The hospital reeked of antiseptic, white neon lights stinging the eyes. In 1999, a baby boy was born. His father, Gilga H. Ra, rushed into the delivery room, face torn between relief and nerves. His mother, YuriAdvian, lay exhausted on the bed, but a faint smile bloomed as the newborn was placed in her arms. They named him Phoenix H. Ra.
Three years later, the Ra family moved into a villa district. There, Phoenix first met AthenaLiang, the neighbor girl who would grow into his closest companion. They grew up side by side, playing in gardens, sharing secrets, weathering joy and sorrow. Yet fate struck cruelly. At ten years old, Phoenix lost his parents in a plane crash. From then on, Athena's family cared for him. Their bond deepened, though Phoenix remained blind to Athena's quiet affections.
Through his teenage years, Phoenix drowned himself in indoor worlds. He played endless games, devoured comics and novels, watched anime and films, even memorized idol group songs. His mind brimmed with plots, characters, artifacts, and strategies, as though unknowingly preparing for something far greater than an ordinary life.
By the end of 2031, the world collapsed. Nuclear war, natural disasters, plagues, and meteors descended together. Humanity fell apart, nations crumbled, faith shattered. In 2033, at thirty-four years old, Phoenix defended his family's villa with Athena at his side. But desperate soldiers and frenzied survivors stormed the home. Phoenix was cut down, Athena dragged away, her scream the last sound he heard before darkness claimed him.
The world was not the same.
Phoenix stumbled out of his bedroom, bare feet pressing against the polished wooden floor of the villa. His chest heaved, lungs struggling to calm down as if he had just woken from a nightmare. Only this wasn't a dream. He yanked open the balcony doors, light pouring in, and froze.
The horizon mocked everything he remembered. Gleaming skyscrapers pierced the sky beside crumbling castle towers. Hovercars hummed in the air, streaks of neon cutting across the blue—yet on the same streets below, horse-drawn carts rattled over cobblestones as if the Middle Ages had never ended. Above it all, a floating isle hovered, immense and impossible, casting a long shadow that swallowed half the city in twilight.
Phoenix gripped the railing, knuckles white. The sound of his breath drowned beneath the chaos of two eras colliding at once. Church bells clanged alongside the horns of speeding vehicles. Market cries tangled with the digital hum of holographic billboards. The air itself smelled wrong—half engine smoke, half incense, as though history had been stitched together by a mad god.
His reflection flickered faintly on the balcony glass. Older. Sharper. He leaned closer, trembling fingers touching his own jawline. This was his body—but younger than the one that had died in blood and fire. He knew the year, the place. His gaze darted toward the desk inside the room, where a simple calendar rested. His legs moved before he realized, stumbling back inside to snatch it up.
2025.
Phoenix's pulse hammered. The date burned in his vision, more cruel than comforting. He remembered the last timeline vividly—the slow descent into madness, the collapse of nations, the final siege when desperate survivors tore into his villa, when Athena's scream was the last sound he heard before the knife sank into his chest.
And now… he was here again. Eight years earlier.
"...Impossible," he whispered.
A sudden roar shattered the air. The glass trembled in its frame. Phoenix spun toward the balcony, heart stopping.
Something vast tore across the heavens. Scales shimmered silver beneath the sun, each beat of its wings scattering clouds like paper. Its long tail split the sky, its shadow swallowing towers whole. The creature was beautiful and terrible, ancient as myth and alive as the storm.
Phoenix's lips parted, his voice breaking without control.
"A… a dragon?!"
The beast's cry reverberated through his bones, a sound that silenced the city. People screamed below, pointing, running, while others fell to their knees as if witnessing a god. Phoenix could not move. His mind reeled, memories clashing with the reality before him.
Dragons. Castles. Floating isles. Hovercars. Everything mixed. Everything broken.
His world had been rewritten.
Phoenix staggered back into the room, heart clawing against his ribs. He pressed his palms to his face, but it did nothing to still the trembling. Only one truth carved itself clear in his thoughts, sharper than the fear.
This time, it would not end the same way.
He had seen the world collapse once. He had seen friends die, cities burn, gods fall. He had carried the weight of despair until death claimed him. But now, fate had thrown him back. Whatever the reason—curse, miracle, or cruel game—Phoenix clenched his teeth, the fire in his chest refusing to dim.
He would not fail again.
The dragon roared once more, wings blotting out the sun as its shadow swept across the villa. Phoenix's eyes widened, reflection caught in its gleaming scales. The roar rattled through his bones like a vow, a challenge from the heavens themselves.
And with it, the world of apocalypse and fantasy truly began.