Death wasn't how I had imagined it. There were no divine lights, no flames licking at my body in eternal torment. Just darkness, dense and absolute. For a time I couldn't define — seconds, perhaps years — I existed without weight, without thought. Then, something changed. I opened my eyes. Or at least I think I opened them.
My sight returned an image that seemed almost unreal: a cozy room, suffused with warmth. The walls were covered with bookshelves that climbed up to the ceiling, overflowing with volumes of every kind, many looking ancient. A fireplace burned with a calm and steady flame, casting dancing shadows on the carpet beneath me. I was sitting in an armchair. Comfortable. Too comfortable. The kind of comfort that makes you forget everything else. But not death.
No, that was still fresh in my mind.
In front of me, on another armchair similar to mine, sat a man. Or something that resembled one. He was elegant, with crossed legs and a book in his hands. The cover was decorated with complex patterns, golden and red, as if it were a unique piece of craftsmanship. I couldn't see his face. Every time I tried to focus on it, my vision blurred.
It was like trying to remember a forgotten dream right after waking: the more I tried, the more it escaped me. I tried to speak, but something blocked me. It wasn't just my throat: it was as if the very idea of producing sounds was strangled before it could even form. I tried to move, but my limbs were glued to the armchair. I was trapped, frozen in that position, with only my eyes allowed to move. I shifted them toward the man, who continued reading with an almost irritating calmness.
The sound of pages turning seemed amplified, as if the entire room was listening. He went on, unhurried, showing no sign of being aware of my presence. But I knew he was. Every fiber of my body felt it.
Then, suddenly, he stopped. He turned one last page, let his eyes traverse the final lines, and closed the book with a deliberate gesture. The sound of the cover closing echoed. "And so the demons returned," he said. Or at least I think he said it. His voice didn't come from his lips — not that I could see them — but resonated in my mind, clear as if it had been whispered directly into my thoughts. "Stronger, more tenacious. The men, unprepared, fell one after another, like grain cut down by a blade."
I felt his gaze fall upon me. I didn't see it, but I perceived it. It was an enormous weight, as if someone had placed a boulder on my chest. The knot in my throat became a vice. Air failed me. I tried to breathe, to scream, but nothing. The sensation was that of a fish thrown onto the shore, uselessly struggling against the inevitable. And then, everything ended. Like a flash that dies out, the oppression vanished. I breathed deeply, instinctively bringing my hands to my throat.
I realized I could move again. I coughed, filling my lungs with as much air as possible. I felt light, emptied, as if someone had removed a weight I didn't know I was carrying.
"My apologies," said the man, slightly tilting his head. His voice, though lacking warmth, wasn't hostile. It had an almost ironic tone, like someone apologizing for a minor inconvenience. "It wasn't my intention to cause you such discomfort. But you know, sometimes I get lost in reading. This book in particular... Oh, where are my manners?" I saw him raise a hand with an elegant gesture, as if to chase away an unwanted thought.
"I was reading the story of your world," he continued. "A promising beginning, I must say. Full of intrigue, passion, betrayal. But the follow-up... disappointing. So predictable. Men never learn, do they? The first volume was a masterpiece. This... well, let's say it leaves much to be desired."
He fixed his gaze on me again, or at least it seemed so. I wasn't sure he had eyes under that blurred face, but the sensation was the same as being observed by something inhuman. "Tell me," he said, "how was dying? Pleasant? Painful? Interesting, at least?"
My mind wandered back to the memories of my death: the searing pain that tore through me, the cold that penetrated to the bone. The metallic taste of blood, the weight of my body slowly yielding to the end. And then the darkness, the absolute silence.
I stared at him, or at least tried to, but it was difficult to maintain my gaze fixed on him. A growing anger stirred within me, but found no release. Yet somehow, I couldn't help but answer.
"Painful," I whispered, with my voice trembling slightly, but it was the only word I could utter amidst that storm of emotions.
"Ah, I see," he said. "Not exactly an experience you'd recommend. Well, few do. But, you see, for me it's different. Observing death, studying it... it's part of my job." He paused, drumming his fingers on the cover of the book still in his lap. "Oh, don't worry. I'm not here to judge you. That's others' task. I'm just an avid reader, let's say. Your story, Rin, is particularly interesting. A short life, but full of... potential."
I shuddered at the sound of my name. I had never said what I was called, but he knew. Of course he knew. That thought didn't reassure me at all.
The entity rose from the armchair, the book still clutched in his long fingers. His movement was fluid, almost unnatural, as if time itself bent around him. He approached one of the bookshelves, touching the spines of the volumes with an almost affectionate touch. The firelight danced on the covers, illuminating titles in languages I couldn't decipher.
"I'm not satisfied," he said, without turning. His voice was calm, but there was a shadow of disappointment, like a collector finding a masterpiece ruined by a hasty ending. "Your world had so much potential. Yet, it concluded in such a... banal way. Demons triumphing, humans falling like flies. Too predictable. Too ordinary."
I felt my stomach tighten. I didn't know if it was anger, fear, or simply confusion. I tried to speak, but the words caught in my throat. He turned, his face still blurred, but I sensed an expression that could only be a smile.
"Ah, Rin," he continued, as if reading my thoughts. "Don't worry. It's not over yet. What you lived through was just one of the possible endings. One of many. And you... you are the crucial element to change it."
I felt myself freeze. "What do you mean?" I managed to say, my voice hoarse, as if I hadn't used it in years.
The entity approached, placing the book on a table next to me. "The story of your world hasn't been written yet. Not completely. It's still fluid, malleable. And you... you have the power to change it. Not me. Not others. Only you."
"Why me?" I asked, my voice trembling with his presence looming over me.
He laughed, a sound that seemed to reverberate from every corner of the room, as if the walls themselves had come alive to amplify his voice. "Because you're the unknown variable," he said, with a tone that mixed irony and curiosity. "Apparently, in your sad existence, you're capable of choosing between infinite paths and routes. What you've lived through so far? One of the most banal. An existence where you never actively participated in anything, where you let yourself be carried along by events without ever really opposing them."
He paused for a moment, his invisible eyes somehow still seeming to pierce through me. Then he resumed walking with measured calm, circling the armchair where I still sat, motionless. "But if this time you take more interesting paths, if you choose to be something more than a mere spectator..." he leaned toward me, his voice dropping to a sharp whisper. "...perhaps, this time, you won't die."
I felt sweat on my back. "And if... if I don't want to? If I can't?"
The entity bent slightly, as if to look me in the eyes, even though his face remained indistinct. "Then your world will fall. Again. And this time, there won't be another chance."
"What must I do?" I asked, my voice steadier than I expected.
The entity straightened up, with an expression that conveyed an unsettling satisfaction. "Live," he said with glacial calm. "Return. Change things. Small gestures, big decisions... Every choice you make will shape the course of history. And this time, Rin, make sure it's a story worth telling."
Then, as if he had just remembered something, he clicked his tongue in an almost bored manner. "Ah, yes... I've given you another small gift. As if sparing your life wasn't enough already. You'll understand what it is when the time comes."
Before I could respond, the room began to blur. The flames in the fireplace dimmed, the shadows lengthened, and I felt a void in my stomach, as if I were falling. I closed my eyes, trying to hold my breath, but it was useless. The darkness swallowed me again.