I never thought waking up from a coma would feel like being unwrapped from the world's saddest gift box.
One moment, I was drifting in that soft, cloud-like darkness — where time stretched like melted cheese — and the next, I was blinded by sterile white hospital lights while a nurse screamed,
"THE KNIFE IS AWAKE!"
Yes. I, Pointy, the majestic, elegant, stainless-steel culinary masterpiece, had returned to consciousness. Somehow, being a divine object now did not change the fact that humans freak out when a knife yells from a hospital bed.
I tried to speak with dignity.
"Water… please…"
It came out as, "WATER OR I'LL RUST!"
Whatever. Close enough.
The doctors panicked for two days straight, and I don't blame them. A talking knife in a hospital bed is not in any training manual.
But beneath all that confusion, beneath the beeping machines and concerned prefecture officers wondering why a kitchen utensil had a patient record with a pulse, I felt something else.
A tug.
A warmth.
A presence that stretched across worlds.
Pantharion.
My partner.
My idiot.
My… everything.
Seven days since the forced teleportation tore us apart. Seven long days in a world where I was sharp, but my heart was dull.
I had no idea if Pantharion had survived the distortion. No idea if they'd even find my world. No idea if they'd stay the same after divinity sank into our souls.
And then… it happened.
While a doctor was lecturing me about "proper utensil medical protocol," a ripple tore through space, and a familiar figure stumbled into the hospital room.
Elegant.
Chaos in humanoid form.
Making sparks fly just by existing.
Pantharion.
They crashed directly into a medical supply cart — because of course they did — and groaned from under a mountain of bandages.
"I've crossed galaxies," they announced dramatically, muffled under gauze, "but this cart… this cart was my greatest foe."
My heart — or whatever divine-core-hybrid-soul-processor I now owned — nearly exploded.
"Pantharion," I whispered.
"Pointy!" they yelled, finally ripping free like a dramatic seal escaping a net.
We stared.
Silence.
Then we screamed and hugged so loudly the nurse fainted again.
---
For the next year, we grew into our divinity.
Slowly.
Clumsily.
With great cosmic embarrassment.
Divine rights, divine rules, divine paperwork— so much paperwork.
Turns out gods love bureaucracy.
But the greatest right among them?
Return to Origin.
A one-time permission slip from the Higher Gods to return to the world we came from — our home — one last time before reincarnation scattered us across new skies.
We applied.
They approved quicker than expected… probably because they wanted us gone before we broke another galaxy.
And just like that—
We woke up.
In our old world.
Our old bodies.
Our old prefectures.
Both in the hospital.
Both recovering from comas.
Both alive.
The moment discharge papers were signed, I raced — well, shuffled slowly because my human legs were pathetic — straight to the station.
Pantharion was waiting at the other side of the ticket gate, holding a convenience store coffee like they were presenting an offering to the heavens.
"Pointy!" they waved so hard they almost spilled divine-level caffeine on themselves. "I didn't know which one you liked so I bought all ten!"
I laughed.
A tiny laugh, then a bigger one, then the kind that hurts your stomach and makes strangers stare.
We hugged again.
Warmer than any divine flame.
Softer than any cosmic nebula.
"So," Pantharion said, "what now? Save the world? Create a realm? Become legendary once more?"
I shook my head.
"No. Let's… just live."
The prefecture air smelled of fried noodles. Traffic honked. A dog barked at a pigeon. A vending machine hummed like a gentle giant.
It was ordinary.
Painfully, beautifully ordinary.
After everything—teleportations, godhood, soul detachment, cosmic nonsense—this quiet moment felt like the true miracle.
Pantharion grinned. "Then let's start small. How about dinner?"
"I'm a knife," I said. "That is literally my calling."
"And I," they said proudly, patting their chest, "am someone who burns everything they try to cook."
We both laughed.
The stars overhead twinkled—not divine stars this time, just regular ones, the kind humans wish upon without needing cosmic contracts.
And for the first time in a long, chaotic, interdimensional year…
I felt home.
We walked together, side by side, toward a future that didn't need prophecy or power.
Just us.
Pointy and Pantharion.
Reunited.
Alive.
Human.
Together.
A happy ending…
with just a little bit of sharpening to look forward to.