Years had passed since Daniel Dammer's bittersweet graduation. The sting of Lissa's departure had dulled, though a faint scar remained, a testament to a heart once shattered. The raw grief for his parents had softened into a quiet reverence, a deep-seated gratitude for the lessons they had imparted. He had officially become a licensed professional teacher, a title he wore with pride and a sense of profound purpose. He now stood in front of classrooms filled with eager, curious children, their bright eyes and innocent questions reminding him daily why he had endured all those years of hardship, why he had fought so fiercely for this very life.
From the outside, Daniel's life looked stable, almost idyllic. His days followed a comforting routine: waking with the sunrise, the scent of fresh coffee filling his small apartment, the bustling commute, the vibrant energy of the school, and then the quiet evenings spent grading papers or losing himself in a good book. It was, by all accounts, peaceful.
But inside, there was still an emptiness. A quiet void he couldn't quite fill, a space where laughter once echoed, where shared dreams once bloomed. Even after all this time, memories of Lissa, Ares, and his parents would surface uninvited, like ghosts in the periphery of his consciousness. In the stillness of the night, when the city sounds faded to a hum, or during a quiet moment between classes, he'd find himself lost in thought, wondering where Lissa was, what she was doing, if she had found the "who she really wanted to be." He wondered about Ares, his steadfast friend, and if their paths would ever cross again. And always, always, he thought of his parents, the silent pillars of his past, wondering what could have been, what advice they might have offered, what pride they might have felt. These reflections were not painful in the way they once were, but rather tinged with a gentle melancholy, a quiet acknowledgment of the lives he had left behind.
That morning, however, Daniel's mind wasn't burdened by the past. It was a crisp, clear Tuesday, the kind of day that promised a fresh start. He stood on the platform at Shibuya Station, the rhythmic rumble of approaching trains vibrating through the concrete beneath his feet. He waited for his train like he had done countless times before, a creature of habit in the heart of one of the world's most chaotic cities.
The crowds bustled around him, a river of humanity flowing ceaselessly. People hurried along, a kaleidoscope of suits and casual wear, faces buried in their phones, fingers flying across screens, or chatting animatedly with companions. The air hummed with a thousand conversations, the distant clang of train doors, and the ever-present announcement jingles. It was a typical morning in Tokyo noisy, alive, a vibrant tapestry of urban life. Daniel felt a familiar sense of anonymity, a small cog in a vast, intricate machine, and for the most part, he found comfort in it.
He boarded the train when its doors hissed open, slipping into a corner seat near the window. The worn fabric of the seat was familiar, a small comfort. He leaned his head against the cool glass, his eyes drifting over the city skyline as the train began to move, picking up speed, a steel serpent winding through the urban jungle. Buildings blurred into streaks of color, then resolved into distinct structures, each window a tiny square of light against the morning sun.
Somewhere on the opposite car, perhaps just a few feet of metal and glass separating them, Ares was there too, commuting to his own unknown destination. Neither man noticed the other that day, lost in their own thoughts, their own routines, unaware of the cosmic irony of their proximity.
Minutes passed, marked by the gentle sway of the train, the rhythmic clickety-clack of wheels on tracks, and the occasional announcement in Japanese. Daniel felt a pleasant lethargy setting in, the kind that often precedes a busy day. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the motion lull him.
Then, everything changed.
A shudder, violent and unexpected, ran through the train. It wasn't the usual jostle of braking or accelerating. This was deeper, more guttural, a tremor that seemed to originate from the very core of the earth.
At first, Daniel thought it was just turbulence, perhaps a minor mechanical issue, a hiccup in the otherwise flawless Tokyo transit system. But when he glanced out the window, his heart stopped. The world outside had become a canvas of unfolding horror.
A plane.
Falling from the sky.
