Death...
Rebirth...
That's how it usually went, right?
Death, then rebirth, a cycle that seemed as old as time itself. But nobody ever really stopped to ask the question — what happened after Death?
It was always assumed to be the end. That's how it was taught in the world Cronos came from.
After death, you were either gone forever or maybe, if you were lucky, you went somewhere peaceful. But no one knew for sure.
People who believed in Christ spoke of heaven and hell, the idea that your soul would be judged based on your deeds in life.
Good people went to heaven, and bad people... well, they didn't fare so well, they would be sent to the pits of hell to rot for eternity.
Others believed in reincarnation, that you came back as someone or something else depending on your past life's karma.
But no one could really say which belief was true. No one had lived through death to tell the tale. Not even him.
And if Cronos could speak — if he could go back and tell anyone — it wouldn't be about judgment or rebirth.
He would tell them that what awaited after death... was life.
His crimson eyes fluttered open. The soft light of early morning filtered in through the cracks in the walls, casting thin lines across the wooden ceiling above.
It was different from the ceilings he remembered — the clean white walls of his old apartment, the sterile, modern fixtures that had been part of his previous life.
But then again, nothing was meant to be the same. Not anymore.
Cronos sat up slowly, his body still stiff from a night of strange dreams.
The bed he lay in was simple — wooden frame, a soft foam with plain sheets — and his fingers brushed against the fabric as he stretched, feeling the muscles in his back loosen with a series of satisfying cracks.
"Ah," he sighed, the tension easing from his shoulders. "That's much better."
He took a deep breath, the air in the room warm and heavy. He wasn't sure where he was exactly, or how much time had passed since his... well, his previous life.
He remembered the crash, the blinding lights, the pain. But then? Nothing. Just darkness.
Then he woke up here. In this strange world.
There was no rush. No reason to hurry. He had time now. A second chance. Or was it a second chance? He didn't understand it, but for the first time in a long while, Cronos didn't feel that strange pull of emptiness he had lived with for so long.
His bare feet touched the cold floor, and he stood up, his legs a little wobbly as they adjusted to this new form.
He hadn't been in this body long enough to get used to it, but the physical changes weren't that difficult to get used to.
The build was lean but athletic, his muscles well-defined. He looked in the mirror across the room, seeing a man who seemed familiar but distant.
The silver hair tied neatly into a ponytail shimmered in the dim light, the strands looking almost ethereal against the slightly darker backdrop of his skin.
His face was sharp, angular, with eyes that glowed a faint red — a color that made his reflection seem almost unreal.
But this body... this new existence was his now. It felt both foreign and natural at the same time, a strange dichotomy that Cronos wasn't sure how to handle.
But before he could really linger on his own reflection, a sharp knock came at the door. Three solid raps, quick and demanding.
"Lord Cronos! Wake up!"
Cronos sighed, a quiet, resigned breath escaping his lips.
It was going to be one of those days, wasn't it? His shoulders slumped for a moment, and his eyes fluttered closed as he thought about how the day would unfold.
He had hoped for a peaceful morning, maybe just a moment to reflect. But apparently, fate had other plans.
"Coming," he called, his voice surprisingly steady, even though he could already feel the weight of his new responsibilities settling on his shoulders.
It wasn't like before, when his life had been simple and predictable. Back then, he had been an ordinary man — no different from anyone else, just living his life. Now, however, things were... different.
Cronos moved toward the door and opened it, his gaze meeting the maid standing there.
The woman, an older figure with kind eyes and a posture that suggested years of experience, bowed slightly.
"Lord Cronos, it is time for breakfast," the maid said, his voice polite but filled with the familiarity that came with years of service.
Cronos couldn't help but notice the way the woman's eyes flicked to his own, almost with a touch of expectation.
"Of course," Cronos replied, running a hand through his silver hair, a motion that felt surprisingly natural. "Hand the bowl to me,"