'Am I real?'
The question consumed Rey's consciousness with weight that threatened to shatter everything he'd constructed since his reincarnation.
Sephyr was still speaking—something about divine blessing and investigative authority—but her words became background noise against the existential crisis tearing through his carefully maintained composure.
False Worlds.
Everything he'd experienced in both lives… every struggle, every victory, every loss…
They had been meaningless shadows cast by light from reality that actually mattered.
'Unless..'.
Rey's enhanced perception stabilized despite the philosophical vertigo threatening to overwhelm him.
His mind, refined through years of strategic calculation and survival instinct, began working through the implications with methodical precision.
'If False Worlds are illusory, if entities born there possess no true substance—then what defines "real"?'
He remembered Earth very well.
