Arya did not sleep that night.
He lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling as moonlight slipped through the thin gap in the curtains. The shadows in his room shifted slowly with the passing clouds, stretching and shrinking like quiet breaths. Everything felt peaceful.
Too peaceful.
Every sound in the house was familiar. The ticking of the clock. The distant hum of the refrigerator. The soft footsteps of his mother moving somewhere down the hallway. Sounds he once thought he would never hear again.
Yet his heart refused to calm.
He turned on his side and closed his eyes, only for memories to surge forward instantly.
The Black Dragon.
The crushing pressure.
Jun falling.
Kai disappearing.
Mia screaming.
His fingers dug into the bedsheet.
I died.
Or I should have died.
But instead, he was here.
A younger body.
A peaceful town.
A family that should not exist.
The dragon's breath did not simply erase memories. It replaced reality.
That thought refused to leave his mind.
