A loud buzzing sounded as the alarm clock ticked to six a.m. A skinny but healthy arm reached out from under the covers and smashed the alarm. Groaning, a young man in his mid-teens struggled to sit up, cradling his head in his hands.
As the darkness outside obscured the room, it took him a moment to take in his surroundings. After a dozen seconds passed, he gasped. He didn't recognize the room.
There was no clutter, no posters of his favorite anime characters or musicians adorning the walls. Instead, the space was simple and clean. A silver desk sat on the far side of the room, across from the door. His bed was larger and more comfortable than the one he remembered, positioned to the right of the desk.
On a small but seemingly high-quality nightstand beside the bed sat the alarm clock. The only decoration was a framed picture on the wall, depicting a family of five. The boy's attention was drawn to the smiling ten-year-old child, tanner than the others, with messy black hair. His bright smile showed eyes squeezed shut against the camera's flash.
"Why does this boy look so familiar?" he muttered, bending his head down. Looking at the body he inhabited, he yelped and jumped up, standing on the bed.
"What the hell is this?" He was sure he remembered being a middle-aged man. Though the boy resembled a younger version of himself, this was not the body he recognized.
"What is happening?" Before he could gather his thoughts, a splitting headache surged through him. Falling back onto the bed, he twitched, clutching his head. As the pain intensified, memories flooded into his mind—images racing too quickly to decipher, save for two words that resonated clearly: Miles Duke.
That was the name of this young teen. Amid the chaos of memories, scenes began to crystallize: a baby being cradled in his mother's arms, his eighth birthday party surrounded by family and friends, the milestones of growing up, falling in love, getting married, and eventually, losing the love of his life to another man.
These images were familiar; he recognized the places and people. But interspersed among them were flashes of another life, vibrant and surreal: creatures soaring through the sky, conversations with strangers, battles involving magic, swords, elves, dwarves, and beast people—like a fantasy story come to life.
The images slowed, revealing a particular sequence. In a first-person view, he realized he was in his own body. It was a cold winter night, and he stumbled home, drunk after celebrating a successful project at work with coworkers.
His expression grew serious as he watched himself navigate the way home from the bar, where his friend Jerry had offered to help him, but he had declined. The fresh air was meant to help him sober up before reaching home.
Stumbling slightly, he took a deep breath, the cold air snapping him back to focus. He glanced at his wrist—nearing four a.m. A sigh escaped him as a memory of his recently divorced wife floated into view.
His heart ached at the thought of her walking away with another man. They had spent twenty years together, yet she claimed she had "just grown away" from him. Moving on was anything but easy.
As tears began to blur his vision, he was startled by the roar of a truck approaching from behind. He turned and saw a red pickup speeding down the street. Leaning out of the window was a man, his age obscured by a mask and heavy coat.
Before Miles could react, a flash erupted, followed by a loud bang. Pain blossomed in his chest, overwhelming him as he stumbled forward.
"Go back to where you came from, you ******. We'll take back what was…" Miles' body crumpled, and the scene faded out, images flashing in his mind once again.
Stunned, he watched his own death replay. He placed a hand on his chest, as if to stave off the pain that still lingered.
Just as he began to process the tragedy, the throbbing in his head escalated to a deafening drumbeat. He could hear the rush of blood coursing through his veins, feeling the pressure build within his skull.
Suddenly, he fell from the bed and crashed onto the floor, screaming as blood flowed from his nose. Memories spiraled faster, cramming into his mind.
Time blurred—days felt like seconds—yet he was too disoriented to check the clock. Fear gripped him; what if only moments had passed? The thought made him struggle against the pain.
Then the door to his room burst open, and two shadows rushed in. Miles wanted to see who had entered, but tears clouded his vision.
"Miles, what's wrong? Speak to me! What is happening?" One shadow knelt beside him, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him into an embrace. A cooling sensation coursed through him, helping to clear his mind. While the pain remained, the chill provided a new focus.
Blinking up through the haze of pain, he felt confused yet comforted by the presence above him. The young woman holding him looked about twenty, with long dark hair brushing across his face. Her eyes sparkled like stars against the night sky.
"Leyla?" he struggled to say. "Why are you here?"
"Is that what you should be saying right now? Shut up unless you can tell me what's wrong!"
"I... I don't know what happened. My head…" Miles faltered, struggling to explain. But the pain surged again, overwhelming him, and he couldn't find the words. He gazed into Leyla's eyes, seeing concern etched across her face.
Despite feeling as if he had never met her, part of him felt incredibly safe in her arms. It was a sensation he couldn't ignore, one that made him want to surrender to the comfort.
That sense of safety broke down his resolve, and he managed a smile for Leyla, hoping to ease her worries before darkness enveloped him.
The second shadow spoke from the side. "I've already called for a healer. Let's move him to the bed while we wait."
Leyla glanced at the handsome young man with shiny golden hair kneeling beside them. "You're right, Edric. Please help me get him onto the bed."
Together, they carefully lifted Miles and placed him back on the bed. Leyla covered him with blankets and started dialing his mother's number. Edric stared down at Miles, whose face remained contorted in pain, confusion evident in his eyes.