Chirp, chirp... chirp, chirp...
A low groan escaped the young man's lips, a sound of both pain and confusion, as consciousness clawed its way back into his mind. His eyelids fluttered, heavy as lead, finally parting to reveal the familiar ceiling of his bedroom.
The early morning sunlight slanted through the blinds, creating soft beams that danced across the room, a scene so ordinary it was almost comforting—almost.
But then, the world shattered.
Pain. A vicious, unrelenting pain that felt like it was tearing his skull apart. Cruzer's hands shot up to clutch his head, fingers digging into his temples as if he could physically rip the agony away.
Sweat broke out on his forehead, trickling down in cold, uneven streams, while his breath came in ragged, desperate gasps.
"Ugh, it hurts so much," he muttered through clenched teeth, his voice trembling with the effort to stay conscious.
The room began to spin, the edges of his vision blurring and darkening as if he were being sucked into a void.
Nausea churned in his stomach, a sickening twist that threatened to overpower him, but he forced his eyes shut, hoping—praying—that the darkness would offer some relief.
But instead of peace, the darkness brought chaos.
Images—no, memories—crashed into his mind like a tidal wave. They weren't his, but they were. They felt real, as tangible as the room spinning around him. Two lives, two realities, twisted and intertwined in a maddening dance, each demanding to be acknowledged, each claiming to be the truth. Each lives with similar features but vastly different from each other.
In one life, he was just Cruzer, a 14-year-old boy living the mundane life of an adolescent. He remembered the late-night gaming sessions that left him bleary-eyed in class, the stupid pranks he and his friends would pull, the awkward excitement of fumbling through his first crush. He remembered school, the boredom, the pressure, the restless dreams of a future that seemed distant and uncertain.
But then, there was the other life. A life of power, of magic. In this world, he was still Cruzer, but so much more than an ordinary boy.
He was a Mystic, albeit one who had just started his journey, a warrior wielding unimaginable power in a world where fantasy was reality, where magic and technology fused in ways that defied everything he knew. Demons roamed, behemoths thundered across the land, and he had been training to battle with them in the future in one of the best academy in this world.
But what remained constant in both his memories, was the fact that he was an orphan, with no family to call his own.
"No, this can't be real," he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. "What's happening to me?"
The two lives, so different yet so painfully real, clashed within him, threatening to tear his mind apart. Which was real? Was he just a boy struggling through the chaos of adolescence, or was he a warrior from another world, burdened with power and responsibility beyond imagination?
His head throbbed with the effort of making sense of it all. Each pulse of pain brought new memories, new flashes of two lives that shouldn't—couldn't—exist together. He felt his sanity slipping, like trying to hold onto water with clenched fists.
"Focus, Cruzer. Just breathe. You need to figure this out," he whispered to himself, forcing his breath to slow, trying to grasp onto something—anything—solid.
The pain began to ebb, just slightly, enough for him to open his eyes again. He stared around the room, searching for something familiar to ground him. The posters on the wall, the cluttered desk with its mess of books and gaming consoles, all of it was so… normal. And yet, nothing felt right.
He knew he couldn't ignore the memories. They were a part of him now, demanding to be acknowledged, refusing to be pushed aside.
"Alright, let's take this one step at a time. First, I need to see if anything else has changed," he said, his voice firmer, resolve hardening.
He pushed himself to his feet, unsteady but determined, and crossed the room to the mirror. The reflection that stared back at him was the same as always—black hair, dark eyes, a face that had grown all too familiar over the years.
But beneath that exterior, he felt it—something had changed.
With a deep breath, he turned away from the mirror, steeling himself for whatever came next. The world outside his window remained blissfully unaware of the storm raging within him, the birds continuing their morning chorus as if nothing had happened. But for Cruzer, everything had changed.
"HEY, Cruzer! Get out of your room fast. You're going to be late for school if you keep on dilly-dallying. I've been waiting for you for 15 minutes now!" a voice suddenly screamed from outside his door, shattering the fragile silence.
He blinked, the sudden noise jolting him back to reality. Confused, his mind still tangled between two worlds, he sighed, a deep, weary sound. Life, it seemed, would move on, uncaring of the chaos in his mind.
"Wait a minute, I'm coming," he called back, his voice betraying none of the turmoil within.
He dressed quickly, pulling on his school uniform with hands that shook just slightly. One last glance in the mirror, and he stepped out into the hallway, where his friend had been waiting for him.
"Yo, is the event from a few days ago still bothering you?" his friend asked, eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and concern as they walked together toward the kitchen.
Cruzer frowned, trying to recall what event his friend could be talking about. But as he searched his memory, the splitting headache returned, worse than before, and the world around him tilted violently.
He clutched his head, his knees buckling as his friend's voice became a distant echo, muffled and distorted.
"Cruzer, are you alright?" his friend's voice reached out to him, but it was too late.
The pain, the memories, the confusion—it was too much. He collapsed, his consciousness slipping away as his friend shouted for help.