Arthur floated in a black void—or at least he thought he did. His peace, his eternal peace, shattered as the void vanished around him.
"He's awake," a female voice said.
Arthur opened his eyes and looked down at his hands. *This is a different body than the one I had before,* he thought, flexing fingers that felt both familiar and foreign. The sensation unsettled him—these hands were smaller, softer, yet somehow they belonged to him. He turned them over, examining the delicate lines of his palms, the way light caught on skin that seemed almost translucent. *What's going on?*
He lifted his gaze and searched for answers in his surroundings. He lay in a bed, soft sheets tucked around him. The fabric felt cool against his skin, grounding him in this strange new reality. A faint scent of lavender drifted from the linens, mixing with something else—perhaps candle wax or old wood. Two people stood over him, their faces etched with concern and wonder.
The young woman appeared to be around twenty-five years old. She had black hair that fell in gentle waves past her shoulders, bright blue eyes that glistened with unshed tears, and a face so clear and striking it seemed almost unreal. Her lips trembled as she gazed at him, and Arthur noticed how tightly she gripped the edge of his bed, knuckles white with tension. Beside her stood a man who looked to be in his late twenties. His face was equally flawless—no bumps, no wrinkles, nothing to mar its perfection. He possessed the kind of handsomeness that seemed almost otherworldly, as if sculpted by an artist's careful hand. Dark stubble shadowed his jaw, and his eyes—a deep brown—held depths of emotion Arthur couldn't yet name.
Arthur's mind raced, pulling fragments from that brief previous life—the one he'd inhabited for barely five minutes before being thrust back into the gorgeous void. He had to use what little he'd learned in those precious moments. The memories felt slippery, like trying to hold water in cupped hands.
*If I remember correctly,* he thought, studying the woman's tender expression, *she might be my mother.* The way she looked at him, with such desperate hope and love, stirred something deep within him—a warmth he'd never experienced in the void's emptiness. His eyes shifted to the man. *And he might be my...* He stopped, uncertainty flooding through him. In his past life, no one had explained who the man standing beside his mother was. Arthur lacked the concepts to define such relationships—friends, marriage, boyfriends, girlfriends. These words held no meaning for him. The mental strain of trying to categorize this man made his head throb, a dull ache building behind his eyes like pressure before a storm.
*I can't think about this anymore,* he decided, pushing the question aside. *The stress is too much.* A wave of frustration washed over him, hot and uncomfortable. *This situation is ridiculous. I've been thrust into existence, and I've barely been conscious for an hour. I can't believe this is happening.*
"He's actually awake," the woman said, tears now streaming freely down her cheeks. Her voice trembled with emotion that had been bottled up for years. Each word carried the weight of countless prayers whispered in the dark, of nights spent watching over an unresponsive child, of hope that had nearly died a thousand times but somehow survived.
"This is... this is just surprising," the man beside her said, his voice thick with wonder. He reached out tentatively, as if afraid Arthur might vanish at his touch. His hand trembled slightly, hovering in the air before finally settling on Arthur's shoulder. "I never expected our son to wake up." The last word broke, revealing the grief he'd carried like a stone in his chest.
"I knew he would wake up," the woman said firmly, staring down at Arthur with fierce conviction burning in her eyes. "I hoped that he would one day—one day wake up." She paused, swallowing hard. "And it looks like my hopes were correct." Her voice cracked on the last word, betraying the years of doubt she'd fought against, the whispers from neighbors who'd told her to let go, the physicians who'd shaken their heads in pity.
They both reached for Arthur's hand, their warmth grounding him in this strange new reality. Their touch was gentle, reverent, as though he might break. The woman's fingers were soft but calloused in places, speaking of work and care. The man's grip was stronger, protective.
"What... what's going on? Where am I?" Arthur asked, his voice hoarse and uncertain. The words felt strange in his mouth, foreign yet instinctive, as if his tongue remembered what his mind had forgotten. He looked directly at the man, searching those brown eyes for answers. "Who are you two?" The question was directed more at the stranger than at the woman he instinctively recognized.
The woman smiled brightly, her entire face transforming with joy. Dimples appeared in her cheeks, and for a moment she looked years younger, unburdened. "Well, Arthur," she said, her voice soft and loving, "I am your mother, and this is your father."
