Don't need this third person perspective

Images flashed by and Hale reached out for them, instinctively knowing that they were important and that things, once let go, would not return. But they slipped through his fingers like water in the rapids, leaving his grasping hands cold and empty.

Hale remembered some things. It hurt like insects were gnawing at him if he tried to dig further so he pieced together what he had. The memories were fragmentary and confusing but one thing was clear.

He was a human in another life.

‘He’ lived a different life in a different world amongst different people but ‘he’ was undoubtedly also him.

The other him was older than Hale. He was always scrambling around, shuffling jobs and studies. But if you had asked him, he would say life wasn’t bad. Difficult, yes. But the short respite amidst stormy times was enough to keep exhaustion at bay.

His younger sister was an Animation, Comics, and Games (ACG) geek. Vivid, cat-like eyes shone every time she chittered about the latest release or some heartrending plot development. She loved fantasy worlds that were brighter than their bleak reality but he thought that she made enough magic in her own right. The teenager had a gift for handicrafts and could turn cheap materials into elaborate outfits and props. She was the fairy godmother who, with a flick of the wand, turned the ordinary into extraordinary and let Cinderella step into a life that was unlike her own. Enthusiasts would fight tooth and nail for her works and lament that they couldn’t hide the master in their basement to produce for them alone.

And the social media post from a cosplayer who bought and used her work looked very similar to Norte. The image was particularly clear in his mind because his sister gushed that it was exactly as she envisioned, as though the flat character crossed dimensions and became real.

Stiff snowy hair framed a flawless visage and impassive eyes the color of blood. A form-fitting black tailcoat wrapped around his lean torso, covering part of the white breeches, matching with dark boots and an air of nobility. He was a millennium-old iceberg, emanating such coldness that admirers would freeze upon approach, but they would keep at it, to try and be the one person who could thaw his heart and reveal his soft insides.

Hale recalled the story Norte was in. The daemon was one of the love interests in an academy setting.

This world had 5 Planes separated like sandwich ingredients, one above another. The Daemon Plane which had no day was the bread at the bottom and the Celestial Plane which had no night was the top. Between them were the Dragon and Homini Planes, with the Phasm Plane right in the middle. Because the Planes were not connected and a hefty price had to be paid to cross into another, people of some Planes weren’t even aware that others existed.

But this ended in the Cataclysm 300 years ago when the Planes merged into one. The most terrible war of all history broke out and the land was dyed with blood until a representative from each Plane stepped out. They signed a Pact and the Academy was built to honor it. Promising youths would gather from all corners of the world and the human female lead was one of them.

She would hone her massive talents, form friendships and find romance. And Hale’s role in all this was to provide information to help her devise strategies. The love interests’ preferences, day-to-day routines, interpersonal relationships… He was the cheat sheet to an examinee and the cheat code to a gamer.

It was beyond his understanding how someone could devote so much time and effort to help another succeed. The jobs he took up in his past life were means of financial gain but what benefit did the original get in exchange for his devotion?

But Hale didn’t continue this train of thought for long. He shuddered from a sudden breathlessness. Someone was blocking his air passages! Hale was just about to open his eyes to see who the soft fingers belonged to when he felt like his body was squeezed on all sides. After a long struggle to get out of the constraints, a sense of unprecedented weightlessness filled him and he opened his eyes with difficulty.

“I told you he was awake!” A high voice unique to children sounded from Hale’s bedside. Its owner, Auretta, was the youngest of the three in the room who had enough likeness that you could tell they were blood related at a glance.

“You better ease up before his breath stops for good,” huffed an older boy in a horse stance some distance away. His quivering muscles and dripping sweat were evidence of his exertion.

Hale looked down at his body. I think it’s already too late, bro…

“Huh! Hale’s heart isn't moving!” The girl rammed her ear against her second brother’s chest, with such force that her cheek softer than steamed rice cakes deformed.

Her first brother jumped up from his stance and ordered the maidservant on standby, “Beth, call the doctor! I’ll get the spiritualist.”

While the people in the manor bustled around, checking the physical state of the Earl’s second son and preparing for a séance, Hale floated near the bed canopy after his seventh failure at repossessing the body.