Ronan stood in the middle of the lush field, the vibrant colors of the landscape around him almost overwhelming in their beauty. It felt unreal. He looked down at his hands—slightly trembling, his fingers still holding the sensation of the dagger he had left behind in his apartment. The soft light of the twin moons cast a pale glow over everything, making the entire world seem like a painting, too perfect to be real.
He took another cautious step, each movement feeling more disconnected from his past reality, like he wasn't quite himself. The ground beneath his feet felt firm, but somehow alien. His pulse was erratic, but not out of fear. He wasn't afraid. He was… confused. How had he gotten here? Why was he here? His mind raced with questions, but every time he tried to focus on one, another seemed to take its place.
For the first time in a long while, Ronan felt a sense of isolation—a feeling that maybe he wasn't just displaced in space, but in time. Maybe this world wasn't meant for him.
As he stood still, gathering his bearings, a figure appeared in the distance. It was an old man, hunched over slightly as he walked, carrying a walking stick. The old man's appearance wasn't what surprised Ronan—it was the way the man was staring at him, like he had seen a ghost, but with an expression of knowing, as though he understood something that Ronan hadn't yet grasped.
Ronan watched him approach, unsure whether to speak or remain silent. It felt strange to interact with anyone in this new world. He felt like an intruder.
The old man stopped a few feet away, his eyes narrowing as he took Ronan in, sizing him up with a careful gaze.
"You're not from here," the old man said in a raspy, weathered voice. There was no judgment in his tone, just a quiet recognition. "I can tell."
Ronan didn't respond immediately. He was still processing the surreal nature of his surroundings. He had no idea what to say.
"I'm…" Ronan began, but he couldn't finish. What was he supposed to tell this old man? That he'd just appeared here out of nowhere? That he didn't know what was going on?
The old man's gaze softened, and he leaned on his walking stick, sighing. "It happens," he muttered. "Sometimes, Earthlings are borrowed to save this world. It's not uncommon. You'll get used to it." He gave a slow, deliberate nod, as though to assure Ronan that this was normal—part of the natural order here.
Ronan blinked. "Borrowed? What do you mean, 'borrowed'?"
The old man chuckled, shaking his head. "It's not so complicated. Sometimes, people from other worlds—other places—are brought here, into the bodies of those who are… unable to continue. They're meant to help. You've been given the chance to be part of something greater than yourself."
Ronan's heart thudded in his chest. "So, you're saying… I'm in someone else's body?" He glanced down at his hands again, as if the answer might be there. But they were still his, weren't they?
The old man seemed to notice Ronan's confusion and smiled gently. "Yes, you are. But don't worry about it. You're here now. And that's what matters."
"Who's body is this?" Ronan asked, suddenly feeling a strange disconnect with himself. This wasn't his body, not really. Was he even Ronan Winter anymore?
The old man didn't answer right away. Instead, he waved a hand in a dismissive manner, as though it wasn't important. "You're the one who inhabits it now. The soul of the previous owner is gone. You'll find your way in time. It's always the same for those chosen. There's no use in dwelling on what was."
Ronan wanted to ask more—wanted to understand why he was here, how he got here, and what exactly he was supposed to do. But the old man's expression shifted to something more solemn.
"Why… why did they choose me?" Ronan asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
The old man smiled again, though it was tinged with something unreadable. "I'm afraid that's not something I can answer. But trust that you are here for a reason. Just as many before you have been brought, you have a part to play. The world doesn't make mistakes."
Ronan stood in silence, feeling the weight of the old man's words. But something about the way the man spoke felt wrong. The answer didn't satisfy him—not in the least. And there was something the old man wasn't telling him, something he had left unsaid.
"I still don't understand," Ronan said, frustration creeping into his voice. "What do you mean by 'help'? What's going on here?"
The old man's eyes seemed to darken, but he quickly masked it with a weary smile. "All in time, young one. All in time. The world you've entered is… full of danger. But for now, you're safe. You need to learn what you can, and when the time comes, you'll know what to do."
Ronan felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. Safe? He didn't feel safe. He didn't feel anything but confusion and a deep sense of wrongness. This world felt too bright, too alive—too much of a dream.
The old man smiled cryptically, as though the answer was too dangerous to give. "Not yet. Not yet."
Ronan's mind buzzed with questions, but the old man didn't offer any further explanations. Instead, he gave Ronan a final look, nodding once. "You'll learn what you need to. Just don't forget—there's always a price. Nothing comes for free, especially in this world."
And with that, the old man turned and shuffled off, leaving Ronan standing alone in the field, the weight of his words pressing down on him. The man had said so much, but there was still so much left unsaid. Ronan couldn't shake the feeling that something was lurking in the shadows of this strange world, something far more dangerous than the old man was willing to share.
Ronan took a deep breath and glanced up at the starry sky. For the first time since arriving here, the overwhelming sense of being out of place surged through him. He wasn't just an outsider in this world. He was someone else entirely—a stranger in someone else's body.