Suddenly, Lukas felt his body being lifted. The sensation of falling vanished, replaced by weightlessness. Slowly, he opened his eyes—only to find himself surrounded by an infinite abyss. There was no sky, no ground, only endless darkness. He was floating in the midst of nothingness.
"Where... am I?" Lukas muttered. "Did I die?"
A voice answered, steady and calm. "You are in Nowhere—a place between two worlds."
Lukas frowned. "So, you finally decided to talk. Who—or what—are you?"
"I am what you humans call a deity."
Lukas scoffed. "You mean... a god?"
As soon as he spoke, a golden flame ignited before him, its glow piercing the darkness. The fire flickered and twisted, slowly taking on the shape of a human figure.
The fiery being spoke, its voice indifferent. "Call me whatever you like, kid. It doesn't concern me."
Lukas shifted uneasily. "So... what am I doing here?"
Instead of answering, the figure asked, "Why didn't you hesitate when I told you to fall?"
Lukas met its gaze, his expression calm. "Why should I? It was the right thing to do."
The fire flickered, almost as if amused. "The right thing to do..."
Lukas crossed his arms. "So, am I going to hell or heaven?"
The golden flames flared slightly. "Neither. Your journey hasn't ended, Lukas. In fact, it has just begun."
Lukas's eyes widened. "What do you mean—"
Before he could finish, the void swallowed him whole, and he was falling once again.
A beam of light pierced through Lukas's closed eyes, so bright that he instinctively shielded his face. Slowly, he blinked them open, only to find himself lying in a bed next to a window.
Dazed, Lukas sat up, his entire body feeling oddly light. A strange weightlessness settled over him, yet an ache lingered deep in his bones.
His breath hitched as he glanced down at himself.
His ribcage was visible beneath his sickly pale skin, his arms thin and frail—almost like they had been untouched by proper nutrition for months. Long strands of black hair fell over his shoulders, brushing against his collarbone. Thick bandages wrapped around his head, stomach, and various other parts of his body, some stained faintly with dried blood.
His fingers twitched. This body… wasn't his.
"What the…?" Lukas muttered, startled by the sound of his own voice—weak, hoarse, and far too soft.
Swallowing the unease bubbling inside him, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The cold floor sent a shiver up his spine. His movements were sluggish, unsteady. He felt off-balance, as if his body wasn't responding the way it should.
He took a few cautious steps toward the large window and pushed it open.
A cool breeze drifted in, caressing his face, carrying with it the faint scent of blooming flowers and damp earth. Outside, an enormous garden stretched endlessly—rows of vibrant roses, neatly trimmed hedges, and a grand fountain glistening under the sunset. The place radiated nobility, a world far removed from the one he had known before.
His gaze dropped to his hands—smaller, thinner. He flexed his fingers, his breath coming out in short gasps.
Something was wrong.
With growing unease, he hesitantly pulled at his pants and peeked inside.
A heavy silence filled the room.
Then—
"WHAT THE HELL?!"
Lukas staggered back, his face draining of all colour. He stared in sheer disbelief.
"Why is it so small?! And why am I so short?!" His voice cracked, panic rising in his chest.
His heart pounded as his eyes darted frantically around the room. Then his gaze locked onto something—the tall, antique mirror standing in the corner.
A sudden, terrifying thought gripped him.
No. No, no, no.
His feet moved on their own, carrying him toward the mirror. Each step felt heavier, like wading through deep water.
He stopped.
His reflection stared back at him.
A child.
Lukas stared at the reflection in the mirror, his breathing uneven.
A child around nine years old stood before him, his body frail and malnourished. Long, silky black hair cascaded down to his hips, framing a pale face with striking blue eyes—eyes that held an eerie sharpness, yet were dulled by exhaustion. His skin was fair, almost unnaturally so, and his limbs were thin, lacking the strength and muscle.
He lifted his trembling hands, watching as the reflection mimicked his every move. His fingers ran over his cheeks, his jaw, his own skin—except it wasn't his.
This… was not Lukas.
His stomach twisted into knots.
His heart pounded against his ribs.
"This… this isn't possible."
His voice came out hoarse and weak, completely foreign to him. His breathing grew heavy as the reality of his situation came crashing down like a tidal wave.