A large passenger jet, a behemoth of metal, spiraling out of control with an agonizing slowness that defied belief. Black smoke, thick and oily, billowed behind it like a grotesque tail. Pieces, glinting ominously in the morning sun, broke off and scattered, tiny fragments against the vast blue canvas, each one a harbinger of destruction. It plummeted, a wounded bird, heading straight toward them.
There was no time to scream. No time to run. No time even for a single, coherent thought. The realization of impending doom was instantaneous, absolute.
The plane crashed into the train with a deafening, apocalyptic explosion. It wasn't just a sound; it was a physical force, a concussive wave that slammed into Daniel, stealing his breath, rattling his very bones. Metal twisted with a shriek of agony, tearing like paper. Glass shattered, exploding inwards in a deadly shower of glittering shards. Fire, a hungry, living entity, erupted from the point of impact, engulfing everything in an inferno of orange and red. The world became a maelstrom of heat, noise, and chaos.
In that instant, as the world dissolved into a blinding flash and searing pain, Daniel knew, with chilling certainty, that he was dead.
But death wasn't the end….
Daniel floated in a void.
It was not darkness, nor light. Not cold, nor warm. It was a realm beyond human sensory perception, a place where the very concepts of space and time seemed to unravel. Colors flared and shimmered, shifting and reforming in patterns that defied geometry, beyond human comprehension. They were hues he had never seen, combinations that shouldn't exist, yet they danced before him, mesmerizing and terrifying. It wasn't black, nor white. It was... everything. And nothing. A paradoxical existence that stretched into infinity.
Silence. Total and absolute. A silence so profound it felt like a pressure, pressing in on his very being, muffling the echoes of the fiery crash that had just claimed his life.
Then, a voice. It wasn't a sound, but a thought, a presence that resonated directly within his mind, clear and resonant despite the surrounding nothingness.
[SYSTEM: Conscious Stabilizing...]
"Wh-what is this?" Daniel whispered, his voice, miraculously, echoing in the emptiness, a lonely, fragile sound.
[SYSTEM: Welcome, Daniel Dammer. I am your System. We will be together in your next lifetime.]
"What... are you?" The question was born of pure bewilderment, a desperate attempt to grasp onto something, anything, that made sense.
[SYSTEM: I AM YOU.]
The answer was cryptic, unsettling, yet carried an undeniable weight of truth. It implied a connection, a symbiosis he couldn't yet fathom.
[I have a gift for you. But to acquire it, you must undergo a trial to determine your fate.]
Before Daniel could respond, before he could even form another question, a door materialized before him. It was a single, ornate structure, crafted from what looked like dark, polished wood inlaid with intricate, glowing patterns, floating impossibly in the shimmering void. It seemed ancient, yet impossibly new.
It opened on its own, slowly, majestically, revealing not a path, but a swirling vortex of light. Daniel felt an irresistible pull, a force beyond his control, drawing him in.
Suddenly, sound returned. Not the silence of the void, but a cacophony. Chaos.
Screams, distant yet piercing. The roar of unseen flames. Whispers, insidious and chilling, of things unseen, of forgotten terrors.
Daniel stumbled forward, finding himself in a strange, liminal realm neither heaven nor hell, but a place that seemed to encompass elements of both. The air was thick, heavy with an unseen energy.
[SYSTEM: Welcome to the Circles of Heaven and Hell.]
[Here, you will be tried for all your sins. Mind, body, soul, and spirit. Pass each trial to be reincarnated. Each circle holds a power. Choose how to use it. Good or evil the choice is yours. But every choice has consequences.]
Daniel swallowed hard, his throat dry, his heart hammering against his ribs. Sins? He had tried to live a decent life, a moral one, just as his parents had taught him. What sins could he possibly have committed that warranted such a trial?
"What... am I supposed to do?" His voice was hoarse, barely a croak.
[SYSTEM: Pass each trial. Be swift. Your fate lies beyond these circles.]
With no other choice, no path of retreat, Daniel stepped forward. The only way out was through.
A door shimmered into existence before him, less ornate than the first, but equally imposing. It glowed with a faint, ethereal light.