Lian sat cross-legged on the rough-hewn wooden floor of the small cottage, his hands absently running through his disheveled hair. It was a strange feeling—being in this body again, his youthful body, a mere 9 years old. His mind, so full of fragmented memories of the past, couldn't quite reconcile this present moment with the distant echoes of his existence as an Immortal. The memories felt like they belonged to someone else, some distant, faraway life.
The small room around him was simple—bare wood, a fire crackling softly in the hearth, shelves lined with modest supplies, a faint scent of cooking herbs and fresh bread hanging in the air. This was the world he had known as a child, but now, it felt distant, like a dream. The fire flickered, casting soft shadows on the walls, and the morning light filtered through the small window in uneven streaks. Outside, the first birds of the day began their calls, a familiar sound, yet for some reason, it felt like the melody of a foreign song.
He stared at the flickering flames, trying to make sense of the turmoil within. How was it possible to be back here, to live this life again? His heart raced as the weight of his second chance bore down upon him, the heavy burden of immortality still fresh in his mind. The same hands that had once manipulated the very forces of nature were now small, delicate—completely unfit for the life of a child.
His thoughts were interrupted by a soft voice that broke through the thick veil of his confusion. "Lian, you're up early."
He looked up to see a woman standing in the doorway, her face soft with concern. She was dressed in simple robes—faded but clean—her long dark hair pulled into a braid. The warmth in her eyes made his chest tighten with an unfamiliar ache. It was his mother, but something about seeing her again stirred a new confusion within him.
"You should still be resting. You've been through much," she said gently, her eyes scanning him for signs of illness.
Lian blinked, his breath catching in his throat. Her voice—it was so familiar, yet so distant. The moment she entered the room, memories of a past he had buried resurfaced, not as the memories of a child, but as the memories of an Immortal: the sorrow, the sacrifices, the eternal loneliness. And yet, here she was, standing before him, the woman who had always been his constant in a world that had long since crumbled.
Tears welled in his eyes, hot and unexpected. They slid down his cheeks, burning like molten silver, and he quickly wiped them away, embarrassed by his weakness. Why was he crying? What was this strange feeling that twisted in his chest?
He had lived through centuries of solitude, seen the death of those he loved, while he remained untouched by time. His heart had hardened over lifetimes, and yet, standing before him now, was his mother—the same face, the same warmth that had comforted him in his earliest memories. The sight of her, the soft look in her eyes, was like a wound reopening.
"Lian?" Her voice broke through his thoughts, concern lacing her words. She crouched down beside him, her gaze tender.
He looked away, his breath still shaky. "I… I don't know why I'm crying, Mother," he admitted in a whisper, his voice trembling. His face felt flushed, his emotions too raw to process.
His mother didn't pull away. She simply held him close, her arms enveloping him like a warm blanket. There was no judgment in her touch, no questions—just the quiet comfort of a mother who had always been there. Her presence, so simple, so genuine, eased the storm of confusion within him, even if only for a moment.
"Lian," she whispered, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "It's alright. Whatever you're feeling, it's okay. You don't have to understand it all right now. We can take it one step at a time."
Lian closed his eyes, her words so tender that they pierced through the walls he had built around his heart. He had long since learned to live without love, to distance himself from the fleeting warmth of human connection. Yet here, in this moment, her embrace made him feel small again—vulnerable.
He pulled away gently, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. The quiet moment was shattered by the sound of the door creaking open. Lian turned to see his younger sister, Mei, standing in the doorway with a puzzled look on her face. Her tiny hands clutched a small bundle of herbs, likely picked from the garden.
"Lian, why are you crying?" Mei asked softly, her eyes wide with innocence.
Lian froze, uncertain how to respond. He wasn't sure why he had been crying himself. A child, so full of hope and wonder, stood before him, unaware of the weight of a lifetime that pressed down on his heart. But the question brought him back to his sense of self, reminding him of the role he was now meant to play.
"I…" Lian began, but the words caught in his throat. He couldn't explain. Instead, he managed a small, shaky smile. "I'm fine, Mei. Just a little tired, that's all."
His mother, ever the protector, smiled reassuringly at Mei. "Lian is just working through some things, sweetie. It's alright."
But Lian could see the worry in her eyes. Mei didn't understand, and that was a relief in some ways—he didn't want to burden her with the complexities of his memories, the truth of what he had been. He could feel his heartache, but he couldn't share it with her.
"I think…" Lian said quietly, after a long pause, "I've been given a second chance."
His mother frowned slightly, concern flickering in her eyes. She took a step back, sitting beside him on the floor. "What do you mean, Lian? You've been through so much, yes, but you're still just a child. Don't worry about things beyond your understanding. Let us focus on today, on what's in front of you."
Lian stared at the floor, the weight of his emotions pressing down upon him. How could he explain to her? How could he tell her the truth—that he had once been an Immortal, that he had watched the world from above, untouched by time? How could he tell her that this life, this moment, might not even be real?
But he didn't say those things. He simply nodded, unable to speak the complex truth that danced on the edge of his mind. Instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing the pendant around her neck—a simple, meaningful heirloom, passed down through generations.
"I have to fix what I can, Mother," he said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I don't want to lose what we have. Not again."
His mother's gaze softened, a silent understanding passing between them. She didn't question him, didn't demand answers. She simply smiled and placed a hand on his cheek, as though to reassure him that, whatever his confusion, he was not alone.
"Then take it one step at a time," she said gently. "There's no need to rush."
Lian didn't respond right away. His mind was already racing ahead, already plotting his next steps. He had been given this second chance to correct the mistakes of his past, to change the future—and he would do everything in his power to make it right.
Later that afternoon, as the sun began to dip low in the sky, Lian found himself in the village square. The peaceful sounds of life surrounded him—the laughter of children playing in the streets, the chatter of villagers preparing for the evening meal. Everything felt so normal, so peaceful. But to him, it was a strange, fragile thing, like the glass walls of a world he no longer fit into.
As he watched the others, a thought crossed his mind: Was any of this real? Had he truly been given a second chance, or was this all some elaborate dream?
He walked through the market, his footsteps slow and hesitant. An old woman, her face wrinkled with age and wisdom, offered him a warm smile as she handed him a bundle of fruit. Lian took it, nodding his thanks, but in his mind, the world felt foreign.
This world was simple, mundane even, but in a way, it was beautiful. Yet his heart ached for the life he once had, the infinite stretches of time, the power, the loneliness. There was no going back. But he could change the future.
When Lian returned home later that evening, the sky was painted in deep shades of orange and purple. The stars were just beginning to make their appearance. He sat in the quiet of his room, contemplating the enormity of his decision to try and correct the mistakes of his past.
"I'll make things right," he whispered, his voice steady, though his heart remained conflicted. "This time, I'll do better."
And with that, he walked toward the door, his heart filled with the quiet resolve of someone who had seen eternity and now had the chance to shape the future. He knew it wouldn't be easy. He knew Heaven wouldn't just hand him what he wanted. But this was his second chance. He would make it count.
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