It was a certain year, month, day, hour, minute, and second.
Down below, the world went on as usual. The observable area was clear, with no wind and thin clouds scattered sparsely across the sky.
Gawain gazed silently down at the distant land from an absolute bird's-eye view, pondering the meaning of life. After all, it wasn't like he had anything else to do.
He couldn't remember how long he'd been in this state, nor did he have any idea what he looked like anymore. Sure, he could roughly gauge the passage of time by the changing days and nights, but after tens of thousands of cycles, even that had become tiresome.
Had he transmigrated? Well, he was fairly okay with it. It wasn't that he had some grand, enlightened view of life and death, but back when his plane was plummeting, he'd come to terms with the fickle nature of fate. So yeah, given the choice, transmigrating to another world definitely beat splattering on impact. But this? Floating up here for who knows how long? That was something else entirely.
He had no idea what kind of existence he was in right now. He couldn't shift his viewpoint, couldn't feel his body. In fact, aside from sight, he'd lost all sensory perception of the outside world.
All he knew for sure was that he was definitely not in any typical human form floating up here. No human could drift alone in the sky for millennia and still remain as clear-headed as he was, with his memories intact, pondering his situation.
By now, a normal person would've gone insane.
But he hadn't. Not only that, but his memory was surprisingly sharp. Thousands of years had passed, yet he could still vividly recall the last moments of his previous life: the shrill screams, alarms blaring, the plane cabin shuddering violently, the horizon flipping outside the window, his seatmate fumbling with an oxygen mask, and then the deafening explosion as the plane disintegrated.
All of it as clear as yesterday. And after that final loud noise, he'd opened his eyes, only to find himself floating above an unfamiliar planet.
From that moment, he knew the land and sea below him were not of Earth. He'd spent a little time deducing and accepting his arrival in a new world, then a lot more time trying to figure out how to stop floating aimlessly.
No luck on that second part.
He realized he was "fixed" in place or perhaps simply incapable of movement in this new form. He'd become a "stationary viewpoint" hovering above, locked into position.
He could observe the land below but only a restricted section of it—an irregularly shaped continent surrounded by a circle of ocean. His vision couldn't even reach beyond the surrounding sea, much less the wider world. He couldn't turn his gaze, meaning he'd never even glimpsed the sky above this world.
For all he knew, there might be a white-bearded God out there holding a spotlight, illuminating the land below.
Ah, he'd give anything for a little backstroke—just to see whatever deity might be up there holding that giant light.
But everything was wishful thinking. This fixed perspective could not be shifted.
After much effort, however, he did discover a small workaround: while he couldn't move sideways, he could zoom in and out within this limited field of view.
That realization brought him a long-lasting thrill. He eagerly experimented with zooming in and out, adjusting his perspective at will. Though even at maximum zoom, he couldn't see past the surrounding sea, at least he could zoom in to see what was happening on the continent below.
It was a lush, vibrant place, teeming with life.
If he could catch a glimpse of the daily lives of these strange-world inhabitants, it would be something—anything to stave off boredom.
So, he zoomed in as close as he could, down to the level where he could observe every blade of grass.
And that's when he despaired. The mammals down there… none of them had learned to walk upright.
But patience was one thing Gawain had in spades. Perhaps he hadn't been the most patient person as a human, but after becoming this celestial observer, he'd developed a vast reservoir of it.
He watched and waited, eventually witnessing those proto-humanoids take their first upright steps.
Many years later, he observed the first spark of man-made fire.
It was flint.
And from that spark, things began to change.
Gawain couldn't explain it, but after that first fire was kindled, everything seemed to accelerate. It was as if he were watching a video fast-forwarded a thousandfold.
Humanoids quickly built primitive settlements, which grew into early city-states. They mastered incredible powers that seemed like magic, using them to expand their territories.
But before he could fully grasp what was happening, those early kingdoms crumbled to ruins, and new beings emerged from the rubble, spreading across the land…
Humans and various other species began competing for space on the continent. They founded kingdoms, developed religions, and waged wars in the names of their gods, only to vanish again in a blink.
The progression quickened. Overwhelmed by the sheer volume of events, Gawain realized that his observations were now fragmented—like snapshots taken every few years or even decades. This disjointed view gave him the illusion of an accelerating timeline.
Eventually, he understood: it wasn't that events were speeding up. Instead, he was "skipping" vast amounts of information.
His awareness would cut out, only to resume later as if no time had passed. He hadn't realized this at first, but when he returned, it was as if no time had passed at all.
Something was definitely wrong.
The word "doom" flitted through his mind like lightning, even though that single flash of thought probably took hundreds of years.
With each fleeting frame, he noticed another kingdom's rise and fall. He couldn't say what exactly was happening, but he knew it wasn't right.
From these fragmented images, he recognized that his consciousness was on the verge of vanishing.
With each passing century, he could think for maybe a second, and his "mind blanks" kept getting longer.
If this continued, the entity known as "Gawain" would disappear entirely, dissolving into nothingness here, never to resume.
For the first time in countless millennia, Gawain felt a sense of urgency. He pushed his thoughts, racing for a way out, but his mind felt sluggish, stretching painfully over eons as he struggled to break free from this trap.
Over and over, his mind echoed with a single thought: escape, escape, escape…
In the midst of his fury and desperation, Gawain's thoughts began to blur. His once-uninterrupted consciousness faltered.
Then, just as he felt his awareness slipping away, a voice suddenly broke the silence, as if from nowhere: "Energy failure detected. System reboot unsuccessful. Initiating escape protocol."
In the next instant, that fixed viewpoint disappeared, and darkness enveloped him.
But his mind did not go quiet.
For the first time in countless years, as he "closed his eyes," his thoughts continued.
He didn't know how long he drifted in that darkness. It felt as if he were tumbling, falling into a cold, confined space, while long-forgotten sensations stirred within his body. Amidst the chaos, he vaguely heard a young woman's voice, filled with panic: "D-Don't kill me! More importantly… your ancestor's coffin lid won't stay shut!"