Chapter 1: Alatar
Where am I. There was no answer, only silence that spoke immense volumes. It was dark, eerily so. Am I..... Am I dead?
A while ago.....
In a hospital, Alatar laid on one of the beds, tubes connected to his body, oxygen mask to breathe easily, he laid there in pain, pain he was now used to, he'd been hurting(physically) for so long he'd forgotten what pain was, his mind had shut off his ability to feel pain.
He'd been in the hospital for so long, his body too frail to move around, he's bones unable to bare the strain of walking, he'd been taking care of by nurses since he was admitted to the hospital. Bills taking care off by his now dead parents.
He'd been sick since he was a child, a rare genetic disease that left him frail, shortness of breath from every little activity done. Frequent headaches and pain in his body. His parents rich as they were, tried everything to help him, there simply wasn't any cure for he's ailment. One random day, while he was in school, he had fainted/slumped while in school and rushed to the hospital. His parents in their rush to get to him, had taken a helicopter to get to him, and had gotten in an unfortunate accident, departing the world. Ever since he'd been in care of the hospital.
Despite this, Alatar never hated the world, he didn't about how unfair it was, how he was suffering, how he was dealt a terrible hand, how his parents were dead, how his childhood was stolen, how he had been stuck in a hospital bed and room for his entire life.
He simply realised, understood that not everyone was given a fair chance in life, some people were extremely fortunate, others were the opposite, filled with only bad luck and unfortunate events, others had a balance between fortunate events and unfortunate events, and others simply existed.
He'd always been intelligent since he was a child, more so than children his age, he'd love reading books, modern literature, fantasy books, biographies, but he'd always loved fantasy stories. The hero saving the princess, the betrayed protagonist having his revenge, the human turned monster, that becomes one. He'd always love stories like that, stories that made him forget his current predicament.
Alatar now twenty-two years of age, was laying on his bed, no visitors, no other patients, just him and his phone, he'd gotten into webnovels in recent years, the variety of books simply wonderful for someone like him, someone who's worldview was entirely focused in books, it was his escape.
He'd read good stories, he'd read the bad, the general cultivation trope, the isekai trope, He'd even read the typical harem trope. He'd love commenting on stories, always involved in them, it was his online persona, he'd become known in the webnovel community, once he gave his approval for a book, it was sure to skyrocket in views.
He had even started writing his own story, the thousands of books he had read, had made him start his own story, and he garnered traction for it, his book was loved, his fans wanted more and it left him satisfied knowing that they did. Writing had become the main highlight of his day, the light in his endlessly growing darkness.
His health had been recently deteriorating, he knew he wouldn't be able to hold on for much longer, but he wasn't sad or depressed he was content, glad even. His life dull as it was, had moments he cherished, moments he loved, the warmth of his parents, the embrace of the books he was also head first into, the people who waited for his reviews, the ones who read and followed his books, he was glad for all of that.
He was twenty-four now, Alatar now thin and sickly beyond recognition, had pushed himself beyond what the doctors had expected, he had told his readers about his health, but he kept writing.
The pain long forgotten had returned, but this he smiled, he wasn't alone anymore, he sent in the last chapter of his book and smiled, like a worker who just finished 20hr shift and was going on a paid vacation.
He smiled as wide as he could, he was the stories he read, the book he wrote, the people he spoke to. He was all he experienced, and he was proud. The sickly boy who lost everything but gained the world, that was him Alatar Gray. He laid his head down on his pillow and closed his eyes, it was peaceful, quiet, there was no pain, no noise, no thought in his head, it was an endless calm and he embraced it.
He took a deep breath, and he went forward arms outstretched into the sweet embrace of death, and she hugged him back like a mother to a child.