Acceptance

"Come on, Paul, time to wake up." A tranquil voice whispered in his ear, soft yet insistent, piercing the hazy depths of his unconscious state.

Slowly, and with an almost painful lack of strength, Paul stirred.

His eyelids fluttered open, though his mind remained clouded, teetering on the edge of sleep.

"It's nine o'clock already, son. Time to get up." The voice came again, closer this time, more vivid.

Blinking rapidly, his vision cleared.

He finally discerned the source of the voice.

"Mom…" he muttered, his tone laced with shock and disbelief.

"What's with that tone? You sound like you've seen a ghost!" His mother chuckled lightly.

But Paul's mind spun.

This can't be real.

His heart pounded furiously.

His mother—standing right before him—was supposed to be dead.

Hadn't she died when he was barely seven? She and his father had perished in a car accident, a memory etched in his mind like a scar.

To confirm his sanity, Paul pinched his cheek.

A sharp sting flared, proving he was awake.

"Come on, Paul. We don't want to be late now, do we?" His mother turned and exited the room, leaving him behind, bewildered and grappling with the impossible.

Late? Late for what?

Springing out of bed, Paul bolted out of his room.

"Morning, kiddo." The greeting stopped him cold.

He froze. "D-Dad?" His voice faltered as he stared at the man in front of him. "How…"

His father stood there, alive and whole, smiling warmly.

The sheer absurdity of the situation left Paul dumbfounded.

His parents were supposed to be dead.

Worse still, he, Paul was supposed to be dead or at least not be known as Paul.

Glancing down at his hands, he noted their small size, the softness of his palms.

This wasn't his adult body.

No. He was a child again, no older than six or seven.

"This is insane…" he whispered.

The memories flooded back—his life as Paul, his death, and his rebirth as Aldrich, the skilled bowman.

Had all that been a mistake? A fevered dream? Was this his true reality?

"Paul?" His father's voice broke through his spiraling thoughts.

Concern marred his features.

Paul blinked, forcing himself back into the moment. "No, Dad. I'm fine. I just… had the weirdest dream, that's all."

"A weird dream, huh?" His father chuckled, ruffling his hair. "Come on, tell me all about it."

And so Paul did.

The two chatted away, the warm and familiar dynamic soothing Paul's frayed nerves.

For a moment, he let himself believe this was real, that none of it mattered as long as his parents were alive.

*Will you two stop talking and go get ready already? We don't want to be late!" His mother's sharp voice cut through their conversation.

"Late?" Paul echoed. "Late for what?"

Both his parents exchanged a glance, excitement sparkling in their eyes.

"You can't have forgotten, Paul," his father said, grinning. "It was your idea, after all."

Paul tilted his head, confused.

"Today, we're going to the amusement park," his mother announced.

"You've been begging us to take you for weeks, and we're sorry we've been too busy. But today, we've cleared our schedules just for you."

Paul stared at her, the words washing over him like a surreal wave.

He should have been overjoyed, but a strange ache settled deep in his chest.

Still, seeing his parents' bright smiles, he pushed the feeling aside.

"That's amazing!" he exclaimed, his childlike excitement bubbling over.

The day passed in a blur of joy.

Paul let himself indulge in the fantasy—riding roller coasters, eating cotton candy, and laughing until his sides hurt.

They visited the cinema, played arcade games, and took family photos.

By the time they returned home, it was dusk, and Paul felt an unfamiliar contentment settle over him.

As they sat around the dinner table that evening, Paul found himself growing quiet.

"Mom, Dad," he began, his voice soft but steady. "Thank you. Today was the best day of my life."

"Come on, kiddo, there's no need for that," his father said, waving him off.

His mother nodded. "We're just doing what parents are supposed to do."

Paul's heart ached at their words.

He took a deep breath, summoning his courage.

"No," he said, his voice firm. "That's why it hurts so much to say this."

His parents froze, their smiles faltering.

"Paul… what are you talking about?" his mother asked, her tone laced with unease.

"This… none of this is real," Paul said, his voice trembling. "You both died. And I think… so did I."

His parents stared at him, bewildered.

"I don't know what's happening," Paul continued, his words pouring out like a dam breaking.

"Maybe this is some kind of dream, or a trick my mind is playing on me. Whatever it is I can't stay here. I need to face my reality."

He turned to his father. "Dad, I followed in your footsteps and became the best archer I could be. I even surpassed the limits of my world." His voice cracked, but he pressed on.

"And Mom," he said, looking at her with tearful eyes. "I know you have always fantasized me with a girl, worrying if you would ever find a girl for your perfect son". He smiled, a painful chuckle.

"I am sorry that I wasn't able to make your thoughts a reality on Earth, but I have another chance to set things right, in a new world."

His parents' faces softened, their expressions filled with love and sorrow.

"Wherever I go, I'll carry your teachings with me," Paul said, standing up. "I'll make you proud."

He walked to the door, placing his hand on the handle.

When he opened it, a blinding white light poured in, illuminating the room.

"Paul!" his mother called out.

He paused, turning to look at her.

"Be careful," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Paul nodded, his gaze shifting to his father.

His father said nothing, but his silent smile spoke volumes.

Without another word, Paul stepped into the light.

---

The sound of a door creaking open broke the silence.

"Al?" A soft, hesitant voice called out.

Paul—now Aldrich—sat on a hospital bed, tears streaming down his face.

He didn't look up.

The woman at the door hesitated, her expression filled with concern.

She didn't know what to say or do, so she simply stood there, watching as he cried, his shoulders shaking with the weight of his emotions.