Arthur was born in a cozy wooden house, the home of the carpenter Tom. Their small town, nestled among green hills, led a peaceful and measured life. During the day, the central square came alive, bustling with people buying goods from numerous small shops. The cheerful laughter of children mixed with businesslike conversations, and the air was filled with the aroma of fresh pastries and spices. In the evenings, thick plumes of smoke rose above the rooftops from family hearths. In Tom's workshop, filled with the warm glow of a lamp, the scent of sawdust and freshly carved wood lingered. Little Arthur loved spending time there, watching for hours as his father transformed ordinary logs into beautifully carved creations.

Tom was a strong but quiet man with calloused hands accustomed to hard labor. He remained calm even in difficult moments, though beneath his outward composure lay a gentleness he rarely showed. Most of his time was spent in the workshop. His wife, Martha, was his complete opposite: a soft, caring woman with warm brown eyes that radiated endless kindness. Martha was a homemaker, but her endless duties caring for the house and their son left her no time to rest. She baked the most delicious pies, knew every blade of grass in her garden, and loved to sing while she worked. Her voice was soft, yet it soothed Arthur and quickly lulled him to sleep.

Unfortunately, Arthur's fifth birthday was overshadowed by a strange illness. It began one evening when the usually lively boy suddenly fell silent. His eyes, clouded over, seemed to look through his mother as though seeing something beyond their home. Tom, usually composed, felt a pang of fear when he placed his hand on his son's burning forehead.

The fever, which left Arthur's skin flushed, brought unbearable headaches and strange visions that tormented him. Desperate, his parents sought the help of an old herbalist known in the area for his knowledge of plants and remedies, acquired during his time as an apprentice to a wizard. Yet even he was powerless against this mysterious illness.

When the fever finally subsided, Arthur was no longer the same. His playful mischief was gone, replaced by deep contemplation. He would spend hours by the window, watching clouds drift by, recalling strange memories that did not belong to him—memories of bustling cities, towering skyscrapers, and incredible technologies. His parents, concerned by the change in their son, attributed it to the illness, unaware that within Arthur's mind, a multitude of memories from a completely different world were unfolding.

Over time, these memories appeared more frequently, gradually overtaking his consciousness. Sometimes they came in sudden, vivid flashes; other times, he could almost deliberately immerse himself in them.

The world in these memories was strange and frightening, yet irresistibly captivating. Everything was different there: tall buildings made of glass and steel reflected sunlight and lights that shone even at night. Instead of quiet paths and green hills, there were straight streets filled with peculiar iron carriages that moved on their own, rumbling loudly. The people wore unusual clothes: sharp suits, open dresses, and held strange devices in their hands through which they seemed to speak with someone far away.

But what struck Arthur most was the place where the man in the memories lived. It wasn't a familiar cozy home but a cramped room in a massive building that looked as though it was made of identical gray bricks. The room was small, yet it was filled with things Arthur could hardly understand. In the corner stood a strange box emitting a bluish light, and the man often stared at it, mesmerized. Arthur felt an overwhelming loneliness: in this world, the man had no father, no mother, no friends—only the noise outside the window and the cold glow of a screen.

The man in these memories was also named Arthur. The boy couldn't understand how this was possible but felt a connection between them. The other Arthur was an adult with weary eyes and a perpetual shadow of sorrow. Sometimes he sat by the window, gazing at the world outside as if hoping to see something long lost.

The more young Arthur learned about this foreign yet alluring world, the more questions he had. How could these memories be his? Why did they appear after the strange illness? And what did they mean?

With each passing day, the memories grew clearer. Arthur no longer felt like a mere observer. He began to suspect that this was his life, but from long ago. When he saw the gray streets and glowing screens, he was filled with a strange sense of longing and familiarity, as if he were remembering a home he had once left forever.

Everything changed one evening as Arthur sat by the window, gazing at the pale pink sunset sky. The memories came to him not in fragments, as before, but in a flood. The clearest moment was tied to an ending.

That Arthur had died.

He saw it all clearly. That day, he had walked along a noisy street crowded with people, holding a strange device that emitted short signals. He looked tired, his eyes hollow, as if he knew it would be his last day. Then everything happened too quickly: a flash of light, searing pain in his chest, and the cold sky of the metropolis closing above him. In the final moment of his life, he thought only one thing: I'm not ready to disappear forever…

Little Arthur froze, realizing a truth too incredible to believe. These images weren't just strange dreams or fantasies. They were his past. His life.

"But how is this possible?" he whispered, not realizing he had spoken aloud.

A feeling, not words, awakened within him, as if an answer had stirred deep inside. He understood: that life had ended, but not entirely. Something within him—something important—had refused to fade away. In that moment, when he fell onto the cold asphalt, a part of his soul, his memory, his essence—something unseen—crossed the boundary between worlds and found a new path.

Arthur felt a deep calm, as if the puzzle of his life had finally come together. Everything now made sense.

But with this realization came fear… fear of the unknown. What did the future hold for him?

Arthur lifted his gaze to the night sky. The stars seemed more beautiful than ever before.

Sitting by the darkened window, fragments of memories still swirled in his mind—images of a noisy city where no one knew his name and a gray room where every day felt like a heavy burden.

"I died there," he thought, gripping the armrest of an old chair. "I lived, but I never understood why. And now I'm here. But why?"

He stared at the fire flickering in the hearth, its light dancing across the wooden walls. His new life was entirely different. Warmth, comfort, care. A father who always made time to teach him something new. A mother whose singing filled the house with tenderness and whose care warmed even the coldest nights.

"My family here… they're different," Arthur reflected. "Tom and Martha… They don't just care for me. They love me. Not because I have to do something or prove myself, but simply because I exist. In that other life, I was alone. My parents were long gone, my friends almost nonexistent, and work… Work was all I had. But it never gave me what I was searching for."

A mix of sadness and gratitude welled up in his chest. "I was nobody there, but here… Here, I have a chance. I have Tom and Martha. I have the opportunity to become someone I always wanted to be but never had the chance to."

Arthur closed his eyes, imagining his future. He saw himself growing up, working alongside his father in the workshop, creating something beautiful from simple pieces of wood. He saw his mother, who only grew kinder with the years, her caring hands preparing meals or fixing his messy hair.

"But what if I fail them?" a troubling thought crept in. "What if I don't live up to their trust? They believe in me. Tom teaches me not just craftsmanship but how to be a man. Martha does everything to make me feel safe. I can't let them down."

He pondered what kind of life he wanted to live. "In that past life, I was always in a rush. I wanted to do more, achieve more, so someone would notice I existed. Here, it's different. Here, I can just live. But what does that mean? Is living enough?"

These thoughts filled his mind. He realized he had to find something greater than mere existence. Something that explained why his soul had returned to this world. But for now, he resolved to be grateful for his family and to do everything he could not to disappoint them.

Arthur looked at the night sky again. It was deep and starry, but no longer as cold as before. "Maybe this is my chance for a new life. A chance to live it differently. Better."