He wasn't just in someone else's body.
He had become this child.
Suddenly, a loud crash echoed through the room as metal utensils clattered to the floor. Startled, Lukas turned to see a young woman, likely in her early twenties, dressed in a crisp black maid uniform. Her wide eyes brimmed with sheer disbelief, her face pale as if she had just seen a ghost.
With a gasp, she stumbled back before bolting out of the room, her voice ringing through the hallway.
"Young master has woken up!"
Lukas blinked, still groggy, his mind struggling to process her reaction. He frowned.
"Why is she screaming like she saw a ghost?" he muttered, shaking his head. Choosing to ignore the commotion, he turned toward the mirror .
Before Lukas could fully take in his surroundings, hurried footsteps thundered down the corridor.
"Zed!"
A desperate cry tore through the air, raw with emotion.
Lukas barely had time to react before a young girl burst into the room.
The moment their eyes met, his breath hitched.
She was stunning.
Long, silky black hair cascaded down her back, framing a delicate face with striking blue eyes—the same piercing shade as the ones staring back at him from the mirror earlier. The resemblance was undeniable.
And before he could process anything, she threw herself at him.
Her arms wrapped around him in a tight, trembling embrace, her warmth pressing against his frail frame.
"The doctor told us you would never wake up…" her voice quivered, thick with emotion. "Thank God he listened to my prayers."
Lukas froze.
His mind scrambled for a response, but all he could do was sit there, rigid and confused, as she clung to him like a lifeline. Her entire body shook slightly, her fingers gripping the fabric of his clothes as if letting go meant losing him again.
He could feel the faint hitch in her breath, the uneven rise and fall of her chest.
Relief. Fear. Disbelief.
It was overwhelming. Too raw. Too real.
But then—something even stranger happened.
His own body moved on its own.
His arms lifted, hesitated for a second—then wrapped around her instinctively.
Lukas blinked, confused. His fingers tightened slightly on her back, his chest ached, and—warm tears rolled down his cheeks.
Wait. What?
He wasn't crying. Or at least, he didn't think he was.
The emotions weren't his.
And yet, his body shook with silent sobs, his breath coming out in uneven gasps.
Zed.
This wasn't his name.
But in this moment, he felt the weight of it so heavily, it almost crushed him.
Something inside him ached, something buried deep in this body's past.
And then—it hurt.
No, seriously—it hurt.
Her arms were way too strong, her grip crushing him like a boa constrictor.
His ribs screamed in protest, his lungs struggled for air.
Lukas's eyes widened in panic.
"I-It hurts!" he gasped, his voice muffled against her shoulder.
No response.
She only hugged him tighter.
Lukas's thoughts raced. Am I actually going to die again?!
Summoning what little strength he had, he weakly tapped against her back. "C-Can't… breathe…!"
Finally, she jolted and pulled back, her eyes widening in alarm.
"Oh! Zed—I'm so sorry!"
Lukas gasped for air, hunched over like a man who had barely survived drowning.
Sweet oxygen!
He clutched his ribs, glaring up at her between gasps. "W-What are you made of… steel?!"
The girl blinked, then suddenly giggled through her tears.
"I was just… really happy, that's all."
Lukas sighed, rubbing his sore ribs. "Well, happiness almost sent me back to the afterlife."
Her laughter softened, but her gaze remained gentle, filled with an emotion he couldn't quite place.
"Dummy…."
Lukas's breath caught.
The lighthearted moment faded, replaced by a heavy silence.
Before Lukas could react, the sound of hurried footsteps filled the hallway.
The door burst open.
An older man in a white coat rushed in, followed closely by several attendants. His graying hair and sharp eyes gave him an air of authority, yet concern flickered across his face.
"Young Master Zed!" the doctor exclaimed, his voice laced with urgency. He strode forward without hesitation, pressing his fingers against Lukas's wrist. His grip was firm, assessing, searching.
A moment of silence. Then, a quiet exhale.
The doctor's brows knitted together. "How are you feeling? Any dizziness? Headache? Can you move your limbs?"
Lukas hesitated.
His mind felt clear—too clear. But his body… wasn't his own. Every movement felt alien, every breath too light, too unfamiliar.
Slowly, he flexed his fingers. The pale, slender hands responded with ease.
