The illusory world trembled as Kyle's suppressed mana surged, causing cracks to spiderweb across the fabricated sky above.
He could feel the realm fraying under his resistance, his will gnawing at its edges. But before it could collapse entirely, the realm shifted again—reforming faster than he could destroy it.
He blinked and found himself standing in a wide, sunlit courtyard. The air smelled of steel, dust, and laughter. Familiar laughter.
Around him stood the comrades he had once fought alongside in his previous life—men and women he had bled with, cried with, celebrated with.
Some had died in his arms. Others, he had buried himself.
Yet now… they were here. Alive.
He couldn't see their faces clearly—some were obscured by light, others by shadow—but he remembered them all.
Their voices. Their stances. Their habits. The way one always spun his sword even while talking. The way another always hummed before battle. They were all here.
