Henry found himself standing in a void that felt hauntingly familiar, a pitch-black expanse identical to the one where his second life had been granted. The hyper-realism of the space made his skin crawl; one moment he had been collapsing into his bunk, and the next, he was drifting through an endless, silent vacuum.
In the distance, a light flickered, pulsing with a deep, visceral red.
As he walked toward the glow, a cold needle of panic pricked at his mind. Was this all an illusion? The terrifying thought that his entire second chance was just an elaborate hallucination created by the final door began to take root. He felt his breathing quicken, the darkness closing in.
He forced himself to stop, taking a jagged breath to steady his racing heart. No, he reasoned, fighting back the dread. It doesn't make sense. The other doors were memories—static events I watched in the third person. But since I crossed that last threshold, I've been in my own body. I've made choices, felt pain, and changed things that never happened in my past life. This is real.
"It's just a dream," he whispered into the abyss, the words acting as a mantra to anchor his soul. "Just a dream."
By the time he reached the source of the light, the panic had receded into a wary calm. Before him stood a door carved from rich redwood, its grain shimmering with the same crimson hue that bathed the void. Henry steeled his resolve, reached for the handle, and stepped through.
The door opened, and then...
He wasn't in the barracks anymore. He was a third person ghost in a future that hadn't happened yet. He watched an older, bulkier, but softer version of himself winding down a training session.
"Baby, hurry up and stop training! You promised we'd go watch a play today," a voice called out.
Henry's heart skipped. Mia stood there, breathtaking in a flowing red dress that matched the door he'd just walked through.
This version of himself had softer eyes and less callus on his hands and that fact didn't seem to bother him at all.
"Almost done, babe," the simulated Henry replied, wiping sweat from his brow. "I want to polish as much as possible. I'm trying for my F-rank trial again tomorrow. Hopefully, this will be the one."
The real Henry watched with a pang of complicated emotion. In this vision, he was happy, yes but he was also stagnant. He was still chasing F-rank, a level he felt he was already on the cusp of reaching in the real world. He watched as his future self bathed and dressed, the two of them walking through a peaceful town toward the theater.
"What a wonderful day to watch a play with you," Mia said, hugging his arm tightly. "What did I do to deserve such a beautiful life?"
The words pierced the real Henry. In his past life, he had been a failure. Here, in this dream, he was a king in his own small world. The simulated Henry was humble, sweet, and utterly devoted. He watched them walk to the theater, watched the blushing crimson on Mia's cheeks, and felt a profound sense of longing towards the real Mia who he had left waiting as he pursued his goals.
"I'm the lucky one, my love," the simulated Henry whispered. "How much luckier could a man get than to find his life partner and support system had been with him all along?"
"Oh, stop trying to butter me up! You know I hate it when you do," Mia giggled, though her face flushed a deep, beautiful crimson. The real Henry watched as a radiant smile she could barely contain spread across her lips, completely betraying her words..
As Henry watched them a surging hope that he might one day earn a future this intimate and close with mia in the real world began to take seed.
They arrived and took their seats at the theater. The play was a classic romance—the story of a prince who eventually becomes king, defying the heavens to turn his commoner lover into the queen of a powerful kingdom.
On stage, the production was a marvel of stagecraft; magical lanterns mimicked the soft glow of a thousand fireflies during their secret woodland trysts, and the costumes transitioned from the stiff, heavy silks of the court to the flowing, earthy linens of the common folk. The climax was a breathtaking display of defiance, where the Prince stood before the High Council and the very Gods themselves, declaring that a throne was merely a chair without the woman he loved beside him.
As the final curtain fell, a thunderous wave of applause erupted, the audience rising to offer the actors the tribute their performance deserved.
"This play never gets old," Mia sighed happily, her eyes still shimmering with the magic of the stage. "It's definitely my favorite of everything we've seen."
The simulated Henry chuckled, the sound warm and easy. "I can tell. This is the fifth time we've come to watch it, Your Highness," he teased.
Mia flushed a deep, beautiful crimson at the title, but she didn't look away. Instead, she leaned into him, a playful spark in her eyes. "My King, you honor me by fulfilling my wish to see this wonderful play. How about I reward you back at home?"
The excitement on the simulated Henry's face was unmistakable. He didn't hesitate for a second. "You spoil me, Your Highness. Let's head home; I'd like to see exactly how you plan to reward me tonight." He leaned down, pressing a lingering, tender kiss to her lips before they slowly began to navigate their way through the theater's exit.
The looks of anticipation on both of their faces obvious not just to the real Henry but anyone who even glanced at them. The air between them was thick with continued sweet nothings and whispered promises all the way back to the castle. There, in the quiet of their chambers, Henry was handsomely rewarded for the rest of the night.