I had always known this new world was large—too large—since the moment of my reincarnation. Yet the degree of its vastness had not truly struck me until that night in the forest and the events that unfolded after. It was as if those memories were an old book, long shelved, with the dust finally blown off. Its forgotten pages were rifled through once more, its "once upon a time" a prologue to the story I now called life.
We had been flying for days, according to the captain. Days and nights stitched together into a blur of motion. For the first part of that journey, I was confined to what could only be called a cell or a quarantine room. Later, perhaps out of pity or mere routine, the captain permitted me to walk about—though not freely. Some areas were open, but most of the places that seemed most interesting were barred to me, the doors closed like secrets.
A guard was assigned to my side a different one each time like girl trying to show off her wardrobe. Calling him a "man" was generous, a bit of a stretch. He looked to be no more than fifteen or sixteen, small at about five and a half feet tall, though his beard and his eyes betrayed another truth: that he had seen more of the world than his boyish frame suggested.
I stretched out my arms wide, lifting my face to the rising sun. Its rays poured over me like a lover's embrace, warm and consoling, and for a moment I forgot myself. The deck of the flying ship was simply a marvel moving through the sky like the heaven had pour water on itself allowing it traverse the atmosphere. The Captain had told me that when they found me in the forest, neither he nor his crew had seen anyone else. That truth gnawed at me.
I just hope Omega and Mésos are alright…
"Hey, fella—I never caught your name," I said, turning my head in his direction like a bird cocking its gaze, curious yet cautious. Both of us still wore masks—his for anonymity and need, mine by necessity.
"Aidan," he said at last, staring at me with a look that dragged out too long, as if testing me in a silent contest of wills.
"Aidan, hmm. Sir Aidan," I tried the name on my tongue like a new candy falvour. "If it isn't too bold, may I ask a question?"
I did not give him my name in return. Not yet. It wasn't out of strategy—it was instinct, the way a god withholds rain from parched fields. He seemed the sort who wouldn't care anyway.
Aidan leaned back, a bottle of spirits in one hand. He gave the air of someone detached, nonchalant, yet my sharpened senses told me otherwise. Beneath that lazy posture, his eyes never stopped watching me. Not with curiosity, but with an almost apathetic vigilance—the way a tired soldier still grips his spear after the war has ended.
"The sky," I said, spreading my arms as though to hold up the vault of heaven itself. "I thought it was said to be as much a death sentence as the sea. So how is this possible?"
He looked at me then, really looked. For a moment we stood like statues—me, in the pose of Atlas straining beneath the heavens, and he, unmoving, letting silence do the work.
At last, his voice came—rough, heavy, like a sack of potatoes dragged across the planks of a ship. "We call it the Sunroad. It lies about… twenty to seventy kilometers or more above the planet's surface."
"The Sunroad," I repeated, rolling the word slowly across my tongue, tasting its strangeness.
He rose, stretching. "Alright. Let's go for breakfast. Night shift's over."
The dining hall was already alive with voices when I entered. I quickly lost sight of Aidan, as if he were a mischievous child ducking behind a curtain. The scene reminded me of a grade-school classroom—nearly everyone looked like teenagers at first glance. But then I saw the variations. Some were taller, stronger, their forms shaped by genetic inheritance or careful augmentation. Others bore the telltale features of homunculi, which intrigued me deeply, though I was warned against approaching them.
Breakfast itself was simple: beef, bread, and beer. For the less reckless, there was also juice, water, or milk. I chose juice—sanity mattered more than indulgence, especially as strangeness seemed to be thickening around me day by day. Although even as I dined, I did not see the girl who had poked her head into my cell when I first came to.
After the meal, I returned to the room assigned to me. It was plain, but comfortable—similar in feeling to the chambers I once knew in my days as a maid. The memory tugged at me like a string pulled taut, emotion rising like a flame… only to recoil back inside, as quickly as it came.
I collapsed onto the bed, face pressed into the pillow, letting the weight of it all sink me.
████ ███████
A shift.
A turning.
I thought I moved—tried to wake—but my body did not answer. My plans to escape, my will to act, all lay still. Reality itself seemed absent, shadows burned away in a light that revealed nothing.
Then—
"Hey, neshamah (היי נשמה)."
A voice. Not beside me, not outside, but inside. A thought intertwined with mine.
Damn! Is that you? System? I answered—or tried to. My lips never moved, no sound escaped, but intent traveled. I knew it did.
System? the voice mused. Yes, I suppose… but I am much more. That was only my attempt to reach you, for you to reach me.
Explain, I demanded, pushing aside questions of where we were. For now, I wanted only to know what.
And so, it began.