Jinyue was 60% sure that he was dreaming.
Light rippled under his feet like breath.
He stood in water up to his knees, watching it shift from pale azure to bright bioluminescent blue. The surface pulsed faintly with each heartbeat, soft waves brushing against his legs before melting back into stillness. The horizon didn't exist; only an endless sea of light that stretched on forever. Above it was darkness, thick and endless, with no stars.
He looked down. His reflection wasn't the fragile, silver-haired body he'd been living in...it was his own face. The one from before the poison. Curly black hair. Sharper features. Broader shoulders. His body as it had been—strong, confident, human. The sight didn't stir warmth. Only recognition, detached and quiet.
Logically, he knew that was wrong. He should be happy to see himself again, not that strange new body. Yet it didn't feel right anymore. How had he adjusted so fast? How did he even know he'd been reborn—on another planet no less? Normally, he wasn't quick to accept impossible things. And yet, here he was.
"How did I end up here?" he said under his breath.
His voice echoed faintly across the water. He waited, half expecting an answer. None came. The silence pressed close, the kind that hummed inside the ears until one's thoughts became loud enough to fill it.
He started walking. Where to…he did not know. Nonetheless, he couldn't seem to stop moving. It felt as if he was moving in circles and at the same time not.
The glowing water rippled around him, trailing faint lines of light that faded as soon as they formed. He didn't know what he was looking for, only that standing still felt wrong. Every step pulled at something beneath the surface of his awareness, a faint tug, like gravity working sideways.
When the figure appeared ahead, Jinyue almost didn't notice him at first. The boy stood barefoot in the water, looking up as if he'd been waiting there a long time.
"You're here," the boy, with a familiar, uncanny face, said.
Jinyue stopped. "Who are you?"
He smiled, faint but warm. "You already know."
And he did. The face was the same one he saw reflected in the ship's cracked mirror, the boy whose body he now inhabited. The difference was in the eyes. His were clear, calm, and old in a way that didn't suit his youth.
Jinyue said his name before realising he knew it. "Jin'ar."
A flicker of surprise touched both of their faces. It was odd.
…How did he know the original body's name?
"So you remember something."
Jinyue stayed still. "Where is this?"
The boy tilted his head.
"Inside us, I think. Our mind. Or what's left of it." he said, spreading his hands slightly, as if showing him the glowing world around them. Then he added quietly to himself, "Never thought I'd access my mindscape actually,"
"Our?"
A small smile. "I'm Jin'ar. I'm… you. Sort of."
Jinyue's throat tightened. "That doesn't make sense."
"It didn't to me either," Jin'ar said. He looked away, toes pressing into the glowing water. "You don't remember anything, do you?"
Jinyue shook his head.
Jin'ar gave a small breath—half a laugh, half a sigh. "Then… maybe you still feel it sometimes. Like when something seems familiar, but you don't know why. Or when you knew what to do without thinking."
Jinyue stilled. He remembered the shelter, the black sphere, the way his body had moved before his mind had caught up. It had felt like remembering someone else's instincts.
"Yes," he said slowly. "I've felt that."
"That's me," Jin'ar said. "Or maybe… us, I'm not sure."
Jinyue's brow furrowed. "Explain."
"Didn't Cody tell you about it?"
"The susceptible period," Jinyue murmured.
"Yeah, turns you can die, remember him mentioning about experiencing hallucinations, Cognitive fragmentation and Spiritual implosion… turns out it's true, ut in this case…you appeared in our body."
Jinyue still couldn't wrap his head around how easily the original goods mentioned our…as if they were the same. At the same time, he felt inexplicably sad that the boy had to go through that. He had thought that Cody was just lying for the sake of it.
The boy looked down, watching his reflection blur. "It hurt so much, it didn't stop till I was on the verge of dying. The pain fractured my mind, and my soul split apart. That fracture became you."
Jinyue's expression didn't change, but inside, something twisted. "You're saying I'm you."
