I used to be normal. Had a great family. Friends. Even a girlfriend. Everything a guy could want. Then I messed it all up. University was supposed to be my fresh start, a gateway to the life I’d always imagined. But greed, impatience... they devoured me. The casino nights started small. Just a few bets, just for fun, right? But then it became more—tens of thousands, then millions of yen. The thrill was addictive.

Before I knew it, I was in debt deeper than I ever thought possible. My parents didn’t know, and I made sure of that. I lied, I stole from them, and I pushed everyone away. Friends stopped calling. My girlfriend? Gone. She couldn’t stick around to watch me burn everything to the ground. Honestly, who could blame her?

By the time I was 30, I was a shadow of myself. I spent every day working meaningless jobs, grinding just to pay off the debt that had become my entire existence. Half of it was paid. Half… and yet I felt emptier with each passing day.

Then came the final blow. My mother’s diagnosis—cancer. And there I was, so absorbed in my failures that I couldn’t even face her. The weight of my own shame was unbearable. I didn’t go to the hospital. I didn’t go to the funeral. Instead, I ran. Straight to the bottle, as always.

I got wasted that night—worse than ever before. My head was spinning, the world a blur of flashing lights and deafening noise, but I didn’t care. I jumped on my motorbike, thinking I could outrun it all. Maybe, in the back of my mind, I knew I didn’t deserve to survive that ride. I was speeding so fast that everything felt unreal. Then, the crash. A man—a stranger—he never saw it coming. Neither did I.

And that was it. That was how it ended. My pathetic, wasted life, gone in an instant. Except… it didn’t end, did it? I’m here. Somehow, somehow, I woke up in this world.

The dream—it felt like I had lived through it all again, every moment of that night. The deafening roar of the crash, the sudden weightlessness, and then the crushing impact. I woke up with a start, my chest tight, my mind racing. For a second, I didn’t know where I was, but then I felt the cool breeze against my skin and heard the rustling of leaves around me.

I blinked, disoriented, as the remnants of my nightmare clung to me like a heavy fog. My chest rose and fell rapidly, my breath shaky. When my vision cleared, I saw Sylas sitting beside me, her green eyes wide with concern. Her hand hovered uncertainly near mine, her usual confidence replaced by hesitation.

"Duke… are you okay?" she asked softly, her voice trembling as though she feared her words might break me further.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. The nightmare's vivid images still flickered in my mind—echoes of my past life, regrets that couldn’t be undone. I forced a weak smile. “Yeah... just a bad dream,” I replied, my tone hollow even to my ears.

Sylas tilted her head, frowning. “You’re always having those. Are you sure it’s just a dream?” She hesitated before adding, “It feels like... more than that.”

I let out a quiet sigh. She wasn’t wrong, but what could I say? That I was the soul of someone who’d died in another world? That I was trying to make amends in a life that wasn’t supposed to exist? Instead, I gave her a stiff nod "It’s nothing," I muttered, standing abruptly and brushing off my clothes. "Let’s head back. It’s getting late."

Sylas rose to her feet, her gaze still fixed on me. "You know, you don’t always have to act so tough," she said quietly. "If something’s bothering you, you can talk to me."

I paused mid-step, my shoulders stiffening. For a moment, I considered telling her—about my old life, my regrets, the heavy guilt I carried. But then I shook my head. “Thanks, Sylas,” I said softly, “but I’ll be fine. I promise.”

She didn’t push further, though the way she glanced at me out of the corner of her eye made it clear she wasn’t convinced.

As we walked through the village, the golden light of the setting sun bathed the houses and streets in a warm glow. The cool evening air carried the scents of freshly baked bread and the faint tang of smoke from cooking fires.

Sylas broke the silence. “You know, Clara’s probably waiting to pounce on you the second we get back.”

Yea right, I'm 8 now, with a tiny little 3 years old sister, Clara. She bore a striking resemblance to our mother, Laura. Her blonde hair, soft and golden like fields of wheat under the sun, cascaded in gentle waves around her small face. Her bright blue eyes sparkled with curiosity and mischief, the same warm hue that made Mother’s gaze so comforting. Even her soft features—her rosy cheeks and delicate nose—echoed Mother’s gentle beauty. Though still a child, Clara carried an innate grace and warmth that promised she would one day grow into someone as radiant and kind-hearted as our mother.

