On an unknown day, in an unknown month and year, at an unknown hour, minute, and second.
The world below was as unchanged as ever, calm and eternal. Within the observable expanse, the skies were clear, no wind stirred, and clouds drifted in sparse, delicate wisps.
High above, Gawain watched it all from a fixed, omniscient perspective, his gaze locked upon the distant land, and, in the silence of his suspended existence, he pondered. It wasn't as if there was anything else to do.
He could no longer remember how long he had been here. Ages had passed since he last felt time as mortals do. Days and nights blended into endless cycles, their count long abandoned. He had once kept track by the changing patterns of the day, but after watching the sun rise and fall tens of thousands of times, he lost interest. The passage of time had become meaningless.
*So this was what transmigration felt like?*
In truth, Gawain had come to terms with his strange fate. It wasn't that he was particularly brave or indifferent to the idea of life and death, but in his last life, when his plane spiralled toward the earth in a deadly descent, he had realized the fragility of existence. Life was fleeting; death was inevitable. And in that instant, the idea of an uncertain second chance—even in an unfamiliar world—seemed infinitely preferable to the finality awaiting him at the ground.
But why, he wondered, was he left floating here?
And for an eternity?
What he was now, he could not define. He could not shift his perspective, nor could he feel the familiar sensations of a body. He was sight without substance, vision without form. Perhaps he was merely a lingering fragment, a shadow of his former self drifting endlessly. Whatever he was, he knew that he had transcended the realm of humanity.
After all, no human could keep their sanity intact after hovering above the world for countless ages. No mortal mind could remain lucid and whole.
Yet Gawain did. His memories were untouched, his mind as clear as the day he first arrived. He could still recall, with chilling clarity, the final seconds of his previous life—the piercing screams, the blaring alarms, the violent shaking of the plane, the endless sky tumbling outside the window, and the oxygen mask of the passenger beside him, dangling uselessly. And then the deafening crack as the plane tore apart, ending everything in an instant.
The memories were as vivid as though they had happened only moments ago. And he remembered his disbelief, that surge of shock as he opened his eyes to find himself here, drifting above an alien land.
From that first instant, he knew he was no longer on Earth. He had spent a little time accepting this reality, and far longer searching for a way to escape this endless drifting.
He had failed.
He was bound here, an observer fixed to a single point in the sky, able to look down but not beyond. His view encompassed a strange continent encircled by a vast, unbroken sea. He couldn't see what lay beyond it; he couldn't even glimpse the stars above.
Who knew—if he could turn his gaze, maybe he'd find some white-bearded god illuminating the world with a celestial spotlight.
At this point, he would take anything, anything to break the monotony.
But such dreams were futile. His vision was locked, his fate sealed. Eventually, he discovered that within this limited view, he could zoom in and out, focusing closer on the world below.
With a glimmer of hope, he brought his view closer, searching for signs of life on the fertile land below.
And there it was—disappointment. None of the creatures walked on two legs.
Still, Gawain had patience now, a patience beyond anything he had known in his former life. Perhaps it was the passage of time or the isolation, but he found within himself a boundless well of endurance. And so, he waited. He watched the creatures below adapt and evolve, patiently observing their slow march toward uprightness.
He saw them spark fire from flint, the first flicker of light and knowledge.
And from that spark, everything changed.
Gawain couldn't explain it, but time itself seemed to quicken. Days and years flew by in a blur, civilizations rising and falling in the space of an instant. The events unfolded as if some unseen hand had fast-forwarded the world. Primitive tribes morphed into bustling cities; empires rose and crumbled to dust; strange, draconic creatures emerged, their origins unclear. War after war scarred the land, followed by peace, and then war again.
And still, he drifted.
At last, he understood that it wasn't the world accelerating but his own perception fraying. He was witnessing brief snapshots across spans of years and decades, as though reality itself was beginning to slip from his grasp.
A shiver of dread coursed through his mind, a dread so deep that it seemed to reverberate through eons. He was fading. Each passing century allowed him only a second or less of awareness. Soon, even that might vanish, leaving him as little more than a forgotten memory, floating in the void.
For the first time, a sense of urgency burned within him. He clung to his thoughts, desperately searching for a way out. He had to escape this existence. Somehow, he had to break free, even if it meant returning to that plummeting plane. Anything would be better than dissolving into eternity.
His thoughts grew disjointed, slipping in and out as if he were on the edge of sleep. His mind rebelled, refusing to give in. He raged against the silence, a furious storm of thought, but no matter how hard he pushed, he could not move.
And then, in the darkness, just as he felt himself slipping away, a voice rang out, clear and unearthly:
"Power failure detected. Main system restart failed. Escape program activated."
In that instant, Gawain's fixed view dissolved into darkness.
But this time, his mind remained.
For the first time in eons, he closed his eyes, and still, he could think.
He didn't know how long he remained there in the void. A sense of cold crept over him, a sharp sensation of confinement, and his mind swirled in confusion as unfamiliar sensations flooded his awareness. Amid the chaos, he heard a young, frantic voice:
"Wait…don't kill me yet! Your ancestor's coffin lid is about to burst open!"