POV: William / Aleron
I was supposed to be alone that night.
The ink on my last page hadn't dried when the chill crawled up my spine. I remember the way my breath caught—half wonder, half dread—as I read the final glyph that confirmed what I had long suspected.
The gods had lied.
Not just about magic, but about everything. The flow of mana. The origin of divine blessings. The veil between mortals and gods—it was thinner than anyone had dared to believe. I had written theories on these things. But now… now I had proof.
The gods were feeding on us.
Then came the blade.
It slipped between my ribs before I even heard the door open. Silent. Efficient. A divine execution.
I never saw the face of the one who killed me. Just the parchment curling in fire, and a shadow that vanished before my blood hit the stone.
Afterlife? Limbo? Something Else?
I expected darkness. Silence. Oblivion.
Instead, I awoke suspended in a space that felt like the universe had exhaled and forgot to breathe in again.
"Dramatic as ever, I see," said a voice behind me—smug, feminine, oddly charming.
I turned—or thought I turned—and there she was. Cloaked in cosmic shadow, skin pale as moonlight, eyes like twin eclipses.
"Who—?"
"Nyx," she said, tossing her dark braid over her shoulder. "God of Death. CEO of the Afterlife. Full-time soul shepherd, part-time chaos enthusiast."
I blinked. "I'm dead."
"Sharp as ever, William." She grinned. "But not forgotten."
Anger bubbled up from somewhere deep. "The Creator God—"
"Yup. Smote you like a bug on parchment," she said with a sigh. "You poked too close to the truth, and you were never one for subtlety."
I stared at her, my jaw clenched. "So what now? Am I to fade away? Be judged? Dragged to some mythical hell?"
Nyx snorted. "Oh gods, no. That's so last era. I'm here to offer you a second chance."
I squinted. "Why?"
"Because I liked your thesis," she said with a wink. "And… maybe because I couldn't stop what happened. Consider this an apology. I'm sending you to another world. One where magic is real, tangible. Where people can actually wield it—and where, finally, so can you."
A pause. Then she added, almost sheepishly, "You'll keep your memories, of course. And to sweeten the deal… I'm giving you a little something."
Her fingers snapped, and suddenly I felt something click inside me. A presence—no, an interface.
"God's Whisper. It's a divine system I'm coding just for you. Think appraisal, quests, progression. All tied to your mind, not brute strength."
I narrowed my eyes. "That's… generous."
She tilted her head, mock serious. "I have my moments."
And then she smiled. That kind of smile that says "I've done something and I'm not telling you what."
"Nyx—what aren't you telling me?"
"Oh nothing major." She waved her hand vaguely. "It's just, you know... reincarnation's a bit of a messy business. A bit like matchmaking drunk souls."
I opened my mouth, but she shushed me with a finger to her lips.
"Oops. Out of time. Good luck, Aleron."
"Aler—?"
The world tore open beneath me, and I was falling.
Birth
I don't remember pain.
I remember noise.
Screaming. Shouting. Metal on metal in the distance. The wetness of blood. The heat of the room. The smell of fire just out of reach.
Then light—brilliant, warm, golden.
Arms around me. The ache of my first breath. A voice, soft and breaking:
"…he'll be safer away from us…"
A woman. Her voice was hoarse but full of grief. My mother?
I couldn't move. My limbs were small, helpless. My mouth opened and a cry escaped—raw, unfiltered terror.
But my mind was whole. Sharp. Awake.
I'm a baby.
No—I am William. I died. Nyx said… she said I'd be reborn.
So why does everything feel so… wrong?
The room was massive, stone-walled and velvet-draped. Light poured through stained glass, and incense mixed with smoke. This was no peasant's hut.
It was a chamber fit for royalty.
The woman clutched me close, tears falling onto my face.
"You must live," she whispered. "Even if we can't be with you. Even if the world forgets who you are… you must live."
Another voice—lower, calm. A maidservant stepped forward. She knelt, holding her hands out.
"My lady—"
"Take him," the woman said. "Swear to me."
"I will protect him with my life."
I was passed from one warmth to another. The smell changed—now lavender and linen. The arms that carried me trembled but held firm.
Another explosion outside. The sound of soldiers shouting. Somewhere far off, a horn blew—long and low.
As the maidservant carried me out of the chamber, I turned—tried to turn—toward the woman on the bed. Her eyes met mine for a heartbeat before the doors closed.
Mother?
I didn't know her name.
I didn't even know mine.
But I knew this: I had not been reborn into peace.
I had been dropped—midstorm—into the heart of something much bigger than me.
And somewhere, deep in the core of my soul, something else… flickered.
Something I wasn't born with.
A remnant? No.
A residue.
Something I had taken without meaning to.
But that was a truth not even I could understand yet.