In the early days after Clara was born, I couldn’t shake the odd suspicion that she might also be a reincarnation like me. I mean, who’s to say I was the only one to get a second shot at life? Driven by this theory, I decided to put it to the test. Every time I held her, I’d try out gestures and phrases from my old world—an odd hand wave here, a nod there, even saying random words in languages I used to know.

Her reaction? Crying. Every single time. No matter how gentle or silly I thought I was being, Clara’s response was a loud, wailing protest that earned me scolding looks from my parents and Sylas’s barely contained giggles.

“Stop scaring your sister, Duke!” my mother had chided, whisking Clara away from my confused arms for the umpteenth time.

Looking back, I chuckled at the memory. She wasn’t some reincarnated soul; she was just my sweet, innocent little sister. And even if she was crying back then, now she couldn’t get enough of clinging to me, proving she’d forgiven all my strange experiments.

I chuckled despite myself. “Yeah, she always does. She’s like a little whirlwind.”

"More like a tornado," Sylas teased. "Remember last week when she tried to 'help' your mom with the laundry? Pretty sure the entire backyard ended up soaked."

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Don’t remind me,” I said, shaking my head. “Mom’s lucky she has the patience of a saint.”

Just as we reached the house, a familiar sound filled the air—a high-pitched giggle, followed by the rapid patter of tiny feet. Before I could brace myself, a small blur of blonde hair collided with my legs.

“Duck!” Clara squealed, wrapping her tiny arms tightly around me.

"It pronounced Duke, D-U-K-E, Duke. And stop calling me by that, its non-sense" I spoke out loud, pointing my hand to the sky.

"But I prefer to call you that.." She expressed a cheerless face

Such an A-Iist actor. I laughed, crouching down to pick her up. "Ok fine but if you promise to not ambush me like that"

Clara nodded enthusiastically, her bright blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “But I missed you! You were gone forever!”

“It was just a couple of hours,” I said, grinning. “What would you do if I left for a whole day?”

“Cry!” Clara declared without hesitation, pouting dramatically.

Sylas burst into laughter. “She’s not even trying to hide it!”

Clara turned to her with a huff. “Duke is my brother, not yours!”

Sylas smirked, crossing her arms. “Oh, really? I guess that means I’ll just stop bringing you sweets.”

Clara’s eyes widened in horror. “No! I didn’t mean it!” she blurted, clinging to me as if I could shield her from Sylas’s teasing.

I shook my head, laughing. “Alright, alright. No one’s taking me away, Clara. And Sylas, be nice.”

Inside, the house was filled with the familiar warmth of home. My mother was in the kitchen, humming softly as she arranged roasted meat and vegetables on a large platter. The scent of fresh bread wafted through the air, making my stomach growl. My father sat at the table, polishing a small dagger, but he looked up with a smile when we entered.

“Welcome back,” he said, his voice as steady and strong as always.

“Guess who tackled me at the door?” I said, holding up Clara like a trophy.

Michael laughed, setting the dagger down. “That little one’s been asking about you since lunch. ‘When’s brother coming back? Why is brother taking so long?’ You’d think you were off fighting dragons.”

Clara puffed out her chest proudly. “I would fight dragons with brother!”

"Dragons, huh?" my father said, raising an eyebrow. "Better get started on your training, then. Dragons aren’t exactly pushovers."

“Training’s boring,” Clara replied with a pout. “I just want to fight them already!”

My mother chuckled as she carried the food to the table. “If Clara had her way, she’d take on the whole world without so much as a sword.”

“Exactly!” Clara exclaimed, earning another round of laughter.

As we settled down to eat, the table was filled with the sounds of conversation and laughter. My father began recounting one of his adventuring stories, his voice animated as he described a close call involving a collapsing bridge and a pack of wolves.

“And just as the last plank gave way,” he said, gesturing dramatically, “I jumped—and landed on the other side, with the wolves snapping at my heels!”

“You’re making that up,” I said, smirking.

Michael feigned indignation. “Are you calling your old man a liar?”

“Just saying it sounds awfully convenient,” I teased.

“You’re getting too smart for your own good,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Later, as the meal wound down, my father turned to me with a serious expression. “Duke, you’ve been quiet tonight. What’s on your mind?”

I hesitated, feeling the weight of his gaze. “It’s... the dreams,” I admitted. “They keep coming back.”