*So that's what he's called—a father,* Arthur thought. *What a strange name to call someone. Is that what he goes by? Is that his... you know... his name? Do people call him that?* The concept felt slippery, difficult to grasp, like trying to hold smoke. He thought about asking the question aloud, seeking clarity, but decided against it. Not because he wanted to avoid raising suspicion—he was too exhausted to care about that. This place was nice and all, but the void had been peaceful, amazing even. In the void, there were no confusing relationships, no expectations, no overwhelming sensations. He longed for its embrace, for that perfect silence.
Arthur closed his eyes and tried to return to the void. He reached inward, searching for the familiar pull, the gentle dissolution of self. Nothing happened. He tried again, reaching out with his mind, searching for that familiar darkness with growing desperation. Still nothing. The void wasn't answering his call like it had before. *What? Why isn't it answering me?* Panic fluttered in his chest, a bird trapped against glass. *Why can't I just go back to my peace?*
His father beamed, oblivious to Arthur's internal struggle. "I have a theory," he said, his eyes lighting up with the enthusiasm of someone who'd been waiting years to share this thought.
Arthur's mother looked toward him with an expression that mixed affection and exasperation. "Jack, you and your theories about this boy," she sighed, though her tone held warmth beneath the words, the fondness of long familiarity. "Go on, speak your mind." She sounded like she'd heard many, many of this man's theories before—most of them far-fetched at best, involving ancient prophecies or mystical interventions.
"What if the intense magic and power he has inside him could have woken him up?" Jack proposed, his eyes bright with excitement. He gestured animatedly, nearly knocking over a glass on the nearby table.
For once, her husband wasn't throwing out illogical and absurd theories. This one actually made some sense, grounded in the reality of their world where magic flowed through certain bloodlines like water through riverbeds. She looked at him curiously, reassessing, one eyebrow raised. "I mean, I could see that. Maybe—maybe his latent power really did wake him up." She tilted her head, considering the implications. For once in all their years of being married, she finally accepted his theory. A small smile tugged at her lips, and she reached over to squeeze his hand.
---
A few years went by. Jack and Mary taught Arthur everything he was supposed to have learned during the years he'd been unconscious—a corpse, essentially, never truly dead but never awake either. The process was slow and often frustrating for all of them. Mary would sometimes leave the room in tears after a particularly difficult lesson, and Jack would sit with Arthur, patient and steady, explaining the same concept for the hundredth time.
Arthur learned social interaction, which took him a very long time. Simple concepts like greeting someone or understanding personal space felt like complex puzzles he had to solve piece by piece. He would stand too close or too far, speak too loudly or barely whisper, unable to find the natural rhythm others seemed born knowing. He learned how to use tools and whatnot, his small hands gradually mastering spoons, pencils, and buttons. Each small victory—tying his own shoes, writing his name—brought disproportionate joy to his parents' faces.
But one thing surprised his parents, shocking them to their core: they didn't have to teach him how to speak. It seemed like he already knew how, the words flowing from him with an ease that defied explanation. His vocabulary was strangely advanced for a child, though he stumbled over the simplest social niceties.
Now Arthur was around seven years old. He had been four when he'd woken up, and three years had passed since that miraculous day. In that time, he'd grown from a confused, disoriented child into someone who could navigate this world—though the void still called to him in quiet moments, a siren song he could no longer answer. Sometimes, in the space between waking and sleeping, he could almost feel it, that perfect darkness waiting just beyond reach.
---
"Hey man, what do you think?" a boy whispered to his friend. "Who would win in a fight—Aaron or Arthur?"
A few students sat at the back of a classroom, not paying attention to the lesson at all. They hunched over their desks, passing notes and stifling laughter.
"I mean, it depends," his friend replied, leaning closer. "Arthur's magic is pretty powerful, and his strength is honestly top-notch. But Aaron—Aaron is pretty cool with a sword, so it depends on the situation, you know? If Aaron got into a fight with Arthur and Aaron didn't have a sword, Arthur would win. But same thing would happen the other way around. If Aaron did have his sword and Arthur couldn't use any magic, then Aaron would probably win." He paused, considering. "After all, Arthur's magic is what makes him strong. If we stripped away all Arthur's magic, then maybe—maybe Aaron would win. Aaron's pretty good for someone his age, better positioned than most."
