The ceiling was different.
Not white tile. Stone. Grey blocks fitted together with dark mortar, gaps filled with something darker still. A tapestry hung on the wall to his right. Red and black fabric, gold threading catching light from somewhere he couldn't see.
The air smelled different. Old stone. Smoke. Something herbal and faint.
Ryo tried to sit up.
Nothing happened.
He could feel his chest moving. Air in, air out. Could feel rough wool blankets against his skin, heavy and warm. But his arms wouldn't respond. His legs stayed still. The connection between thought and movement was gone.
He'd died. The office floor. Cold tile. The rain against the windows. His Mom's message was still glowing on his phone.
And now, this.
Is this like those stories? The ones Yuki used to talk about?
His little brother had been obsessed with them. Novels about people dying and waking up in other worlds. Magic and adventures and second chances. Ryo had never read them. Too busy working. But Yuki would tell him about them anyway, talking through dinner about heroes and quests.
Ryo always smiled and nodded. Never really listened.
Maybe he should have.
The door opened.
A young woman entered carrying a wooden tray. Fifteen, maybe sixteen. Brown hair tied back under a plain cap. Grey dress, simple and worn. She looked down at the bowl on the tray, concentrating on not spilling.
He tried to speak.
What came out was barely sound. A rasp. Air scraping past a throat that hadn't been used in—
How long?
Her head snapped up. Brown eyes went wide. The color drained from her face.
"Oh my God. Master Theon—"
The tray hit the floor. Ceramic shattered against stone. Dark liquid, broth, maybe, splashed across grey.
"MASTER THEON IS AWAKE!"
She screamed it loud enough to echo. Then she turned and ran, footsteps pounding down a corridor he couldn't see.
Master Theon.
So that name belonged to this body.
Shouting erupted somewhere beyond the room. Multiple voices, sharp and urgent. Running. Heavy boots on stone. A woman's voice giving orders. Then silence for a heartbeat.
The door burst open again.
A girl stood in the doorway.
She was young. Seventeen, maybe. Beautiful in a way that seemed almost unreal, delicate features, high cheekbones, skin so pale it looked like porcelain in the dim light. But it was her hair that stopped him. Gold.
Then she looked at him.
Orange eyes. Bright, burning orange.
She stared. Lips parted. No sound came out.
For a long moment, she just stood there. Frozen.
Then her face crumpled.
Three running steps and she dropped to her knees beside the bed. Her hands grabbed his, both of them, holding tight enough to hurt. Warm. Shaking.
"Theon."
The word didn't feel like it belonged to him.
Tears spilled down her cheeks. She was laughing and crying at the same time, a sound caught between joy and breaking.
"Four years. Four years." Her voice cracked. She squeezed his hands harder. "I thought—we thought you'd never—"
She stopped. Couldn't finish.
Four years?
What happened in four years?
"Can you hear me? Do you understand?"
He managed a small nod. Barely movement. But she saw it.
She pressed his hand to her forehead, shoulders shaking. "Thank the Phoenix. Thank—" She looked up at him, orange eyes bright with tears. "Does it hurt? Are you—should I get the maester?"
He tried to shake his head. The effort exhausted him. Everything exhausted him.
"Don't move. Don't try to move. Just rest. I'll stay. I'm not going anywhere."
She pulled the chair closer without letting go of his hand. Settled into it like she'd done this before. Many times.
He studied her face while she tried to compose herself. Too young to have that much grief carved into her expression. The desperate way she held his hand. The tears that wouldn't stop.
Four years, she'd said.
His vision started to blur at the edges from exhaustion this time.
"Sleep," she whispered, noticing. "I'll be here when you wake up. I promise."
The darkness took him gently.
---
When he woke again, the light had changed.
Afternoon. Golden sun slanting through a narrow window cut into thick stone. Dust motes danced in the beam. The fireplace across the room had burned down to embers.
The girl was still there. Still in the chair. Asleep now, her head resting on her folded arms on the mattress. Golden hair spread across the blankets like spilled sunlight.
She'd stayed. Just like she promised.
He turned his head slowly. Took in more of the room.
Stone walls. Thick. Ancient. The tapestry showed a bird; large wings spread wide, rising from stylized flames. A phoenix. The stitching was old. Colors faded in places where sunlight had touched it for years.
A small table beside the bed held a water pitcher and cup. A single candle, unlit. Nothing else.
The window showed a grey sky beyond. Hills in the distance, dark with forest. No buildings visible. No roads. Just wilderness.
Something moved in the sky.
He blinked.
Too large. Red and gold. Wings spread wide enough to block the sun for a moment.
"Is that a bird?"
It circled once in the distance, sunlight catching on feathers that seemed to shimmer. Then it disappeared beyond the hills.
He stared at the empty sky.
Then exhaustion pulled at him again and he closed his eyes.
The door opened quietly.
A man entered. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Mid-twenties. He wore dark practical clothing, well-made but not ornate. A sword hung at his hip. His hair was the same gold as the girl's, though shorter, tied back. His eyes—
Deep red, like wine.
He stopped when he saw Ryo awake.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
The man's jaw tightened. Something flickered across his face. Relief. Grief. Something harder to name.
"Theon."
Rough voice. Controlled. Like he was holding something back.
Ryo tried to speak. Nothing came out.
The man crossed the room slowly. Looked down at him. Studied his face like he was searching for something specific.
"Four years," he said quietly. "Senna barely left your side." He glanced at the sleeping girl. "She refused to believe you wouldn't wake up." His red eyes came back to Ryo. "I wasn't sure."
The honesty in that statement hung heavy.
"The maester will want to examine you. Make sure—" He paused. Drew a breath. "After Father—"
He stopped. Cut himself off. Shook his head like pushing the thought away.
"Rest. We'll talk when you're stronger."
He turned to leave. Paused at the door. Looked back.
"Welcome back, brother."
The door closed quietly behind him.
Brother.
The word hung in the air after he left.
Ryo lay still in the fading afternoon light.
He closed his eyes.
Sleep came easier this time.
---
The dream hit like ice water.
Snow. Cold. Trees dark against white.
Shouting. Men running. Steel ringing against steel.
"THEON, RUN!"
A man's voice. Deep. Commanding. Desperate.
He was running. The body was younger. Snow crunching under feet. Blood on the ground.
Arrows whistled past. Someone screamed.
He turned—
"Father—"
Ryo woke up gasping.
It was dark now. Night had fallen completely. A single candle burned on the table, casting shadows that danced across stone walls.
Senna was still in the chair. Still sleeping. Her breathing was soft.
His heart hammered against his ribs. The dream…..no, the memory
…still vivid behind his eyes.
Snow. Blood. The man.
He stared at the ceiling until his breathing slowed. Until his heart stopped trying to break through his chest.
He closed his eyes and tried not to think about it.
---
To be continued in CHAPTER THREE