A very young boy sat on a small wooden fence, an old and worn book resting loosely in his hands. The book wasn't special — just a collection of simple children's tales — but he held it with a familiarity that came from reading the same pages too many times. The edges were soft, the spine tired, the ink fading.
But his memories of past life didn't.
Ray let the book sag against his knee as he stared out across the fields, the morning sun slowly burning the mist away. The world was calm. Peaceful. Almost too peaceful for the questions stirring in his chest.
Five years.
Five whole years of living here, breathing here, growing up here.
Five years of accepting a life that wasn't supposed to be his… yet had become the only one that felt real anymore.
He exhaled softly and replayed the details from the novel — the character he shared a name with.
A boy.
Black hair.
Crimson eyes.
Quiet.
Always present, but never important.
Ray Luminhart — the background character the author used as a moving prop.
Ray snorted under his breath.
"Seriously…?"
But that Ray was nothing like him.
The Ray Luminhart from the novel came from a respected knight family.
Had a proud surname.
Had a little sister who trained with him.
Grew up in a mansion, not a creaky old farmhouse.
Meanwhile, he had Nora — who smelled of flour and warm blankets.
He had Kael — steady as stone, gentle in his own quiet way.
He had muddy fields, wooden fences, mornings filled with birdsong instead of servants' chatter.
Ray brushed his thumb along the rough spine of the book and let his lips curve into a small smile.
No noble blood.
No titles.
No academy-bound sister.
Just two people who treated him like their whole world without ever asking for anything in return.
He let the wind ruffle his hair.
"…Just the same name," he murmured. "Just a coincidence. Probably."
But the thought still poked at him.
Because he knew why he ended up in this world.
Knew who he was supposed to be.
Knew which name had pulled him here.
Ray Luminhart.
And if he wasn't that Ray…
Then who exactly was he?
The world, as usual, offered no answers.
Ray clicked his tongue lightly and shrugged it off.
"Well, that Ray survived anyway," he muttered. "Mostly. Probably. Hopefully."
Though, yeah — the fandom did joke he was immortal because the writer forgot to kill him…
Ray shuddered.
Nope. Please no.
He snapped his book shut and looked toward the house. Nora's familiar humming drifted through the open window. Kael's footsteps thumped lightly across the floorboards.
Those sounds — those people — he remembered them more vividly than anything from his old life.
And right now, that was enough.
He wasn't Ray Luminhart, the forgotten extra.
He wasn't an accident, or a mistake, or a replacement.
He was just… Ray.
The boy who had Nora's warm cooking and Kael's quiet strength.
The boy who sat on fences and read stories at sunrise.
The boy who had a home fashioned from worn wood, laughter, gentle scoldings, and quiet affection.
A real life.
A real family.
He balanced on the fence rail, a tiny smile tugging at his lips.
"…Just the same name," he whispered again. "Nothing more."
The door swung open.
"Ray! Breakfast is getting cold!" Nora called, her apron dusted with flour, cheeks flushed from cooking.
Her voice carried that everyday warmth, soft and steady — the kind that wrapped around him without trying.
Ray hopped off the fence and ran toward the door. Nora held it open, brushing his hair aside as he passed.
"You woke up early today as well," she said.
"Couldn't sleep," Ray answered honestly. "The sunrise was nice as always ."
"Well then," she huffed with a playful pout, "wake me next time. I want to see it with you."
Ray blinked, a little startled, then nodded. "…Okay."
Kael sat at the table, sharpening a hunting knife. The moment Ray entered, Kael looked up and gave him a small smile — rare, but warm.
"Good Morning, ray ."
Ray slid into the seat beside him. "Morning."
Kael ruffled his hair lightly, and Ray leaned into the touch without thinking.
Nora placed bread and warm vegetable stew in front of him, then kissed his forehead.
"Eat well, sweetheart."
Ray didn't flinch. Didn't tense. The guilt he once carried had faded into something softer — a scar, not a chain.
He took a spoonful of stew, savoring the warmth.
Kael shifted beside him; Nora sat across from him. No anxious hovering, no unspoken fear. They were just… there with him.
A family sharing a morning.
Ray glanced at them, feeling something warm and steady swell in his chest.
"…Thank you," he murmured.
Nora's smile brightened instantly. "Always."
Kael nudged him lightly. "Hurry up before I steal your bowl."
Ray snorted. "As if."
Their laughter mingled — Nora's soft and musical, Kael's low and brief, Ray's young and bright.
For that moment, he forgot about novels, fate, reincarnation — everything.
He wasn't a visitor.
He wasn't a borrowed soul.
He was Ray.
Their Ray.
And he cared about them — deeply, fiercely, without hesitation.
He took another spoonful of stew, warmth spreading through him.
Yeah… this was his life.
And he wanted to keep it.
And somewhere inside, the last bit of guilt loosened its grip just a little more.