Silas Vane died in the rain.
He remembered the cold first. Not the kind that came from water or wind, but the kind that started inside the bones. Betrayal had a temperature. It was quiet and heavy. It settled in the chest and waited there like a weight tied to the soul.
The people he trusted most had led him to that alley. They smiled while they did it. They said his name like it meant something and then drove the knife in anyway. Not for money. Not for power. Just because it was easy.
He did not beg. He did not run. He stared into the gray sky above and let the rain fall across his face. Then everything turned black.
And then it did not.
There was no light at the end. No tunnel. Just silence. Until something cracked.
A voice spoke from nowhere.
Silas Vane. You have been removed from your world.
He opened his eyes.
He was lying in a field of glass.
The blades beneath him were translucent and sharp, humming faintly with each breath he took. Above him hung a sky of swirling stars that did not belong to Earth. Moons hovered too close. The air smelled like metal and thunder.
He stood slowly. His body was untouched. No blood. No wounds. The clothes he wore were strange. Not his old jacket and jeans. Instead, a black robe wrapped around him, embroidered with a single glowing line that curved along his chest like a question waiting to be asked.
There was no one else in sight.
Just the sound of the wind singing across the glass.
He walked.
Each step left faint prints that vanished behind him. Time felt different here. The stars moved when he blinked. The land ahead twisted gently, like a mirage. His thoughts were sluggish at first, but then began to sharpen with unnatural clarity. He knew things. Names for plants he had never seen. Words in languages he had never studied.
Something was changing inside him.
A new sky hung above him, but he did not panic. Part of him felt like it belonged here.
Then came the tower.
It rose in the distance, black and endless, stretching far into the heavens. It pulsed with power that pressed against the edges of his thoughts. The closer he came, the more he heard it. Not a voice, but a rhythm. Like a heartbeat made of thunder and memory.
At the foot of the tower stood a gate.
A figure waited there.
It was cloaked in white, face hidden beneath a porcelain mask. It did not speak. It simply pointed to the door.
Silas did not hesitate.
He stepped forward.
The gate opened.
And the world changed again.
Heat rushed through his veins. His vision blurred, then focused with impossible clarity. He saw atoms. He saw time. He saw the threads that held everything together, and somehow, without being told, he knew he could touch them.
He stumbled forward and fell to one knee. His hand struck the ground, and the glass beneath his fingers shifted into steam. It rose around him in spirals, warm and silent.
The figure in white bowed.
Welcome, one who was abandoned. One who was rewritten.
You are not a god.
Not yet.
But you will be.
Silas stood.
His heart did not race. His thoughts did not scream.
Only one question remained.
Why me?
No answer came.
Only the silence of stars spinning above a world not his own.
Silas Vane died in the rain.
He remembered the cold first. Not the kind that came from water or wind, but the kind that started inside the bones. Betrayal had a temperature. It was quiet and heavy. It settled in the chest and waited there like a weight tied to the soul.
The people he trusted most had led him to that alley. They smiled while they did it. They said his name like it meant something and then drove the knife in anyway. Not for money. Not for power. Just because it was easy.
He did not beg. He did not run. He stared into the gray sky above and let the rain fall across his face. Then everything turned black.
And then it did not.
There was no light at the end. No tunnel. Just silence. Until something cracked.
A voice spoke from nowhere.
Silas Vane. You have been removed from your world.
He opened his eyes.
He was lying in a field of glass.
The blades beneath him were translucent and sharp, humming faintly with each breath he took. Above him hung a sky of swirling stars that did not belong to Earth. Moons hovered too close. The air smelled like metal and thunder.
He stood slowly. His body was untouched. No blood. No wounds. The clothes he wore were strange. Not his old jacket and jeans. Instead, a black robe wrapped around him, embroidered with a single glowing line that curved along his chest like a question waiting to be asked.
There was no one else in sight.
Just the sound of the wind singing across the glass.
He walked.
Each step left faint prints that vanished behind him. Time felt different here. The stars moved when he blinked. The land ahead twisted gently, like a mirage. His thoughts were sluggish at first, but then began to sharpen with unnatural clarity. He knew things. Names for plants he had never seen. Words in languages he had never studied.
Something was changing inside him.
A new sky hung above him, but he did not panic. Part of him felt like it belonged here.
Then came the tower.
It rose in the distance, black and endless, stretching far into the heavens. It pulsed with power that pressed against the edges of his thoughts. The closer he came, the more he heard it. Not a voice, but a rhythm. Like a heartbeat made of thunder and memory.
At the foot of the tower stood a gate.
A figure waited there.
It was cloaked in white, face hidden beneath a porcelain mask. It did not speak. It simply pointed to the door.
Silas did not hesitate.
He stepped forward.
The gate opened.
And the world changed again.
Heat rushed through his veins. His vision blurred, then focused with impossible clarity. He saw atoms. He saw time. He saw the threads that held everything together, and somehow, without being told, he knew he could touch them.
He stumbled forward and fell to one knee. His hand struck the ground, and the glass beneath his fingers shifted into steam. It rose around him in spirals, warm and silent.
The figure in white bowed.
Welcome, one who was abandoned. One who was rewritten.
You are not a god.
Not yet.
But you will be.
Silas stood.
His heart did not race. His thoughts did not scream.
Only one question remained.
Why me?
No answer came.
Only the silence of stars spinning above a world not his own.