Hilliard's life was defined by routine. Every day, he rose early, dressed in his neatly pressed uniform, and made his way to the hospital where he served as a medical officer. It was a job he had taken up later in life, following a series of events that left his heart heavy and his mind haunted.He still remembered the smell of oil and gasoline from his days as a car mechanic—a life that seemed like it belonged to another man entirely.
Back then, Hilliard was known for his skillful hands, his ability to repair any car that rolled into the shop, and his easygoing nature. But everything changed on a rainy afternoon, when a drunk driver careened into his family's car, shattering his world forever. His wife, his two young children—gone in an instant. The crash left him scarred, both inside and out, with a face that bore the marks of glass shards and a left leg that he would never walk on again.Grief consumed him. The weight of it was almost unbearable, pressing down on his chest like a heavy stone. He couldn't look at a car without feeling the pain of that day. He couldn't sleep without seeing their faces. Hilliard turned away from the life he had known, abandoning the garage that had once been his second home. He spent hours, days, months drifting in a haze of sorrow and anger. Why had he survived when his family had not? What was the purpose of his existence without them?
It was during one of those sleepless nights that he found a new direction. Hilliard decided he would dedicate his life to helping others, to saving lives where he had been unable to save his own family. He enrolled in medical school, a grueling process made more challenging by his age and physical limitations, but he persisted.
He learned everything he could about the human body, about diseases and treatments. In the hospital, he found a place where his pain could be channeled into purpose. The long hours and the constant stream of patients gave him little time to dwell on his losses. Despite his dedication, Hilliard was never able to shake the feeling that he was living on borrowed time.
He had started noticing a slight tightness in his chest, a breathlessness that came on faster than it should have for a man his age. But he brushed it off. He was strong. He had to be.
One night, after a particularly long shift, he returned to his small apartment. It was a sparse place, devoid of personal touches or mementos. The only photograph on the wall was of his family, taken just a week before the accident.
His wife, Maria, was laughing, their children, Anna and Leo, playing by her side. He often found himself staring at it for hours, wondering what life might have been like if things had been different.
On this night, however, he was too tired to think. He dropped heavily onto his bed, his body aching from exhaustion. His last thought before drifting into sleep was of his family, their faces smiling and whole.Then, nothing.
He awoke in a place of darkness—a blackness so profound that he couldn't see his own hands in front of his face. Panic gripped him first, his mind racing as he tried to understand where he was. He attempted to move, to reach out, but his body wouldn't respond. There was a strange calmness settling over him, a quiet acceptance that made no sense.
Then he saw it—a figure emerging from the shadows, darker than the blackness around him. It seemed to absorb the very light around it, a form with no defined features except for its eyes—glowing faintly, like embers.
"Where am I?" Hilliard asked, his voice trembling despite the calmness he felt. "What is this place? "The figure chuckled, a sound that seemed to echo from all directions.
"You have died, Hilliard," it said, its voice deep and resonant. "You died in your sleep, your heart finally giving out after all those years. A heart condition, undetected. No one saw it coming... except me." The figure laughed, a cold, mirthless sound that sent a chill through Hilliard.
Hilliard tried to process the words, his mind reeling. "Died? But... why am I here? What is this place? Who are you? "The figure's smile widened, though no lips were visible, only the sense of a grin. "Think of me as a guide, a gatekeeper of sorts. And this... this is your chance. A chance to start again. A new world, a new life. But don't be mistaken—this is no ordinary opportunity. You've been chosen, Hilliard, though not for any merit of your own.
"Why me? "Hilliard asked, his voice gaining a desperate edge. "Why do I get this chance? Is this some kind of... reward? Or punishment? "The figure tilted its head as if amused. "Why indeed," it repeated. "Let's just say I enjoy... watching.
There are rules in the cosmos, but rules can be bent for those who entertain me. You, Hilliard, have suffered much. Let's see what you do when the tables are turned." Before Hilliard could ask more, the darkness around him began to close in, the figure's laughter growing louder, echoing inside his mind.
A sense of cold wrapped around him, pulling him down into an abyss, He thought of Maria, Anna, and Leo. Their faces flashed before him one last time before the void swallowed him whole.
And then there was light. A blinding, overwhelming light that pierced through the darkness, pushing away the shadows. He felt his body changing, his senses dulling, and then sharpening again.
Hilliard was gone and Torrack, a newborn baby in a world of magic and mystery, opened his eyes for the first time.