I woke up to an unfamiliar wooden roof and walls. There was no window, but streaks of sunlight leaked through the seams and lit up the interior of what could only be called a poorly made shack.

  Comprehending the unfamiliar surroundings, the haze of sleep left me like a dog running out an open door to chase the garbage truck.

  I sat up with minor alarm. I wasn't bound, and it didn't look like anyone else was nearby, so for now I don't think I have much to worry about. If someone does show up though—heh—they'll be sorry for messing with me.

  Looking around carefully, I was on a raised wooden board, the only furniture in the shack. I had no blanket on me, but the wooden board was covered with a thin brown cloth that did nothing to improve the comfort of the "bed."

  The only other object of interest visible was the door—a collection of poorly made wooden planks that let in even more light than the walls.

  Having taken in my surroundings, I started examining myself. I was wearing a black T-shirt, a green jacket, and blue jeans, with a pair of steel-toed boots. It's not exactly sleeping clothes, but these were, in fact, the last things I remembered wearing.

  Wait, how did I even get here? My first guess would be kidnapping, but there's no way I wouldn't remember that. Second, I'm always armed, so it's not really a good idea to come after me.

  As I thought of it, though, I realized that neither my gun nor my holster was with me.

  A quick recall told me that I was hiking in the nearby forest behind my home, like I did every morning—hence the clothes—but suddenly...

  I remember a pause. Not from myself, from the world. It was like the entire world had come to a halt. The movement of the wind, the song of the morning birds, the quiet but always present sound of the nearby stream—all of it ceased. A dread unlike any other and simultaneously familiar in a horrible way, like a déjà-vu from a nightmare, filled me to the core and suddenly... here I was, staring at an unfamiliar ceiling that looked like it was held up by hopes and prayers.

  As my breathing calmed down, I noticed something. Something was in the air, giving me the illusion of a sweet and pleasant smell, even though I was sure there was no such smell actually present. Something familiar and nostalgic, reviving memories I had buried for the past twenty to thirty years—almost my whole life.

  I took another deep breath and closed my eyes. I could feel it. I could hear my heartbeat. I could feel my blood being pumped through my veins. I could now taste that same illusory sweetness on my tongue, and more importantly—arguably most important of all—I could see, even with my eyes closed. I could see a faded blue outline following my body. I could see floating motes of blue and green and yellow and colors that don't exist, colors that don't have any names, and colors whose names were forgotten.

  As I watched the motes move and the colors shift and my own blue outline become a kaleidoscope of colors and lights—of impossible geometries that hurt my brain the longer I looked at them—more of my memories awakened.

  Memories I had suppressed. Memories of a life gone, of laughter and companionship. Of adventure and wonder. Of discovery and innovation. And most importantly, of family and of friends.

  A singular drop of tear fell down my still-closed eyes—my ordinary brown eyes that were glowing the same blue amidst the chaotic kaleidoscope of my form—that I could somehow "see" even more clearly despite, or maybe because of, the pain in my head.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  The melancholic memories of my past were like a raging torrent that bubbled up from the depths of my mind and carved through the monotonous reality of the existence I had come to inevitably accept as my life on Earth. A wellspring of knowledge and of interpersonal relationships, both good and bad.

  Soon after, the current of memories became a trickle, and I let go of a breath I didn't know I was holding. With the next intake, the dark background against which I could see my own kaleidoscopic form and the motes of impossible colors lit up with its own patterns and colors and movements.

  Each breath after that was like a revitalizing gulp of water after a run or a filling bite of food after a day's work.

  Subconsciously, my breathing changed—the depth of my intake and the way I let the air out, the way I breathed changed in a way that would have been impossible to do on Earth. Like seeing someone selectively breathe only oxygen in a normal atmosphere.

  In the colorful world, my form started changing. The angles widened, new sides formed, new colors appeared—sometimes replacing an old one. The same blue glow of my eyes started shining through my form little by little, becoming more pronounced, like it had become the background over which all the other colors danced.

  Mana. The name echoed in my mind like thunder through the sky, lighting in me a flame of hope.

  I opened my eyes again. I was still inside the shack, sitting on the edge of the wooden board. Considering the streams of sunlight, not much time seems to have passed, but for me, it might as well have been a lifetime.

  I had remembered memories of my past life—a life unlike my listless existence on Earth. A life I had voluntarily forgotten and suppressed after ending up on Earth due to a mistake. A mistake that had separated me from all that I knew and loved.

  The reincarnation spell was supposed to take us to the same world in the event of our death, let us create a body and be directly reborn from mana within the same geographical region without the need to go through childhood again.

  But something happened. The End had happened. Much like it had come to Earth hours prior, it had come to that world. I had completed the reincarnation spell many months ago. I, as one of the best magitech engineers and spell architects in the galaxy, had many enemies, so I'd made a lifeline spell that, in the event of my or my family's death, we could be reborn in another world together.

  The problem was, I had yet to perfect it the way I often tried to do obsessively. My wife, Solume, was often the one who would tell me it's enough, bringing me out of my obsessive spiral. But she didn't know I had made such a spell, so I remade it and remade it again and again—always making improvements and never casting it on my wife or my two daughters.

  Then the End came. There's no way to anticipate it—no prophecy, no warning, no signs, nothing. Just one day, in the world, everyone died.

  End, the place, was a legend in my original universe—like heaven for Earth. A place everyone goes after experiencing an End of a world. At the time, I didn't know End was real, but I could sense we were being taken somewhere. But the reincarnation spell interfered with that. As I and every other life form on and in the planet—and those connected to it—died, I alone was reincarnated on Earth.

  Without mana, I couldn't do anything. I was a magitech engineer and inventor, one of the best in my universe, but on manaless Earth, I was powerless. And when my lifetime ran out, I would die for real. This time, there was no cheating death. Not without mana.

  But now...

  "Heh, HaHa... Haaaahahahahahaaa."

  I started laughing loudly and maniacally from the bottom of my heart. I laughed and laughed for what felt like hours. It was like I was getting revenge for the tears I had shed when I'd figured out just how hopeless my situation on Earth actually was. For the hours days and years I had worked, studying Earth's brand of technology trying to find a way back without success.

  As I was letting out all my frustrations at the cost of my ability to talk for the foreseeable future, a ding sound rang—or in my head—cutting my laughter short.

  "Wha..."

  In front of me, a transparent mana-blue display, much like the holo displays I used to have, appeared in front of my eyes.

  {Integration successful. People of Earth, welcome to End.}