Lily opened her eyes.
A gentle warmth wrapped around her.
The scent of food drifted through the air, sunlight spilled across the wooden floor, and the familiar creak of the old house made her chest ache.
"Aama! Papa! Rosie!" she called, her voice trembling with disbelief.
From the kitchen came the clatter of dishes and the soft hum of her mother's song. The melody was the same one she used to sing every morning.
Her father entered, smiling like always. "Lily! Oh, there you are, my princess."
Her mother turned sharply, hands on her hips. "I'm right in front of you! Can't you see?" she scolded, marching over and flicking Lily's forehead.
"Ow! Mom!" Lily yelped, rubbing the spot.
Her mother's lips curved into a smile, and despite the playful scolding, Lily's heart flooded with joy. Her eyes gleamed like a child's again.
"Calm down, will you?" her father said, trying not to laugh.
Her mother shot him a glare sharp enough to silence him. "What did you just say?"
He coughed. "Uh—nothing! Look! A bird!"
Lily burst into a giggle. "What kind of bird comes inside the kitchen, huh?"
Her mother gave both of them the same exasperated look before turning to Lily. "And what are you giggling at?"
Before the moment could stretch into another mock argument, a small voice called from the hallway.
"Aama! Papa! Didi!"
Rosie ran in, waving a piece of paper high in the air. "Look! I got an A on my test!"
Her mother gasped and clapped her hands. "That's wonderful, baby! I'm so proud of you."
"Come here, my little genius!" her father said, scooping Rosie up and spinning her around.
Laughter filled the room, soft and alive. For a moment, it felt real again—too real.
Lily's lips trembled as tears blurred her vision. She smiled through them anyway.
Her family noticed. They came closer—her mother reaching out first, then her father, then Rosie. They wrapped their arms around her in one warm, unbreakable embrace.
"Aama… Papa… Rosie…" Lily whispered. "I missed you. I missed you so much."
Her voice broke. "I'm sorry. I couldn't do anything. Am I… dreaming?"
Her mother stroked her hair gently. "Don't cry, Aaya. You're an adult now."
Her father chuckled softly. "You're a warrior, remember? You've got a world to save. Stop waiting for those foolish princes of yours."
Lily laughed weakly, wiping her tears. "Papa…"
Rosie grinned and raised her pinky. "Didi, promise you'll protect us from the bad guys, okay?"
Lily hooked her pinky with hers, her voice trembling. "I promise."
Her mother tilted her head. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"
Lily looked at them, tears streaming again. "Are you real? I thought I lost you all… forever."
Her mother cupped her cheeks. "What are you saying? We're always here, no matter what."
They smiled—warm, familiar, and full of love.
"No matter how different you become," her mother whispered, "or how you look… we'll always love you."
Then her tone shifted back to her usual cheer. "Okay, enough of this emotional drama. Breakfast is ready!"
Lily laughed through her tears—but then, the light began to fade.
The warmth vanished.
She blinked—and the laughter was gone.
Her parents lay motionless. Rosie's small body was pinned inside the shattered wreck of a bus.
Rain poured down.
"You promised to protect me, Didi…" Rosie's voice echoed weakly. "Why didn't you come home early that day? It was my birthday…"
Her tone cracked. "It's your fault."
The words stabbed through Lily's chest.
Ashel's eyes flew open. Her breath hitched. "No… Rosie… I…" she whispered, stepping back as thunder split the sky.
Headlights flared through the downpour. A car sped toward her.
"What's happening?" she gasped.
"Ashel! Wake up!"
The voice came from far away. Someone shook her shoulder.
Her eyes snapped open. She sat up—wham!—and hit her forehead against Darius's.
"Ouch! That hurts!" he groaned, rubbing his head.
Ashel blinked, dazed. "What… where am I?" A tear rolled down her cheek. "Wait… I'm not dead?"
Darius smirked softly. "No, you're not dead, dear. You're on a planet called Yurth. Just to remind you"
He stood and brushed the dust from his coat. "Let me tell you a story."
His voice deepened, steady as a storm.
"Long ago, before time settled, there was a war between God's angels and the demons. When Adam and Eve ate the forbidden fruit, creation itself changed. From that act, a second world was born—a twin to Earth, called Yurth.
When God shaped the Earth, He foresaw its destiny. But He also crafted other realms—each a reflection, each carrying a different fragment of His design. Yurth was Earth's sibling: beautiful, mysterious, and flawed in ways even He didn't love.
And then… one day, a human from Earth crossed over. The first of our kind to set foot here. What became of them, no one remembers. Only whispers remain."
Darius's gaze drifted toward the pale horizon. The sky above Yurth shimmered with strange light—two suns half-hidden behind a curtain of mist, and a third faint orb pulsing far away like a watchful eye.
He continued quietly, "When the first human arrived, Yurth wasn't like this. There were no demons, no systems, no war. Just silence—and gods that had fallen asleep. The human, desperate and alone, sought a way home. But Yurth... doesn't let go so easily."
Ashel listened, her heartbeat slowing. The world around her still felt unreal—half dream, half memory.
"The human," Darius went on, "discovered the remnants of creation itself. Fragments of divine energy left behind when the heavens split from the void. With that power, they reshaped Yurth… but power always has a price."
He looked at her, eyes glinting. "That first human became the bridge between life and death—the first Creator of the game."
Ashel frowned. "Creator? You mean the one who made this world?"
"Yes. The same one who chose your fate, and the fate of the saints."
He knelt beside her, drawing a line in the dirt with his finger. Two circles—one light, one dark—intertwined like reflections. "Earth and Yurth were never meant to touch. But when a human's soul crosses the boundary—either by death, dream, or divine mistake—Yurth responds. It remakes itself around that soul's story."
Ashel stared at the circles. "So… this world exists because of someone's story?"
"Because of many stories," Darius corrected. "And yours just happens to be one the Creator wouldn't let end."
Her eyes widened. "Mine?"
"You died once, didn't you?" His tone softened. "But you weren't supposed to stay dead. Your soul carried too much grief, too much fire. Yurth saw that… and pulled you in."
Ashel's hand trembled. "Then… that dream—my family—it was real once, wasn't it?"
Darius hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Real enough for Yurth to remember it."
The wind stirred, carrying the faint sound of something like whispers—memories, echoing through the air.
He stood, brushing the dust from his gloves. "The Creator built Yurth to test what humanity truly is when it's stripped of comfort. Some souls become saints. Others… villains. But every one of them is chosen for a reason."
Ashel's voice broke through the silence. "And what reason was I chosen for?"
Darius gave a small, knowing smile. "Because, Ashel… you were once a saint who chose to sin. Yurth remembers what even Heaven tries to forget."
The ground beneath her shivered faintly—like the world itself had reacted to his words.
Her heart pounded. "So… this isn't just a game, is it?"
He shook his head. "No. Yurth is alive. It watches, it remembers, and it waits. Every choice you make feeds it. Every death changes it."
Ashel swallowed hard, the air thick with dread and wonder. "Then… what happens if I fail?"
Darius looked at her, his expression unreadable. "Then Yurth will erase you completely. Not just your body, not your name—but your very story."
He turned away, glancing up at the twin suns. "So, my dear Ashel, the real question is not why you were chosen… but whether you'll survive long enough to remember who you really were."