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There were now very limited options for him to move forward to: the door sitting at the opposing end of the room, and the abnormal door, made of dark-brown wood that was embedded into the ceiling.

As he looked up towards the ominous door that was attached to the ceiling above his head, he felt a reluctance to venture down that path.

I'll save that one for last–seems like trouble, he thought.

What that left was the door directly north of the locked cube, leading him to a door frame forged of continuously blooming flowers, yet they decayed and crumbled to nothingness within moments; it was a perpetual cycle that persisted right before his eyes as if watching time speed up solely for the plants.

It was a mesmerizing sight; the plants clung to the threshold of the door, growing from mere, thin vines to flourishing flowers, then breaking down and repeating the process over, and over, and over.

Everything here just brings more questions–I'd like some answers soon, he thought.

Taking his focus back from the peculiar, time-accelerated plants around the door, he grasped the handle that had flowers blossoming from the cracks in the handle.

The moment he opened it, the door was pulled open to reveal a blinding flash; his senses were distorted as his entire perception was attacked by whatever existed beyond the threshold.

"Nngh–"

It was so bright, as if staring directly into the sun, it made him squint before the overwhelming shine before finally closing his eyelids.

A sense of imbalance came as he found himself swaying, though he did not fall; whether it was due to his own sense of footwork or purely luck, he did not know.

What…is this? He questioned.

The blaring light persisted along with a loud hum that filled his ears, invading his senses completely before suddenly–it all perished.

With silence now peacefully laying upon his ears and the bright light sparing his eyes, he slowly parted his eyelids.

"--"

As he opened his eyes, he found himself in a new room; one that was deeply familiar to his very core, yet one he had not seen in a time that felt simply like "forever". It wouldn't be wrong to say it was a sight he had not seen in a lifetime.

"...This is…" He muttered in disbelief.

It was an average-sized room with wooden floorboards and shelves decorated with figurines of pop culture–namely ones with "anime girls" or mecha builds on display.

"My room…but how?" He asked in a mumble of disbelief.

The hum of his computer met his ears, causing him to look over to see the desk he had sat at for countless hours, day-and-night. Seeing the digital light of the computer monitor felt oddly nostalgic after spending so long in a medieval world; the unkempt books stacked on the wooden desk were far too familiar as well.

For a few minutes, he was left in awe, standing there and taking in the nostalgic sight of his past life.

He felt different; his perspective was shifted, prompting him to walk over to his closet door as he opened it, revealing a mirror attached to the inner side of the door.

…No way, he thought.

It was confirmed with the reflection he found in the mirror: deathly pale, skin and bones, and lifeless, white hair that was left unkempt and shaggy–he wasn't in the body of Emilio Dragonheart, but instead Ethan Bellrose.

​ I'm back here, but why…? It's weird…Everything feels so hazy, he thought.

The more he tried to remember anything, even just using simple reasoning to try and figure out what was going on, he found himself overwhelmed by the sense of nostalgia flooding him. It was as if he was peering into something he should not; tapping into a life forgotten, trudging on what should've long since been accepted as lost.

Still, there was a feeling of relief in his heart as he found this opportunity before him.

"Ethan, honey?"

–The voice was far too familiar; it was feminine and gentle–kind unlike any other and deeply engraved in the very being of Ethan.

Just hearing it brought tears to the edge of his eyes as he found himself devoid of breath for a moment, only able to mutter out one word: "...Mom?"

"Yeah, of course it's me, silly. It's the afternoon already–you shouldn't stay cooped up all day. Let's watch a movie," the voice of his mother traveled to his ears like silk.

Having it confirmed for him, cemented in his mind, something deep down in his heart shattered, or mended–it was impossible to tell, but it caused tears to instantly leave his eyes before he collapsed to his knees.

It all flooded out: emotions repressed and locked deep into his mind came as the tears flowed down his cheeks, leaving him on his knees as he watched the droplets of his nostalgia fall to the wooden floorboards beneath.

"Ethan? Are you alright, honey?"

He failed to respond right away, at a loss for words as he listened to the voice he never thought he'd hear again.

It wasn't sadness or grief.

This was joy.

"I'm home."

As he said that, a warm smile was on his lips before his door was finally opened, creaking open as the sight of his maternal figure met his eyes for the first time in over fifteen years: the curly, light hazel hair she had was not something he inherited, or his poor health simply couldn't sustain such luscious locks.

"...Of course you're home, silly," the woman said with a smile, placing her hands on her hips, "What's with you today–wait, are you crying? What's wrong?!"

Of course, the worry of a mother was natural as the hazel-haired woman rushed over, kneeling beside him and wiping the steam of tears from his cheeks before giving him a quick inspection as if checking for wounds.

"I'm not hurt, Mom," he chuckled.

Spending so much time away from home, even if it wasn't his home in Milligarde, he found another in the comfort of his place of origin.

In an action that took his mother by surprise, he embraced her tightly, wrapping his thin, pale arms around her and squeezing as if it had been years since their last meeting–which to him, it had been.

"--Ethan?"

Though she initially questioned the surprising hug, she returned it with a gentle smile, stroking the young man's head of snow-white hair.

It was a comfort he didn't know how badly he needed, sinking into his mother's touch as he closed his eyes, accepting the comfort provided.

"It's been hard, hasn't it?" She asked with a soft smile.

"Yeah."

"You've been doing your best though, right?" She asked kindly, continuing to caress his head.

"Yeah."

Each response was simple and quiet as he was held in his mother's embrace, taking it in as he didn't know if there would ever be another chance to experience it.

Still, it wasn't quite what it seemed. At least, he was aware of that much; though the warmth felt as real as a campfire in the winter, he knew it was but an illusion. When applying an ounce of logic to it, the reality of the situation was clear, that there was no such "reality" around him, only a fabrication of his own memories.

That's right…something like this couldn't be real–but, I don't really mind, he thought.

It would be nearly impossible to discern the difference between reality and illusion when it all felt so real; even to the scent of pine from the floorboards and the lavender fragrance his mother always cleaned the house with.

The only thing that even made it known to him that it wasn't real was the very fact it was an impossibility; still, his heart ached, knowing the finality of this experience.

I miss her. I can admit that–but, that doesn't mean I regret leaving, either, he thought.

After an embrace that lasted minutes that felt like an awaited eternity, nourishing for the young man's heart, he finally moved away, looking at the only figure that shined a light into his life as Ethan Bellrose.

"I have to go now…" He explained with a sad look, "...I think this is it. After this, I won't see you again."

"I know," she replied with a knowing smile.

He was at a loss for words at that moment, not knowing what to say or make of the last moments he'd spend with the woman before him.

"It's not a joke. I really won't see you again," he clarified.

"I know."

"--I'm leaving you again, I'm–!" He began to say with tears in his eyes.

Though he was stopped by that gentle, knowing smile from his mother of origin that seemed to read him better than he knew himself.

"It's alright, Emilio," she said.

"Emilio…?" He repeated in shock, not expecting that name to leave the hazel-haired woman's lips.

A nod came from his mother, who held her hands together with her own teary-eyed smile, "That's your name now, isn't it? You have a whole new life ahead of you–one where you're strong and able to do anything you want, right? That's amazing. I'm proud of you."

"Well, I don't know how that's turned out…" He said, averting his gaze momentarily.

It felt shameful that he now found himself dead; tossing his life away that he tossed another away for initially. In that regard, he felt as though he failed.