The morning sun streamed through the window of Laniel's modest room, casting golden light on the simple furnishings. For a moment, he simply lay there, staring at the ceiling, his mind quiet but unsettled.
It had been a few days since he had been reborn—since the Wisher had sent him back to the world in a stronger body with the Gamer System as his guide. The memories of that encounter were still fresh in his mind, but what lingered more than anything was the strange disconnection he felt.
This wasn't his body.
He flexed his hands, examining the rough calluses on his palms. The face that stared back at him in the mirror was unfamiliar—sharper features, darker eyes, and a quiet intensity that made him look more confident than he felt.
The system's familiar chime interrupted his thoughts, and a notification appeared in his field of vision.
> Notification: Welcome, Laniel. Your identity has been synchronized. Host designation confirmed.
Lanark—or Laniel now—frowned, the name tasting foreign on his tongue. Laniel. That's who I am now. But does that mean the person I was is truly gone?
The thought unsettled him. He had been given a second chance, but it came with the eerie reality of being someone entirely new.
He dismissed the notification with a swipe, pushing away his growing unease. There were other matters to focus on.
---
Laniel stepped out onto the bustling streets of Ysera, a mid-sized city that buzzed with the hum of daily life. Merchants called out their wares, children laughed as they ran through the streets, and the occasional Gamer in full battle attire strode confidently through the crowd, their presence commanding awe and respect.
Laniel pulled his hood up, instinctively avoiding attention. He wasn't ready to be seen yet—not by anyone who might recognize him as Lanark or mistake him for someone else.
As he walked, he tried to focus on the sensations of his new body. His strides were longer, more confident. His vision was sharper, able to pick out details even at a distance. Every movement felt smoother, more fluid, as though his body had been fine-tuned for combat and precision.
He was on his way to meet Shanol, a name the system had provided as someone connected to the former Laniel. He didn't know what to expect—this was someone else's life, after all—but he hoped it might offer some clarity about his new identity.
---
As Laniel rounded a corner near the central square, he noticed a gathering of people ahead. The crowd was unusually quiet, their whispers carrying a somber tone.
Curiosity piqued, he moved closer, weaving through the throng until he could see what had drawn their attention.
And there it was.
His former body.
Laniel froze, his breath catching in his throat. Lying on a wooden stretcher, covered in a thin white cloth, was the lifeless form of Lanark. His face was pale, his eyes closed, and there was a stillness to him that was both unfamiliar and unsettling.
The memories came rushing back—his last battle, the Terim's claws ripping through his flesh, the cold numbness that had followed. He had known he was dead, but seeing it with his own eyes was something else entirely.
"That's... me," he thought, his chest tightening. "Or at least, it was."
---
Among the crowd, a familiar figure caught Laniel's eye. Clair.
She stood near the stretcher, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as though trying to hold her emotions together. Her normally radiant face was pale, her eyes rimmed red from tears. She looked utterly broken.
Laniel's heart ached at the sight. He hadn't expected her to mourn him—not after everything that had happened between them. But the pain on her face was raw and genuine, and it cut deeper than any insult she had ever hurled at him.
As he watched, she took a hesitant step closer to the stretcher, her lips trembling.
"I... I should have said something," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the murmurs of the crowd. "I should have... apologized."
Laniel's breath hitched. Her words hit him like a punch to the gut. He had spent so much time resenting her for her betrayal, for choosing Druwel over him, but now he saw the weight of her guilt.
---
An overwhelming urge to approach her surged through Laniel. He wanted to tell her the truth, to let her know that he was still here—different, but alive. He wanted to ease her pain, to tell her that she didn't have to carry this guilt.
But as he took a step forward, he stopped himself.
"What am I doing?" he thought, his hands clenching into fists. "I'm not Lanark anymore. I'm Laniel. She wouldn't recognize me. And even if she did, what would I say? That I've been given a second chance? That I'm someone else now?"
He shook his head, his jaw tightening. "No. That part of my life is over. I need to let it go."
The system chimed softly in his mind, as if to echo his resolve.
> Reminder: Emotional interference can hinder progress. Focus on your goals.
Laniel took a deep breath, forcing himself to turn away from the scene.
---
Laniel found Shanol at a small tavern on the outskirts of the city. The man was tall and broad-shouldered, with a friendly smile and a booming laugh that made the dimly lit room feel brighter.
"Laniel!" Shanol called out, waving him over.
Laniel hesitated for a moment before approaching. "So this is someone who knew the old Laniel," he thought, studying the man's face for any sign of suspicion or doubt.
Shanol clapped him on the shoulder as he sat down. "I haven't seen you in ages, my friend. What brings you out here today?"
Laniel forced a smile, trying to match the man's easy demeanor. "Just... needed to clear my head," he said, keeping his answers vague.
The conversation flowed easily, Shanol doing most of the talking. He spoke about old adventures he and Laniel had shared, battles fought and victories won.
Laniel listened intently, piecing together fragments of the old Laniel's life. It was a strange feeling, stepping into someone else's story. Part of him felt like an imposter, but another part of him was grateful for the insight.
--
Later that evening, as Laniel made his way back to his room, he couldn't stop thinking about the day's events.
Seeing his own dead body had been surreal enough, but Clair's grief had shaken him to his core.
"She regrets it," he thought, his chest aching. "She regrets not apologizing. But does it really matter now? What's done is done."
And yet, the memory of her tears lingered.
The system chimed again, drawing his attention.
> Tip: Emotional distractions can limit progress. Stay focused on your objectives.
Laniel sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Easier said than done."
As he reached his room, he made a silent vow to himself.
"This is my second chance. I can't let the past hold me back. If I'm going to succeed, I need to move forward."
With that thought, he closed the door behind him, ready to face whatever came next.