Michael exchanged a glance with my mother before nodding thoughtfully. “You’ve been working hard lately. Maybe what you need isn’t more training, but a break.”

My mother reached over to place a comforting hand on mine. “Sometimes, rest is just as important as hard work,” she said gently.

“Then why don’t we sleep together tonight? The whole family,” my father suggested, his tone lightening.

Clara’s eyes lit up. “Really, Dad? Can we? Can we?” she asked, bouncing in her seat.

“Sure, why not?” Michael said with a grin. “It’s been a while since we all spent a night together.”

“Wouldn’t that stop me from having another sister as cute as Clara?” I joked, raising an eyebrow.

My father groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This brat…”

My mother laughed, shaking her head. “But it’s a wonderful idea. Let’s do it.”

As we finished clearing the table, Clara tugged at my sleeve, her bright blue eyes wide with excitement. “Brother, can Sylas sleep over too? Please, please, please?”

Sylas, who had been helping my mother carry the plates, blinked in surprise. “Me? Sleepover?” She glanced between us, clearly caught off guard. “I don’t want to intrude…”

“You’re not intruding,” my mother said warmly, placing a gentle hand on Sylas’s shoulder. “You’re practically part of the family at this point.”

Michael chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Besides, Clara’s not going to let this go. Trust me, once she decides on something, there’s no stopping her.”

Clara puffed out her chest proudly. “Sylas is my best friend after brother! She has to stay!”

I smirked at Sylas, crossing my arms. “Well, there you have it. You don’t really have a choice.”

Sylas tilted her head, her lips twitching as if suppressing a smile. “Is this how you always get your way around here?”

“Pretty much,” I said, grinning.

Sylas hesitated, her smile faltering slightly. “But… I don’t know if my parents would be okay with it. I didn’t tell them I’d be staying this late. I only told them I would eat here for dinner.”

“Ah,” my mom said gently. “That’s understandable. We wouldn’t want to worry them.”

Michael suddenly stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll handle it.”

“Wait, handle it?” Sylas blinked, confused, but Michael was already striding out the door, leaving all of us staring after him.

“What does he mean, ‘handle it’?” Sylas asked, looking slightly alarmed.

I shrugged. “Honestly, your guess is as good as mine.”

Minutes passed, during which we speculated wildly about what my father was doing. Clara suggested he was “using his dad voice” to convince Sylas’s parents. My mother just smiled knowingly, refusing to spill any secrets.

Finally, the door swung open, and Michael reappeared, looking triumphant. “All sorted,” he announced, clapping his hands together.

Sylas looked at him warily. “What did you do?”

“Oh, nothing much,” he said casually, though there was a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Just had a friendly chat with your father. And your mother. And, uh, your nosy neighbor.”

“Nosy neighbor?” Sylas repeated, incredulous.

“Yeah, they came out to see what the fuss was about,” Michael said, waving it off like it was no big deal. “Anyway, your parents said you can stay over as long as you’re home by morning.” He grinned. “They even sent some cookies for us.” He held up a neatly wrapped package as proof.

Sylas pressed a hand to her forehead. “I can’t believe you actually talked to my parents. What did you even say?”

Michael’s grin widened. “Oh, just that Clara would cry if you didn’t stay. Worked like a charm.”

“Dad!” I groaned, trying not to laugh.

“What? It’s true,” Michael said, raising an eyebrow. “I mean, look at her. Could you say no to that face?”

Clara, oblivious to being used as emotional leverage, beamed up at Sylas. “Does this mean you’re staying?!”

Sylas sighed, defeated but smiling. “Yeah, I guess I’m staying.”

Clara let out a squeal of delight, grabbing Sylas’s hand and practically dragging her toward the pile of blankets we’d set up earlier.

As Sylas settled in, she looked at me with a mix of amusement and resignation. “Your dad’s a little scary, you know that?”

I smirked. “You’ll get used to it.”

That night, we all gathered in the family room, spreading out blankets and pillows. Clara nestled between me and my parents, her tiny hand gripping mine tightly. Sylas lay nearby, her usual teasing demeanor softened as she yawned and closed her eyes.

As I drifted off to sleep, the faint sense of foreboding lingered—a feeling that something big was on the horizon, something terrible. But for now, I let it go. I had my family beside me, and that was enough.