"...I think I'm fine," he answered cautiously.
The voice that left his lips was different—softer, younger. Not his.
The doctor studied him intently before shaking his head, disbelief etched into his features. "This is… incredible. Truly incredible. You were unconscious for days after your accident. We feared the worst. To wake up so suddenly—frankly, this is nothing short of a miracle."
An accident? A coma?
Lukas's thoughts churned. The pieces of information dangled in front of him, like a puzzle missing its key parts.
But one thing was clear.
He was no longer Lukas. He was Zed.
A chill crawled down his spine.
He needed time. He needed answers.
For now, revealing the truth was not an option.
Taking a sharp breath, he made his choice. His fingers gripped his forehead, and he winced as if in pain.
"Doctor…" he muttered, voice strained. "I… I don't remember anything."
The room fell deathly silent.
The air grew heavy.
Aurora, who had been clinging to him moments ago, went rigid.
Her blue eyes widened, sheer panic flashing across them. "Zed…?" she whispered.
Her voice wavered, fragile—as if begging him to say it wasn't true.
The doctor, however, looked thoughtful, calculating. He glanced at the attendants and gave them a silent signal to step back. Turning to Aurora, his voice softened.
"Amnesia is not uncommon after prolonged unconsciousness… Especially in cases of severe head trauma."
He sighed, rubbing his temples. "Lady Aurora… it seems your brother has lost his past memories."
Aurora staggered backward, her face draining of color.
"No…" The word slipped out, almost inaudible. She swallowed hard, shaking her head. "No, this can't be happening."
The doctor's expression remained sympathetic. "It may take time, but please be patient with him. Forcing memories to return too quickly may cause further distress."
Aurora's hands clenched into tight fists at her sides. Her breathing was unsteady, but after a few long moments, she steeled herself.
Then, with slow, deliberate steps, she moved closer.
She knelt before him, her hands trembling slightly as she reached out and gently took his own.
The warmth of her touch was real. Steady. Desperate.
"Zed…" she whispered.
Her fingers tightened slightly, as if anchoring herself to him.
"I'm Aurora. Your only sister."
Her voice was soft but unwavering. A declaration—a plea.
Lukas—no, Zed—stared at her.
A sister.
The words felt foreign. He had never had siblings in his past life.
And yet…
Looking into her tear-glossed blue eyes, seeing the sheer desperation, the longing, he felt something stir.
Something deep in this body's past.
A pain he didn't recognize.
A connection he hadn't chosen.
And yet—it was there.
"We belong to the House of Ravenhart," she continued, her voice steady, yet edged with an unspoken weight. "A noble family of great influence."
She paused.
Her fingers tightened slightly around his hand, her blue eyes searching his face, hoping—pleading—for any sign of recognition.
Then, almost in a whisper, she added, "But most importantly… we are family."
A lump formed in Zed's throat.
Family.
The word felt foreign. Distant. He had no memories of them, no connection to this name—Ravenhart—and yet, Aurora's voice carried an unmistakable earnestness. A need to hold onto him, as if his existence was her anchor.
He swallowed hard.
He didn't know this world. He didn't know this body.
But one thing was certain—his past life was gone.
And now, he had to live as Zed Ravenhart.
Aurora let out a slow breath, rubbing her temple as her gaze drifted toward the window.
The once golden sky had deepened into an inky night, its stars flickering faintly beyond the large glass panes. The soft rustle of the curtains swayed with the evening breeze, carrying the distant hoot of an owl. A lantern on the wall flickered gently, casting long shadows that danced across the room.
"It's already night…" Aurora murmured, her voice laced with quiet concern. She turned back to him. "You should rest, Zed. We'll talk more in the morning."
Zed—or rather, Lukas in Zed's body—gave a slow, absentminded nod.
He wasn't in the mood for more questions. His mind was already overloaded—the coma, the new identity, the noble family, and, more than anything…
The sinking, gut-churning feeling that something was very, very wrong.
Irritated, he laid back, turning away from Aurora.
The bed was softer than he expected, the sheets cool against his skin. His body felt heavy, weighed down by exhaustion, by uncertainty.
The moment his head hit the pillow, his eyelids grew heavier… and heavier…
Until finally, sleep pulled him under.
And then, the nightmare began.