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Chapter 3 - The First Shift

It was night. The first night since the miracle.

Jim lay in bed beside Matt, who was pretending to scroll through his phone but kept glancing over every thirty seconds. Matt was happy his brother was alive, sure, but also weirdly anxious. That "two weeks left to live" clock was still ticking in his mind, and he didn't know how to believe in miracles yet. Maybe after fifteen days, he'd let his guard down.

Jim, on the other hand, was thrilled to feel tired in a normal way. He hadn't gone to bed feeling like a regular person in years. Climbing under the covers, he breathed in the soft air of a night that wasn't spent in a hospital room. He was ready for the best sleep of his life.

Then—gong. A deep, echoing sound rang out, like someone had struck the universe with a giant church bell. Jim's eyes snapped open. He felt it immediately—something pulling at him, yanking his very soul out like it owed rent. He tried to resist, grabbing at consciousness like a kid refusing to wake up for school, but the force was too strong.

In a blink, he was gone. Flung across space—or maybe something deeper than space—he landed hard somewhere that didn't make sense. The air was thick, the ground shimmered like obsidian glass, and the sky pulsed like a dying star.

"Where am I?" Jim shouted, his voice cracking.

This was real. Too real. Dreams didn't come with gravity and anxiety and slightly damp socks.

"Hearken." The voice was deep, commanding. "You're here to fulfill your pledge, Jim."

Jim's heart skipped. The deal. Day was his. But night? That belonged to something else.

"You chose life. You chose well, James Slevann." The voice was closer now, clearer, almost proud. "A few years ago, I lost my night rider. A vacancy opened up, and you'll make the perfect replacement."

Jim blinked, trying to process that. "Wait, why me? I've been alive again for one day and I'm already working night shifts for the afterlife?"

The voice stepped forward—no longer just sound, but presence. A figure began to form, shaped like a man but shimmering, almost liquid. His robe flowed from neck to feet like a river of starlight. He didn't walk so much as glide, each step leaving ripples of light.

"I am the Setrum of Peace," he said, his voice echoing through time itself.

The name hit like a forgotten dream, familiar in a way Jim couldn't explain.

"People of the old world called me the Great Dais."

"Setrum?" Jim's mind raced. How do I know thatword? It felt ancient, important. "What... what are you exactly?"

"We are the engineers of creation, Jim. We keep the lights on in the universe, maintain the balance. But we cannot work alone." The Great Dais gestured to himself. "We need vessels. Bodies that can bridge our realm and yours."

"So you need... riders?" The word came out before Jim could think about it.

"Precisely. And you're not dying, Jim." The Great Dais smiled. "You're learning how to live. The day is yours to learn, to be human. The night? That's when we ride."

Jim stared at him. "Cool. I basically signed up to be a celestial Uber driver."

"Not quite." The Great Dais's tone grew serious. "You'll be fighting the Ozeleans. They are our opposite—chaos where we bring order, destruction where we create."

"Ozeleans?" Jim felt a chill. Why does that sound terrifying?

"Think of every war, every disease, every senseless tragedy. Think of your phone dying at one percent when you need it most." A hint of cosmic frustration crept into the voice. "Agents of chaos, Jim. And you? You have thirteen years of suffering on your résumé. You understand what they do."

Jim's jaw tightened. Yeah. I understand.

The night wasn't for rest anymore. It was his time to fly. That was the deal. Day belonged to him. Night belonged to them. And tonight was his first test.

*****

The Great Dais watched as Jim suited up—glowing armor, a sword of light in one hand, a shimmering shield in the other. Jim imagined something big. Something nasty. Fangs, wings, maybe an evil laugh.

Nope. It was a little girl. Eight years old, adorable, floating mid-air like a creepy angel in a horror movie.

"You're kidding me." Jim blinked. "I'm not fighting a kid."

"If you don't," the Great Dais replied smoothly, "she's going to kill you."

"Wait—we can die?"

Before he could get an answer, the girl lunged. Jim barely had time to think. One moment he was floating on what felt like an invisible bike, the next he was weaving through the night sky with a pint-sized assassin on his tail. She was fast—too fast—sending blasts of pure chaos his way.

Jim focused on defense—blocking, dodging, panicking. Then something clicked. His vision shifted. That 360-degree sight returned. In it, he saw everything—the destruction this Ozelean had caused on Earth. Allthosepeople... allthatpain... Images flashed through his mind: families torn apart, children crying, hospitals overflowing. Thisthing. This little monster did all of this.

"You've got to be kidding me," Jim muttered. But he wasn't laughing anymore.

Thirteen years. Thirteen years I suffered because of things likeher. The rage wasn't just anger now—it was purpose. No more. Not on my watch.

He stopped. Turned. Faced her. Even as she charged with all her speed and power, Jim was calm. He raised the sword, took a breath, and with a single, clean slice... Gone.

Back in the Celestial Realm, the Great Dais turned to the other Setrums and nodded. That was what they hadn't understood. They didn't need just a warrior. They needed someone who knew pain. Someone with fire. Someone hungry.

And back in bed, Jim gasped awake, heart pounding. His armor was gone, his body exhausted. But he was alive.

He stared at the ceiling. "Okay. That was insane."

Then he rolled over and smiled.

"God, I really love what I do."

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