"Yes. You're me. Or rather, what's left of me that wanted to live."
Jin'ar's voice was soft, but steady. He didn't look ashamed—only resigned.
"I didn't want to die," Jin'ar said with a small laugh. "Funny, isn't it? I told myself I was ready. But when it came, I panicked. I reached for anything. I remembered… memories that weren't mine. You. A life that felt too real to be imagination."
"So you woke me," Jinyue said.
"I didn't wake you," Jin'ar corrected. "You woke yourself. I just gave you space."
Jinyue studied him quietly. The glowing water reflected between them, lighting both their faces from below. "Why give me your body?"
"I didn't want to die," Jin'ar whispered. "But I didn't want to keep living like that either. I thought… maybe you could. You seemed like you knew how. Besides, aren't you the adult here?"
There was no bitterness in his tone. Only a quiet acceptance, which made it worse. Jinyue did not know how to answer the last question. While their expressions might be similar, even the small ticks…they were both undeniably different, even personality-wise.
Jin'ar looked toward the horizon. "I lived here with my father for three years after the crash. He was Zerg. Taught me everything I know—how to hunt, filter air, repair systems, make traditional food, treat injuries and even fix some gadgets. He kept me alive. But he got sick, and I couldn't save him."
He paused, the glow flickering across his face. "After he died, I was ten. I stayed near where I buried him for a while, till I got the courage to move on. I started to look for the ship. But I couldn't find it—it had landed too far away. So I walked. Five years of walking, hiding, and patching things to keep breathing. When I finally found the ship, I couldn't make myself go inside."
"Why?" Jinyue asked.
"I was afraid," Jin'ar said. "Afraid of the world waiting for me beyond this one. The Dominion, the people, what father had said about my caste. I'd been alone for so long that I didn't know how to exist around others anymore. I told myself I'd fix it when I turned seventeen. Maybe go home, or maybe just let the susceptible period take me."
Jinyue's brow furrowed. "That's suicide, you could have lived…"
He didn't add the last part…I could still be dead. Why revive your past self in this wasteland?
"I wanted to stop being alone, but I got used to it."
The admission hung between them, fragile and cold.
"Maybe my body cried for help," Jin'ar said quietly. "That's why it happened early. It couldn't bear the silence anymore."
He gave a faint, rueful smile. "And when it broke, it found you."
Jinyue said nothing. He didn't know how to respond to that.
Jin'ar's voice softened. "You lasted four days through it. I didn't even make it past the first. That's the difference between us. You have a stronger imprint, a will that refuses to yield. Maybe that's why you reawakened, you want to live more than I do… well, did I get it right?"
He didn't, not at this point.
Finally, he said quietly, "You could have fought harder."
Jin'ar smiled, small and tired. "You did that for both of us."
Jinyue's chest tightened—not with pity, but with the quiet sting of recognition. He understood survival. The cost of it.
"The split wasn't clean," Jin'ar continued. "You carry forty-five percent of us. I have forty. The rest—about ten—is damaged. Lost somewhere in between. Maybe it will never return."
Jinyue's gaze flicked to the water. "You said we're the same person."
"At the core," Jin'ar said. "We share the same essence, the same soul. But right now, we're like two reflections that don't align. You're functioning on one side, and I'm the echo on the other."
"Like a disorder," Jinyue said quietly.
Jin'ar nodded once. "Maybe…"
The idea should have unsettled him, but it didn't. Jinyue's mind accepted it the same way he'd accepted waking up in another world—without hesitation, without disbelief. Deep down, something in him already knew. Yet at the same time...
"You'll start to feel it," Jin'ar said. "The body and the soul don't fully recognise each other yet. That's why you're weak, why you get dizzy, why the tail misbehaves, just know I'm there. By the way… It's insulting to call me a housecat…I've seen those things from your memories. Did you think I conveniently know English?"
Now that he thought about it….
