Zaric's first sight of the girl left him dazed.
She looked to be about fifteen—slender, sun-kissed, wearing a patched brown blouse and dark trousers rolled up to her knees. Her bare ankles were streaked with mud, and her hair, the color of wet clay, was tied loosely behind her head. Despite her rough clothes, her eyes shone like river light after rain.
There was a strange familiarity in her face, as if he'd seen her somewhere before—perhaps in a dream he could no longer recall.
As she walked down the dirt path toward him, her steps light despite the basket slung over her shoulder, Zaric's chest tightened.
Who… is she?
Their eyes met. She froze mid-step, the basket slipping from her fingers. For a heartbeat, she only stared—then her lips trembled.
"Zac!"
Her voice was bright and clear, trembling between disbelief and joy. She ran toward him, tears already forming.
"Wait—hold on—" Zaric began, confused, glancing around. There was no one else in sight. The "Zac" she was calling must be… him?
Before he could think, the girl collided into him, wrapping him in a desperate embrace.
He felt the warmth of her arms, her scent of earth and sweat and something faintly sweet—wildflowers perhaps. He stiffened, utterly lost. Moments ago, he had clawed his way from a collapsed mine. Now, he was being crushed in the arms of a weeping girl he didn't know.
"Zac… you worried your sister half to death," she whispered through sobs. "You're alive. You're really alive…"
Her voice broke, and her grip only tightened, as if she feared he might vanish if she let go.
Zaric stood like stone, trying to make sense of her words.
Sister?
Then memory struck—the rough wooden marker beside the mound he had climbed from. "Beloved brother—Grave of Zaric."
And beneath it: "Elder Sister Lyra Terran."
This girl… was the one who had written it.
So she thought he was her little brother—the one buried in that mud mound.
But… how could that be?
She looked fifteen at most. By her words, her brother should have been a child. Why would she mistake a grown man for him?
The thought made him glance down—and what he saw froze him.
His hands were small. Smooth. The calluses of years in the mines were gone, replaced by the soft skin of a boy.
His breath caught. He looked at his reflection in a puddle beside the path. A young face stared back—rounder, softer, twelve maybe thirteen years old.
That's… me?
A chill rippled through him. He had become younger—reborn.
The girl—Lyra—was still crying quietly against his shoulder, her warmth seeping into his cold confusion. Zaric didn't know her, but the affection in her voice stirred something deep within him, a thread of emotion that wasn't entirely his own.
She wiped her eyes, smiled through tears, and took his hand. "Come home, Zac. Let's go home."
When she tugged, his knees nearly buckled. Hunger slammed into him like a hammer. His stomach cramped painfully, and the world tilted.
Lyra frowned, then knelt, turning her back to him. "You're weak. Get on—Sister will carry you."
"Wait, what? No, I—" Zaric started, but before he could protest, she hoisted him up with surprising strength. Her shoulders were warm beneath him, her steps steady even as her breath quickened.
"Zac, don't worry. You're safe now," she murmured as she walked. "I'll never let you out of my sight again."
Zaric's mind spun. He wanted to tell her she was mistaken, that he wasn't this "Zac." But the words wouldn't come. The language on her lips was one he shouldn't have understood—yet somehow, he did. Every syllable made sense.
This isn't my world, he thought. This… isn't Clayhaven anymore.
He turned his head at a sound—a deep rumble rolling across the plains. Lyra flinched, stepping off the path into the shadow of an old oak tree. She crouched low, holding Zaric tight as the ground trembled.
Over the distant ridge came a storm of dust—and through it, a shadow like a moving mountain. A beast.
Zaric's heart froze. The creature was monstrous, towering seven meters tall, ten meters long. Each step gouged the earth. Its fangs were like swords, and its hide shimmered like forged iron.
Compared to it, lions and bears were kittens.
And riding upon its back was a man.
The rider's posture was calm, regal. A long blade rested against his shoulder, its edge glinting even through the dust. From this distance, Zaric could feel his presence—a pressure heavy as stone, ancient and immense. The air around the man rippled faintly with golden energy.
Zaric couldn't breathe. The realization struck him like a blow.
This was not Earth.
The beasts. The aura. The runes on the tomb marker. The younger body.
Everything made sense in a single, dizzying way.
He had been reborn in another world.
The yellow Amethyst —the glowing crystal that had saved him—must have done it. From the moment the mine collapsed, his soul had been drawn here, into the body of the boy named Zaric, the younger brother of Lyra Terran.
"Zac…" Lyra whispered, clutching him as the giant beast passed in the distance. Her voice trembled with both fear and relief. "Don't worry. We'll be safe soon."
Zaric said nothing. His thoughts churned.
If that Amethyst had brought him here… could it take him back?
As if answering, a faint coolness pulsed in his chest. He touched the spot and felt the gem beneath his shirt—the yellow Amethyst, still glowing softly.
He hadn't put it there. Yet it remained, fixed against his heart.
"What in the world are you?" he whispered.
A whisper stirred in his mind, like distant thunder echoing through stone:
Amethyst Origins.
The words surfaced unbidden, ancient and heavy. Zaric didn't understand them—but somehow, he knew the name.
That was what the Amethyst called itself.
Amethyst Origins…
Whatever it was, it had saved him, reshaped him, and cast him into a world of giants and beasts. And if he was to survive here, he would have to uncover its secrets.