The wooden door creaked softly behind him as Taryn stepped out into the corridor. The air outside his room was fresher, cleaner, and carried with it a soft floral aroma that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once.
Curious, he walked to the open terrace at the end of the hallway—and stopped.
His breath caught.
Beyond the elegant stone railing stretched a view that would've made a landscape artist weep.
Rolling green fields extended to the horizon like waves of silk. Gardens bloomed in neatly arranged rows, filled with exotic flowers he couldn't name—some glowing faintly with inner light, others swaying even without wind. Just beyond the central path, a shimmering blue lake reflected the cloudless sky like a polished mirror. Swans, with feathers like snow and eyes like sapphires, drifted lazily along its surface.
Closer to the estate, he saw open pavilions, training yards, and stone paths leading into miniature forests. Servants moved gracefully, carts passed laden with fragrant fruits, and in the far distance, towering mountains loomed like silent guardians.
And the house—no, the manor—was colossal. Not just large, but sprawling. Dozens of buildings with tiled roofs curved like flowing ink strokes. Courtyards, towers, meditation halls, libraries—it was less a home and more a private kingdom.
"I'm not just rich," he murmured, mouth dry. "I'm damn rich."
On Earth, he'd lived in a small but cozy apartment, paid monthly rent, and celebrated when coffee went on sale. Here, he could probably build a mansion out of spirit stones and call it modest.
"I didn't think I'd ever see a view like this," he whispered. "Not in the mortal world…"
He stayed a moment longer, letting it soak in—the colors, the textures, the serenity of it all. Then, taking a steady breath, he turned and made his way toward the central hall.
The reception hall was grand, lined with carved pillars shaped like dragons and phoenixes dancing in eternal flight. The floor gleamed underfoot, polished so finely it reflected the intricate ceiling murals above. At the far end, near a low dais, sat two figures on elegant, high-backed chairs.
Taryn hesitated in the doorway.
His father looked powerful even while seated—shoulders broad, beard neatly trimmed, robes flowing like river water. His presence radiated calm authority. Beside him sat his mother, graceful, her expression gentle yet sharp-eyed, the kind of woman who could silence a room with a glance and soothe a crying child with a word.
And both of them—upon seeing him—rose to their feet in an instant.
"Taryn?" his mother gasped.
"What are you doing here alone?" his father said, striding toward him. "Where is your maid? You shouldn't be walking unsupervised!"
"Taryn, what if you had collapsed?" his mother added, reaching his side. "You're still recovering. Your body isn't strong yet!"
They weren't angry—only worried.
Overwhelmingly so.
His father's hands rested firmly on his shoulders, steadying him. His mother's hand went to his forehead, checking for fever like she'd done a thousand times before.
"You should be resting," she said, voice trembling faintly. "When we heard you woke, we dropped everything and came right away…"
"We were so worried," his father murmured, looking into his eyes with barely restrained emotion. "You've never slept this long. And the healers… they didn't know what else to try."
Taryn's mouth opened. He tried to respond.
But the words caught in his throat.
He hadn't expected this warmth.
This deep, real love.
Not pity, not obligation—but affection forged from years of care.
Memories... real or not, they were mine now, he thought. And so are these people.
"I'm okay," he finally said, voice softer than he intended. "Just… wanted to see you."
His mother cupped his face gently, her eyes glassy. "You've never looked so calm before…"
"I think… I'm feeling better than ever," he replied.
And in that moment, surrounded by warmth, safety, and the quiet strength of family, Taryn felt a rare, grounding peace.
This world… perhaps it was beginning to welcome him.