Am I... dead?
Tver remembered clearly that the moment he returned to the Headmaster's office, the Killing Curse had struck him with perfect accuracy.
To be honest, the feeling was rather... strange.
It was as if there were a hand there, and no matter how unwilling you were, you could only watch as it pulled your soul out of your body.
Like when you were little and your mother grabbed you by the scruff of the neck, holding your fate in her hand.
What made it even stranger was that this should have been his third time experiencing something like it.
But where was he now?
The moment that question rose in his mind, Tver realized that he had suddenly arrived in a bright, spotless room.
No. More precisely, it was a room washed in blinding sunlight, so white it seemed almost heavenly.
A hospital room.
His heart sank at once.
This place, from the rhythmic beeping of the ventilator to the sharp sting of disinfectant in the air, was far too familiar to him.
So familiar, in fact, that he hated it.
"You're here."
A gentle voice suddenly pulled Tver out of his memories, and he saw the person lying on that familiar hospital bed. Even after so many years, he still knew him all too well.
Or rather, this was himself. The original owner of the soul inside his body.
"You look nervous."
He struggled as if trying to sit up from the hospital bed, but the body, weakened to its limit, could not seem to muster even that tiny bit of strength. After trying twice, he had no choice but to lie back down helplessly.
"I mean, do you enjoy watching me suffer that much? Can't you use that tall, strong body of yours to help me a little?"
He spoke with a hint of complaint, yet his matter-of-fact tone made Tver feel there was nothing wrong with the request at all.
"Oh, right. Sorry." Tver froze for a moment before belatedly stepping forward to help him up, letting his gaunt body lean against the thick pillows.
Once he had done that, Tver saw the satisfied look on his face, and his own heart seemed to be affected by it, gradually settling down.
He did not know what was happening, but surely he would not, and should not, be afraid of himself.
"Sit. Judging by your eyes, your life must be pretty exciting, right?" His bony hand gestured vaguely toward the stool beside the bed, but his eyes carried unmistakable envy.
Those words left Tver unsure how to answer. He could only sit down in silence and quietly meet his gaze.
Both of their eyes were unusually calm, carrying a stillness that almost did not belong to their age.
After living two lifetimes, Tver sadly realized that even when he was young, he had always possessed a maturity and rationality far beyond his peers.
Whether in his previous life, plagued by illness, or in this life, burdened by curses, something like youthful recklessness had never seemed to appear in him.
"Did it hurt?"
"What?" Tver looked up in surprise.
"I mean, did dying hurt? Or was it as painful as chemotherapy?" he asked with genuine curiosity, as if they were talking about the beautiful, almost unreal weather outside the window.
Tver opened his mouth, but in the end, he only shook his head lightly.
"No. It didn't hurt at all, I suppose. Of course, I don't know whether that situation was an exception. After all..."
Tver paused, then looked at him with sudden understanding.
"After all, neither of us has truly died."
Hearing this, the person on the hospital bed gave an ambiguous shrug. The playful gesture offered no answer.
"Death is too heavy a topic. Let's talk about something lighter, shall we?"
A childlike, expectant smile appeared on his face, and only then did Tver remember that this was a young man who had spent almost all his time fighting illness.
"Of course." Tver's voice was a little choked. He lowered his head, hiding the reddening rims of his eyes.
"My life in that world... really has been wonderful. All kinds of strange magic, incredible potions..."
"And, of course, many interesting people."
"That's good." He withdrew his searching gaze in relief and fiddled with his fingers, his expression difficult to read.
"The wizarding world..." He sighed, then looked at Tver carefully.
"Do you think there are powerful potions in the wizarding world that could..."
"Yes. There must be." Tver suddenly raised his head and looked straight into his eyes. "And not only potions. Magic can also be integrated into technology to make up for what technology lacks."
"It could let you run outside, healthy and happy. Let you read, study, and..."
"Live."
"Live..."
Hearing that, he stared blankly at Tver, his expression complicated, as if he could hardly believe it, yet could not help hoping for it.
"Life is too far away for me. I... I only want... to stay alive. That's all." His voice was soft, almost humble.
Hearing that despondent voice, Tver felt a sudden ache in his chest.
The illness flared up from time to time, and the rounds of chemotherapy came so often they seemed endless, bringing one wave of despairing pain after another.
Yet he had still gritted his teeth and endured.
Even when every bout of boundless pain made him want to give up.
Even in the depths of countless nights, when he had thought it might be easier to end everything.
Even...
At the moment before death came, he had still carried a longing for life, and a love for it.
"It will happen. It definitely will," Tver said abruptly.
Seeing the surprise on his face, Tver met his gaze with damp eyes, a proud smile appearing on his own face.
"I have been working hard to live. I have always worked very hard, and I have never once thought of giving up on myself."
"Not only that, I'm fairly capable too. I've protected many, many people. Their past, their present, and their future."
"Just as you hoped, we... are all trying our best to live, and we are making this world better and better... better and... better."
He stared at Tver in a daze for a long time. At last, tears slipped uncontrollably from his eyes, and he answered with a relieved smile.
"That's wonderful. Being alive really is wonderful..."
He weakly clutched the white bedsheet. Tears rolled down his cheeks one by one and dripped onto the back of his hand. His body trembled, whether from emotion or joy.
In his heart, he was happier than at any moment Tver could remember.
Seeing him so happy, Tver suddenly understood.
His Transmigration, everything he had done, was actually an obsession tempered by the torment of illness.
To live.
Those two words might sound light, but to some people, they were a beautiful dream forever out of reach.
His past self had wanted to keep himself alive. His present self wanted more people to live.
And his future self should strive to let those who deserved to survive have a beautiful, healthy life.
"Thank you." He wiped the tears from his face, but the smile seemed fixed there, impossible to wipe away.
"Thank you for telling me all this."
"No," Tver replied softly. "I should be the one thanking you."