"You're right, it does depend on the situation," the first boy agreed, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "But thankfully we'll see them fight after class. Remember? I think some school staff said that there will be an arena match held after school. I don't know about you, but I'm going."
His friend smiled, already imagining the spectacle. "Yeah, I'm going as well."
Meanwhile, up in the front of the class, Arthur was pretending to sleep. His head rested on his desk, dark hair falling across his face, but in reality he was trying his best to go back to the void. He hadn't entered the void in three years. It had been so long, and he wanted to go to the endless void—not all the time, not for infinity anymore, but just in case things got too hard. If he was overwhelmed, he could just go to the void and chill out for a little bit. He was sure that nothing would happen to his body in the real world. He didn't really know, but he was sure. The certainty felt hollow even to him.
He kept trying to meditate, to do anything while his head lay on the desk. He focused on his breathing, on the darkness behind his eyelids, on the memory of that perfect silence. Nothing worked.
The teacher who was teaching up front didn't really notice Arthur. He'd stopped trying to wake sleeping students years ago. If students fell asleep, let them get a bad grade—that wasn't his problem. He would only step in if one too many students failed, then he would have to try to get their grades back up somehow. But other than that, he didn't really care. All he did was teach the class. That was his job, what he was paid to do. He wasn't going to go far for this, wasn't going to go the extra mile for these students. He continued on teaching as normal, his voice droning about magical theory and historical precedents.
Arthur continued trying to go back to the void with his eyes closed. *I can't do it,* he said internally, frustration building like pressure in a sealed container. *I really can't do it. I feel like ever since I entered my second life, I've been unable to go back into the void.* He sighed internally, a wave of resignation washing over him. *There's no point in trying,* he thought as he opened his eyes, pretending to wake up.
The two students in the back were still chatting about Arthur, apparently. He'd made a name for himself here, even though he was still a young kid. He still had a lot of magical potential within him, more than most adults possessed. Little kids were always pretty dumb, but it wasn't their fault—they were just children. The smartest people in the class, honestly too smart for their own good, were the two students at the back, him, and Noah.
But at this point, could Arthur even consider himself smart? Yeah, he was intelligent, sure, but he wasn't intelligent in the way that people thought. He knew about a lot of things—the void, existence, the strange transition between lives—but he just didn't know about the core subjects like math, reading, science, or whatever. He knew about reading, could read pretty well in fact, but he just didn't know the big stuff about the English language or any other subject for that matter.
But as Arthur was about to just relax and tune out the noise, he suddenly entered the void again. The dark space swallowed everything as Arthur looked around, his heart racing with a mixture of relief and terror. *Did it just happen randomly?* he thought, spinning in the formless darkness. *When I tried to go to the void it doesn't work, but then...*
His eyes widened. *What if I can't leave? What if I leave this life behind?*
He actually enjoyed being here. He didn't want to leave this life behind, didn't want to do that at all. Images flashed through his mind—Mary's gentle smile, Jack's patient explanations, the warmth of their home, the friends he'd made. He feared that he would never come back, that he'd be trapped in this peaceful prison forever while his body lay comatose once more.
But when he exited the void, when he exited the dark space that was his second home, he appeared back in the classroom. He didn't transmigrate again, thankfully. The same boring lesson continued, the same whispered conversations in the back. Arthur let out a sigh, relief flooding through him so intensely his hands shook. He still had a bit of aftereffect from the fear that he'd felt, adrenaline making his heart pound.
He wondered how his past family was doing—even though he had only entered their world for like five minutes then left, he still wondered. How was the boy's body that he had entered? The young girl who was holding the woman's hand? The older man? How were they doing?
Honestly, Arthur didn't really dwell on it too much. This was a new life. The old life, which he'd had for five minutes, was gone. This—this new life wasn't gone. It was here, solid and real, and Arthur couldn't leave it behind. He loved being here. He'd only existed here for three years, yes, but that didn't matter. He still loved being here, loved the complexity and confusion and warmth of it all.
And if he entered the void and the void made him transmigrate again, he would become so strong he could end the void, could shatter that perfect peace and unleash all of his anger. That's exactly what he would do. But if that didn't happen, if he continued to be in this world, then he would enjoy it to the fullest possibility.
He smiled, a genuine expression that transformed his usually serious face. This time, he would know true peace—not the empty peace of the void, but the complicated, messy, beautiful peace of actually living.