Ren Zhaoyang did not sleep. Not because of discomfort, though that was constant, but because sleep would mean relinquishing control. Yet in this body—frail, trembling with every breath—he found himself sleeping often. Not out of choice, but necessity. Pain wore him down. Even staying awake for long left him drifting in and out of shallow consciousness.
His soul, strong and refined beyond what this world could tolerate, did not mesh with the body it now inhabited. The dissonance between soul and flesh caused a subtle but ever-present torment. Every breath, every blink, carried with it a quiet resistance. His body had not yet adapted, and perhaps never would.
But when awake, his mind remained sharp. Dull around the edges, yes, but slowly whetting itself against the stone of observation.
He lay still, weak limbs limp beneath thin cloth, in a modest hut of packed earth and old timber. The walls were uneven, and through the slits of the thatch roof above, weak sunlight filtered in.
No windows. One door. Straw bedding. Simple tools.
The man, the one who carried him from the cave, came and went. He spoke often, but the words were gibberish. A language Ren didn't know. He filed it away, listening, analyzing tones, remembering repeated sounds. Patterns would emerge eventually.
The man's actions were easier to understand. He brought food for himself. Checked on Ren regularly. Cleaned the small space. Once, when Ren coughed—or tried to—the man panicked, muttering to himself in soft urgency.
Concern.
Illogical, Ren thought. A stranger taking in a sick child in a world where resources were clearly limited. Ren had not spoken, moved, or cried in all the days since he had been found.
He was a burden.
And yet, the man stayed.
Ren didn't trust it. Kindness without cause was either delusion or manipulation.
But he noted it anyway.
---
He was recovering. Slowly.
Not health—that still eluded him—but awareness.
He tracked the passage of time by the changes in light, the temperature shifts, and the man's routines. At night, the hut remained quiet, save for soft breathing. During the day, faint village sounds drifted from nearby. Children's laughter. Hammer on wood. Animal cries.
Ren understood none of it. But it was data. Structure. Civilization.
Not Earth.
Too quiet. Too simple. No mechanical sound. This was pre-industrial, rural at best. If this was a dream, it was persistent. If not, then...
Another world? Another life?
He didn't leap to conclusions. Not yet.
But one memory lingered: the moment he was left behind.
Two figures. A woman who knelt, voice trembling. A man whose stance spoke of finality. Their words were incomprehensible, but their emotions were not. He remembered the urgency. The resignation. They had placed him in that cave to hide him. To protect him, perhaps. But they had left.
He didn't feel abandoned. He didn't feel anything. In his previous life, he had been alone too. He analyzed their decision, not their feelings. They didn't return.
---
On the fourth day, or what he calculated to be such, he tried to move.
It was a mistake.
Pain flared, immediate and punishing. Not surface-level. Something deeper. A grinding, hollow strain like his body resisted its own weight. His nerves protested, muscles twitched uselessly, and even shallow breaths brought aching fatigue.
He stopped. Waited. Slept.
Later, he noted the sensation. Tried again. Smaller this time—just fingers, an eye, a breath held slightly longer.
His conclusion remained: this body was unstable. Not simply weak. Incompatible.
Rejection.
Didn't take to the transplant well, a phrase from Earth surfaced. Except this wasn't a transplant. This was his body now.
At least, in theory.
---
Elsewhere.
A pair of figures stood atop a cliff overlooking a vast stretch of wilderness. The man in gold, the woman in pale robes but desperately searching for something.
The woman closed her eyes. A wave of invisible pressure pulsed outward.
Spiritual sense.
It swept through forest and rock, through animals and streams, through villages and fields. A wide net, cast with haste but purpose.
They spoke in low tones.
"The concealment formation was undisturbed."
"Then someone found her."
"A mortal village nearby. We'll sweep it."
They moved without delay.
Within the village, Ren remained curled beneath the thin blanket. The hut was simple. Nothing marked it. No unusual energy, no ripple in the air. Just the faint scent of thatch and dust.
The pulse of spiritual sense passed over the area. Once. Twice.
The man in gold frowned. "Nothing."
The woman hesitated. Her brows furrowed, lips pressing tight.
"…We missed her."
"We've checked nearly everything within range. We need to return before the trail fades."
They lingered a moment longer. The woman turned her gaze toward the village one last time.
Then they vanished.
---
Back in the hut, Ren opened his eyes.
Something had brushed past him. Not touch. Not sound. But a feeling. Fleeting.
Like being observed through fog.
He said nothing. Could say nothing. But internally, he noted it with clarity.
Or perhaps… nothing.
His mind was still reassembling the world around him trying to understand his surroundings and environvment.