My chest tightened. I could hear faint screams from farther streets, but no one dared to move.
The figure beside me leaned close, his voice urgent but low, "It is checking for movement. If it senses us, it will attack. All of us."
I swallowed hard, my body frozen in place. The ship loomed directly above, casting a shadow over half the city. Its chains dragged through the sky like claws, scraping against the air itself.
Wooooooooo…
The sound came again, a chilling note that pierced into my bones. I could feel sweat dripping
down my face, but I dared not even lift a hand to wipe it.
We stood still.
The entire city seemed to hold its breath.
Minutes passed like hours as the giant ship circled above. My legs ached from the tension of standing so rigid, but I forced myself to remain still, clutching the wooden railing beside me until my knuckles turned white.
Finally, slowly, the demon ship shifted. Its massive body began to glide farther into the horizon.
The terrible sound grew fainter, swallowed by the distance.
Only when the last shadow vanished did the people move again.
A collective breath of relief swept through the streets. Some fell to their knees, shaking.
Others wept openly. A few children cried into their mothers' arms.
I let out a trembling breath, my chest heaving as if I had been suffocating all that time.
"What… what was that thing?" I asked, my voice weak, my throat dry.
The cloaked leader looked at me, his expression grim beneath the hood.
"The Demon Ship. A vessel of the enemy. It prowls the skies, searching for survivors. When it finds movement, it strikes with fire. Villages have burned in moments because of it."
A shiver ran down my spine. I clenched my fists. "Are… are there no protectors here? No one to fight against it?"
The man's shoulders slumped. His voice carried a weight that silenced even the others.
"All our sons and daughters… They are fighting in the Castle of Theralith. That is where the heart of the war lies. That is where the true defenders stand."
I blinked at him, my chest tightening.
"Then… what about here? What about Marshred?"
"Here?" he said bitterly. "Here, we survive. We wait. We carry food, guard what remains, and pray the ships pass without notice. Without our sons and daughters, Marshred cannot fight. It can only endure."
I lowered my gaze, his words pressing heavily on me.
The image of the massive ship lingered in my mind—the runes, the chains, the sound that had shaken my soul.
Even now, I could still hear the faint echo of its terrible wooooooo, haunting the air long after it was gone.
For the first time, I realized just how close death lingered over this world.
And then, a mother and her daughter came towards me crying.
"Adammm… you… you are alive!"
Her voice cracked, filled with disbelief, and then suddenly broke into a cry so heavy it tore through the air like a wail of grief and joy mixed together.
I blinked, stunned, frozen in place as her arms wrapped tightly around me.
For a moment, I didn't even understand what was happening. The warmth of her trembling body pressed against mine, her tears soaking my shoulder as she clung to me like someone who had lost everything and suddenly found it again.
A little girl's sobs joined hers—the sound small, soft, but heart–wrenching.
I turned my head slightly and saw her. A little sister. Her face was pale, streaked with tears, her small hands clutching at my sleeve as if afraid that if she let go, I would vanish again.
That was when it struck me.
This wasn't my body. This wasn't my life.
I had transmigrated.
The boy they were calling Adam—their son, her older brother—was gone, and I was now inside his body.
My chest tightened with confusion. My mind screamed questions: Why me? How did this happen? What do I do now? But all I could see before me was a mother and a sister who were drowning in emotions, completely unaware that the Adam they knew was no longer here.
My throat felt dry, but I forced words out, clumsy and uneven. "D–during the war… I lost all my memories."
It was the only excuse I could think of. Something simple. Something that would explain the strange look in my eyes, the hesitation in my voice, the fact that I couldn't remember them at all.
Her sobs grew louder. She clutched my face in her trembling hands, staring deep into my eyes as though searching for something familiar hidden behind them.
"My son… my Adam… even if you forget everything, you are still my child!" Her words shook with raw emotion.
She pulled me close again, her cries echoing as if the years of grief and fear she had endured had finally broken free.
The little sister pressed her tiny face against my arm, whispering between sobs, "Brother… you came back… you didn't leave us forever." Her voice was innocent, fragile, like a flower crushed by the storm but still holding on to hope.
I sat there stiffly, letting them cling to me.
To them, this moment was a miracle—like the heavens had taken pity and returned their lost family member.
But to me, it was surreal. I didn't know them. I didn't know Adam's past. I didn't even know what kind of life he lived, what promises he had made, or what relationships tied him to these people. I was an outsider wearing his skin.
And yet… as I felt their warmth, their tears soaking my clothes, I realized something.
To them, this wasn't an illusion. This wasn't a trick. This was as real as life and death.
The mother's reaction was dramatic, almost theatrical in its intensity, but it wasn't fake—it was the rawness of a woman who had been broken by war, who thought she had lost her son forever, only to find him again.
I tried to breathe steadily, but guilt gnawed at me.
Their joy wasn't meant for me—it was meant for the real Adam. But I couldn't tell them the truth.
If I did, it would shatter them all over again.