I Was Reborn in Another World, But I Awoke Inside a Corpse

Chapter 167: Of Hearth and Hope

Evening in the Worldseed Core came gently, like a lullaby whispered through twilight. The wind was soft, the skies a canvas of lavender and rose, and the air carried the scent of orchard bloom and warm stone.

Inside the newly built soul-home, the hearth crackled with living flame—no logs required. The room was large but cozy, its walls inscribed with faint lines of soul energy that pulsed in rhythm with Isaac's breathing. The ceiling opened partially to the sky, letting in moonlight like falling silver.

At the long table carved from a single slab of skywood, three figures sat—no longer warriors on guard, but companions at rest.

Isaac ladled steaming broth into carved crystal bowls while Lira passed out slices of soulbread she'd haphazardly cut into uneven shapes.

"It's not perfect," she said as she handed Isaac a jagged piece, "but it's aggressively edible."

Sylvalen raised an elegant brow from across the table. "I'm amazed you didn't burn it."

"I only slightly burned it," Lira replied with a grin. "It adds flavor."

Isaac took a bite. "Charcoal is technically a flavor."

Lira beamed in triumph. Sylvalen sighed in mock defeat and accepted her piece gracefully.

—

They ate slowly, savoring not just the food—but the moment.

No gods looming.

No sins lurking.

No fate pressing.

Just warmth.

Just home.

—

After dinner, Lira darted up the staircase with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. "Come see my room!" she called.

Isaac and Sylvalen exchanged a look—equal parts dread and amusement—before following.

Her wing of the house was already chaos incarnate.

Weapons were mounted on the walls in confusing order. A half-unpacked trunk spilled over with clothes, books, and enchanted knickknacks. A hammock swung lazily above her proper bed, and beside her window, she'd built a makeshift perch for "morning hero poses."

"I call it organized freedom," she said proudly.

Sylvalen stepped delicately over a pile of mana stones and muttered, "This is not how elves define order."

"I'm not an elf."

"I've noticed."

Isaac just laughed.

—

Later, they returned to the central hearth.

Sylvalen settled beside the fire, her hands wrapped around a cup of tea. "This place," she said softly, "is more than beautiful. It listens."

Isaac sat across from her, legs stretched, his coat draped over the armrest. "It's still learning. But I think it understands peace."

Lira lay sprawled on the rug, arms behind her head. "I hope it remembers today, then. Because this feels like the first real exhale I've had in months."

They were quiet for a while.

Not the silence of distance—but of comfort.

The kind that didn't need to fill space to be shared.

—

"I used to dream of places like this," Sylvalen said after a moment, gazing into the fire. "But dreams always faded when I woke."

Lira nodded. "Yeah. They always had holes in them. But this… this feels real."

Isaac looked at them both, the warmth of the hearth painting gold across their faces.

"This is real," he said.

And the fire flickered in quiet agreement.