Corbin felt his body heavy and aching, as if crushed by a giant stone. But beneath the intense pain, a warm and gentle power was slowly repairing his shattered body. It was the radiance of divine magic; he had vaguely sensed that purity and healing while in a coma. His consciousness tried to struggle upwards, yet was pulled down by overwhelming exhaustion. He knew where he was – Windbreath Town, safe. But deep in his soul, the emptiness caused by power exhaustion was more unbearable than the physical pain.
In his perception, there was only cold void. The pain and fatigue had receded, replaced by boundless darkness and suffocating silence. Consciousness was frozen, unable to move, only a deep sense of weariness pressed down on him. It felt as if his entire existence had been cast into some eternal vacuum, cold and lifeless.
Within this void and coldness, a faint yet incredibly resolute warmth quietly appeared. It was so subtle, yet carried an undeniable fluctuation belonging to another self. This feeling… this feeling was of young Corbin! It was that power from the original soul of this body, a power he could barely sense anymore! It was like a warm hand, gripping him in the cold void, pulling him out of the dead silence.
As if drawn by this faint but persistent force, the cold void began to shatter, darkness receding like a tide. Light reappeared, warm and soft, carrying the scent of memory. Corbin's consciousness gradually cleared, no longer sinking, but being drawn into a familiar and nostalgic scene—outside the Thorne family's old house in Windbreath Town. Sunlight spilled onto the lawn, the air filled with the fragrance of flowers and grass. In the distance, on the lawn, a few familiar small figures were laughing and playing; they were his childhood friends. Suddenly, the friends seemed to see him and waved towards him:
"Hurry, come join us!"
Their calls carried the pure joy of memory, as if trying to pull him into that carefree time. However, that lawn and the smiling faces of his friends vanished instantly like a shattered mirror, the scene shifting drastically. Corbin found himself back inside the old house's room. The fireplace crackled, warm and real. Young Corbin, the fourteen-year-old boy, was sitting on the rug before the fireplace, holding a wooden sword, and turned to look at him.
In those blue eyes, there was no confusion, only a profound understanding, and a… sorrow that felt like impending farewell. Three years of coexistence had bound their souls tightly; they could sense each other's presence and intentions without words. A warm feeling flowed from young Corbin, directly into Corbin's consciousness—it was closeness, reliance, a bond formed by sharing everything, a bond that could not be abandoned.
"You're here…"
Young Corbin's intention came, carrying a trace of relief, and an inexplicable calmness, as if he had always known this moment would come.
Corbin's heart jolted violently; that inexpressible bond boiled within him. He wanted to respond, wanted to say, "I'm here," wanted to hold him back, but at this very moment, he suddenly noticed that young Corbin's figure was starting to become transparent! The light from the fireplace began to shine through his body; the dust motes on the floor seemed to pass through his translucent outline. The transparency grew more distinct, accompanied by an irresistible, soul-tearing agony, a pain that pierced to the core!
This wasn't merely seeing another 'person' vanish; it was the raw, visceral feeling of 'self' being stripped away, a reluctance that brought pain! It was like someone being unable to command themselves to stop loving and accepting themselves, unable to abandon cherished memories, unable to discard a part of their own emotions—it was a palpitation, a stirring rooted in the essence of existence itself, a stirring that could not be abandoned!
A torrent of resistance erupted in Corbin's heart:
"No—! How can you leave?! You are 'me'! You can't... you can't just disappear!"
His intention was filled with pain, anger, and fierce desperation to hold on, like trying to grasp flowing water, to seize air!
Young Corbin looked at the painful expression on Corbin's face; in his pure eyes, there was deep apology and helplessness. He tried to send intentions, to explain, but the stripping force was too strong, his thoughts becoming fragmented. What Corbin could 'hear' was information about 'time is up', 'cannot continue', 'does not belong here', 'them', and that he was being pulled back to where he should belong. In young Corbin's intention, there was no resentment, no pain, only a deep acceptance, and concern for Corbin facing the future alone. His intention also carried gratitude for the past three years, for Corbin's efforts to uncover the truth about their father:
"Thank you… for everything about Dad…"
This intention was warm and sincere, bringing a trace of comfort to Corbin in his immense pain, but the palpitation of losing young Corbin did not lessen in the slightest.
Young Corbin's transparent figure grew fainter, and the warm memory of the old house began to shake violently, twisting and distorting into chaotic fragments of light and shadow, as if a world was collapsing. Young Corbin's consciousness was being irreversibly pulled in another direction, towards the void.
Within the chaotic light and shadow, a starkly different scene suddenly appeared—not the fireplace, not the old house, but countless flashing lights, deafening roars, colossal buildings never before seen! This intense contrast made Corbin understand instantly—this was the memory buried deepest in his consciousness—Earth!
Young Corbin's translucent body was pulled into this completely new memory space; in his pure eyes, there was uncontrollable astonishment and yearning. He was filled with immense curiosity and longing for this world of miracles. His almost transparent figure shimmered in the light and shadow of the Earth memory.
He turned to face Corbin; his figure had almost completely vanished, leaving only his eyes, like two stars shining with brilliant light. His last intention came, filled with shock and attachment to the new world, carrying a pure and fervent yearning.
A powerful and warm golden light, like a tide, surged into this memory space, instantly enveloping him! It was the divine healing magic from the real world, cast by the priests with all their might; pure and powerful, it became young Corbin's final resting place.
Young Corbin knew this was the final moment. Carrying his pure yearning for the Earth memory and his farewell to Corbin, he used his last bit of strength to transform all the emotions in his heart—reluctance, longing, gratitude—into his final voice. That voice was no longer intention but real, carrying warmth and desire, echoing in the space about to dissipate; it was yearning for another world, and a farewell to Corbin, to the life they had shared—
"That world… it's so beautiful…"
His voice was filled with infinite attachment and yearning, growing fainter and fainter in the golden light.
"I… I wish I could see it too…"
As the last word faded in the divine light, young Corbin's figure completely vanished, dissolving into the golden radiance, becoming nothingness, as if he had never existed.
Corbin felt a sharp pain deep in his soul—the feeling of a connection being brutally severed, the agony of 'self' being torn apart. Immediately after, divine power gently and completely healed and reunited his soul. He felt whole, more whole than ever before, yet at the same time, he felt an inexpressible emptiness and… solitude. That palpitation, that reluctance to lose a part of himself, lingered, unable to subside.
His body jolted violently; Corbin gasped for breath, tears streaming down his cheeks. Waking from the coma, he lay in bed, aching all over, but the cold void deep in his soul was gone, replaced by a more stable, contained presence. He felt pain, and he felt… a solitude that was his alone.
He instinctively raised his hand, trying to focus his perception as he had before, to regain that power that slowed down the world. He tried, concentrating his mental power. But nothing happened. That unique and powerful 3-meter supernormal perception was gone without a trace.
He closed his eyes, the image of young Corbin's final moments flashing in his mind, the yearning in his eyes. For three years, he had never appeared like this; for three years, he had also never left. Now, Corbin could perfectly wield this soul power, but he could no longer find 'him' nor their silent communication and that palpitation that could not be abandoned. He understood.
Only that palpitation remained, that reluctance to let go, forever a part of his soul, reminding him that there had once been another 'self'. A complex emotion rose in his heart, but ultimately settled into calm. Young Corbin's departure, his pain, was also a release. His soul was completely unified, and his secret was thus made deeper, perhaps undetectable even by gods. Corbin knew that he would embark on his unique journey in a completely new guise, carrying that palpitation that could not be abandoned.