
Snow.
Endless white stretched in every direction under a dull, gray sky. No buildings. No roads. Just frozen ground and distant ice formations shaped by wind.
His heart started pounding.
"Okay—okay, this isn't funny."
His voice sounded… off. Lighter. Younger.
He turned in a slow circle, breath fogging in the air. Panic crept in as his mind raced through possibilities—dream, hallucination, stress-induced breakdown—but none of them explained how real everything felt.
He took a step back.
Then another.
His foot caught on uneven ice.
"Whoa—!"
He fell backward hard, the impact knocking the air out of his lungs. He lay there staring up at the sky, chest rising unevenly.
That was when he noticed it.
His arms.
They were smaller. Thinner. Covered by unfamiliar clothing—heavy fabric, worn but well-made.
…That's not right.
He sat up abruptly, looking down at himself. His hands trembled slightly as he clenched them, then relaxed.
Another thing stood out.
He wasn't cold.
The air was freezing—he knew that instinctively—but it didn't bother him. His skin didn't sting. His breath came easily.
Before he could think further, pain exploded behind his eyes.
"—gh!"
He doubled over, clutching his head as a flood of images and emotions crashed into him all at once.
Training in snow-covered mountains.
A stern woman with kind eyes.
Ice forming at his fingertips for the first time.
Laughter. Rivalry.
Gray.
Then grief.
Ur.
Her voice, calm and final.
Her death—protecting them.
Gray's words, trembling as he told him the truth.
Hatred. Blame. Guilt.
Walking away.
Leaving everything behind.
Endless snow beneath lonely footsteps.
The memories slammed into place, sharp and overwhelming, before abruptly… settling.
He knelt there, breathing heavily, the pain fading into a dull throb.
…I'm Lyon Vasita.
The name surfaced naturally, without resistance.
There was no excitement. No sadness .
Just pure shock.
He didn't say anything. Didn't think of anything.
He stood up slowly, brushing snow off his clothes. The wind howled softly across the frozen plain.
Without a word, he turned and began walking—searching for shelter, warmth no longer a concern, but exhaustion suddenly very real.
—
Some time later, he found a cave.
It wasn't anything special—just a shallow opening carved into a rocky ridge, shielded from the wind. It was dry, stable, and better than sleeping out in the open.
And to Lyon, that was more than enough.
A small fire crackled near the back of the cave. Above it, a rabbit slowly roasted on a simple spit made from sharpened branches. He watched it absentmindedly, turning it occasionally so it wouldn't burn.
The motions came naturally.
Set traps.
Catch prey.
Prepare food.
He didn't question where the knowledge came from. His body simply knew what to do, and he followed along, still moving on autopilot.
Since waking up in this world, he hadn't really stopped. Walking. Finding shelter. Making fire. Hunting. Each action flowed into the next without pause, leaving little room to actually think.
Now that the food was almost ready, the quiet finally caught up to him.
He stared at the flames.
…People used to talk about this kind of thing a lot.
Reincarnation. Going into another world. A second chance at life.
He'd heard classmates joke about it. Read comments online. Watched shows that treated it like a reward.
Following the simple idea of "If I got sent to another world, I'd be OP."
At least I don't have to deal with that exam anymore.
He let out a quiet breath.
"I didn't even die," he muttered.
That part still didn't make sense to him. One moment he was going to sleep in his bed. The next, he was here. No truck. No accident. No dramatic ending.
He had a good life. A normal one.
Which made the next thought hurt more than he expected.
Mom… Dad…
His hands paused.
He wondered how they were doing. Whether they'd noticed him missing. Whether they were worried. Whether they'd ever get answers.
His chest felt tight.
I hope you're okay.
He swallowed and looked away from the fire.
I love you. And I always will.
The thought lingered for a while before slowly settling into something quieter. There was nothing he could do about it now. Worrying wouldn't help them—or him.
The rabbit was done.
He pulled it off the fire, tore off a piece, and ate. It tasted simple, a little tough, but filling. He ate in silence until nothing remained.
Once he was done, his thoughts drifted again—this time toward what he knew about this world.
Fairy Tail…
Lyon Vastia.
An antagonist. Briefly.
He remembered the role clearly. An enemy born from grief. Someone who caused trouble, learned a lesson, then faded into the background.
A one-off villain turned decent guy, he thought dryly. Then sidelined.
Outside of explaining Gray's past and showing up a handful of times, Lyon hadn't mattered much to the story.
Then again, you quickly remembered that he never was meant to be anything more.
He shrugged lightly.
"I guess that's fine."
He leaned back against the cave wall, staring at the ceiling.
He briefly considered getting involved. Following the canon. Making sure events played out "right."
Then he stopped himself.
That's not how this works.
This wasn't a screen. This wasn't a story being watched from the outside.
This was just… life.
And that thought made him relax.
Soon he stood and walked to the cave entrance.
The sky was changing colors. The gray darkness gave way to soft light as the sun rose over the frozen plains, casting long shadows across the snow.
A new day.
He smiled—small and relaxed.
I don't know why I got this life, he thought quietly. But I'll live it properly.
For himself.
And for the people he left behind.
With that, Lyon stepped forward to greet the morning.