The silence of the room felt strange.
The dark wooden walls, the small, dimly lit stove, the resinous scent of mountain trees… it all seemed like a fragment of a world that had never existed in my life.
I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at my own hands—or rather, Astryan's hands. Rough. Smoothly muscled. There were small scars I didn't recognize, but this body knew them.
I took a slow breath.
In my head, fragments of the old man's firm voice lingered…
"Inhale. Hold. Turn the flow."
Astrian's memory.
A memory that was now mine too, though not fully integrated.
I tried to play it back, to imitate it.
Sitting cross-legged.
Back straight.
Hands on knees.
As I inhaled, there was a strange sensation, like a warm current moving through my ribs. Not painful, just… unfamiliar.
I tried to turn it using the basic technique Astryan had taught me.
The wind around me moved—lightly, but real.
I swallowed.
"So… I really can?"
I made a small hand movement.
Whoosh…
A thin gust of wind cut through the air and hit a shelf in the corner of the room.
One of the ropes holding the shelf down snapped gently, falling to the floor.
It wasn't strong.
It wasn't dangerous.
But it was enough to make my chest flutter.
"This… is real."
I smiled a little—a smile mixed with confusion and awe.
And somehow, the whole process felt natural.
Like my body knew what I was doing, even before I fully understood it.
Suddenly, I realized something.
"I… speak the language of this world?"
I looked around the room.
Every time I opened my mouth, the language that came out wasn't Indonesian, but a foreign language I somehow understood.
Strange.
So strange.
"Why can I speak this…? And why do I understand?"
I held my head again.
Perhaps it was the merging of Astryan's memories—though mostly fragments, perhaps the language of this world had also entered.
I got up and walked over to the shelf that had been blown over.
Several objects had fallen out: dried animal skins, a roll of rope, and a thin book with a bark cover.
I picked it up.
The writing on the front cover looked foreign, not resembling Latin… but as my eyes scanned it, my brain immediately understood the meaning.
"Basic Breath Purification Techniques — Astryan's Notes"
I froze.
"I… can read too?"
Crazy.
Not just speaking.
Not just understanding.
But reading the writing of this world as if it were my first language.
I turned the page.
In Astryan's handwriting—a little messy but neat in its own way—was practice notes, breathing diagrams, and small notes full of complaints about the old man's harsh training methods.
As I flipped through the pages, my chest felt tight—not sad, but a strange mixture of Astryan's and my own.
"This… is her body. Her life. And now… somehow, it's also a part of me."
I closed the book slowly.
A strange, unfamiliar, sometimes terrifying new world… but its cunning made me understand everything effortlessly.
Magic, breathing techniques, writing, conversations…
Everything flowed into my brain, as Astryan's memories clung to my consciousness.
"Okay," I said, taking a deep breath. "If I can understand all this… then I can learn more."
I sat back down.
I tried to catch my breath again.
Astryan's memories guided me.
I tried technique after technique—slowly, carefully.
But before I could take the second step, my head suddenly felt heavy.
New memories rolled back without permission, crashing into my thoughts.
Pain.
Hard training.
The screams of Astryan's body.
The figure of the old man who always watched over her.
"A—ahh…!"
I fell to my side, my breath sputtering.
The world spun.
"Damn… it's too much…"
The dizziness lasted a few seconds before finally subsiding, leaving a feeling of exhaustion throughout my body.
I lay there, staring up at the wooden ceiling of the room.
"Okay… slow down. I have to slow down."
The light from the furnace moved slowly, as if aware of my confusion.
And in the silence, I realized something:
This wasn't just a new body. This was a new life.
And I had to understand it all over again—its language, its techniques, its world.