The last part sounded every bit the petulant teenager that Jin'ar was for all his sheer infinite wisdom. It also explains the constant reactions from the tail that didn't seem like him. That and the mouthful of tail fur he got in front of the robot some time back. He couldn't help but huff a quick laugh. The weight in his chest got lighter. When he calmed down, he replied.
"Noted," then became silent for a while and pondered the rest of the statement.
"So your…our own body doesn't trust me."
"It doesn't know you yet," Jin'ar said gently. "But it will."
He stepped closer until only a few feet separated them. The glow shimmered between them, catching the faint outline of both reflections merging on the water's surface.
"Stay in the ship for now," Jin'ar said. "Let Cody help you. My father left a manual in the emergency database—how to repair the systems, how to restore long-range communication. You'll find it once our sync completes."
Jinyue's eyes narrowed. "And you think I can fix it."
"I know you can."
There was no hesitation in his tone.
"You're not me," Jinyue said, "but you talk like you are."
Jin'ar's smile returned, soft but sure. "Because I am you."
Silence followed, deep and thick, until Jinyue looked away. "I don't believe that."
"You do," Jin'ar said. "Just not with your mind."
The words hit a place Jinyue didn't like to touch. He said nothing.
Jin'ar's outline began to flicker, the light dimming around him. His voice softened, echoing like sound underwater. "I don't have much time left. The connection won't last."
Jinyue took a step forward. "Then tell me what I should do."
"Live," Jin'ar said simply. "Live better than I did. Fix the ship, reach the Dominion, or don't—it doesn't matter. Just live like the world isn't a cage."
Jinyue watched the boy start to fade, and for a moment, he felt an unfamiliar pull. Not sorrow. Something heavier.
"You were strong," he said quietly. "…Surviving this long. You were just a child."
Jin'ar's fading shape gave a soft, surprised laugh. "My father used to say that when I tried to fix the engines."
"What was he like?"
"Kind," Jin'ar said, voice growing thin. "He'd been a soldier once. He hated it. He wanted me to be anything but that. He died hoping I'd reach somewhere safe."
Jinyue nodded once. "I'll find it, then. For him."
Jin'ar's smile deepened—small, real. "And for you."
"Your name," Jinyue said. "Tell me again."
"Jin'ar." The reply was a whisper now. "Thank you, Jinyue… for living."
Then he was gone. The glow that had shaped his body melted into the water, leaving Jinyue standing alone in the endless light.
He looked down. The reflection staring back wasn't his human face anymore—it was the pale, silver-eyed one he wore now. The tail behind him flicked once, restless, as if sensing something.
For the first time, Jinyue didn't push the feeling away. He reached down, fingers brushing the glowing water. It pulsed faintly under his touch, warm like a heartbeat.
Then the world cracked open.
He woke with a gasp, chest rising and falling in the cold air of the cave. The fire had burned to ash. The cloak around him was damp with sweat.
For a while, he stayed still, staring at the jagged rocks above. The dream—or whatever it was—lingered at the edge of his mind like a half-remembered melody.
He sat up slowly. The ache in his limbs was real. So was the faint tremor in his fingers. The body felt heavier, unfamiliar still, but alive.
He exhaled. Whether dream or memory, it changed nothing. He had work to do.
Jinyue reached for the flask beside him and drank. The water was cold and metallic, but it cleared his throat. He stood, adjusting the cloak around his shoulders, then glanced toward the cave's mouth.
Outside, dawn was breaking. The sun cast an eerie wash of azure and dark blue over the sand. The air shimmered with heat and dust.
He stepped out, the light cutting across his face.
"Jin'ar," he murmured. The name felt heavy on his tongue, almost his own.
The tail flicked once again, as if answering.
Jinyue looked toward the horizon, where the faint outline of the ship gleamed in the distance. His expression was unreadable.
He began walking.
The world was silent except for the crunch of his steps and the soft hum of the alien dawn.