The Wraith Guardian moved in silence.He lifted a silver platter, removed its lid, and at once a strange aroma spread through the air—sweet, metallic, and faintly nostalgic, as though the scent itself carried memories of something long dead.
"Tell me," he said in a calm, low voice,"Have you ever heard of something called 'The Life Rewind Phenomenon'?"
His words were directed toward the faint figure slumped over the dining table across from him.
"When a person drifts between life and death," the Wraith continued, "in that fragile instant where existence and nothingness overlap…"
BOOM!
A soft explosion broke the silence.Not loud—just a whisper, like a breeze brushing past a graveyard.
The Wraith lowered his gaze to the platter he had just uncovered.Inside was not food—but a miniature city.
And in the center of that tiny world stood a lone human figure, no larger than an ant, gazing down upon chaos.
He stood atop an ancient building.Below him, war raged—a sea of men wielding swords and spears, cutting, bleeding, screaming.From above, they looked like insects devouring each other, mindless and wild.
As they died, pale mist rose from their corpses, each one a dying soul.Those wisps drifted upward—straight into the void beneath the Wraith's hood, disappearing without trace.
"When that happens," he murmured, almost tenderly,"one falls into a dream that never ends."
The fighting continued below.Screams and madness merged together until the sound no longer resembled humanity.Some began laughing—a feral, broken laughter—like wolves reveling in the slaughter.
The tiny figure above raised a hand to his ear, whispering something, perhaps to an unseen companion.He laughed, one hand in his pocket, his posture casual—almost cheerful.
But then, abruptly, his smile froze.His eyes trembled as he stared at his own hands.He opened his mouth, as if to speak—but it was already too late.
BANG!
A deafening crack echoed.Smoke rose from the platter as the miniature city melted, buildings collapsing into a sludge of ash and blood.The entire scene twisted and churned until it became a single, bubbling pool of black-red fluid, reeking of burnt flesh.
"In that dream," the Wraith spoke softly,"everything you've ever cherished, everything you've ever experienced, every moment that once touched you—returns to you again."
He set the platter aside with care, beside a neatly stacked row of others—each one identical, each one tainted by its own horror.Then he reached for another dish, opened it, and peered inside with the same detached curiosity.
...
"GAAAAHHHH!!"
A scream tore through the air.Inside the new platter, a man was being torn apart by a crowd of crazed, ravenous people—like zombies driven by hunger.
The victim's brown hair was soaked with blood. His face, shredded and unrecognizable, was no longer human.
"It unfolds like a film," the Wraith whispered. "A life replayed in seconds—shown from beginning to end, before the curtain burns away."
The image warped, fading into static. Within moments, the scene withered and collapsed into nothing.
...
"NO—NOOO!!!"
Another cry.A man lay bound in the middle of a golden wheat field.Four horses were tethered to his limbs.
As the animals began to run, panic overtook him. He screamed, confessed everything—every secret, every sin—to the dark figure standing beside him, who simply listened in silence.
The ropes went taut.And then—RIP.
His body was torn apart, split into five mangled pieces.
"But alas," said the Wraith with a weary sigh, "everything passes too quickly. Just a few seconds… and an entire lifetime is gone.So I must… preserve it in my own way."
The golden wheat turned black, soaking in blood until the entire field became a vast, pulsing swamp of crimson.
...
"GRAAAAAAAAAHH!!"
Another voice cried out—this time in agony and flame.
A man was burning on a cross.Beneath him, a great square full of people watched and cheered.The heat shimmered, devouring his flesh, his screams, his tears, until only fire remained.
"You see," said the Wraith, his tone like a sermon,"In dreams, the truth always surfaces.No matter how you try to hide it—your dream will never lie to you."
...
"Ha… ha…"
A labored breath.In a desolate graveyard filled with withered flowers, a young man had been buried alive—only his head exposed to the open air.
Maggots writhed across his cheeks. Flies swarmed over what was once his mouth.
A crow landed on his face.He didn't struggle. He just looked… peaceful.As if the pain had finally broken him free.
The crow cawed—an eerie, human-like sound.And the man whispered something back, faint and trembling.
Then the crow pecked his eye out and flew away, carrying the last of him into the night.Soon, the grave, the soil, and even the world around him dissolved into one.
"…I'm sorry," the Wraith murmured softly."You humans are fragile things.The more you remember, the more you drown in your own suffering."
...
"NO!!"
A scream echoed in the void.
"But what else can you do?" the voice asked, soft yet omnipresent."You too wish to escape—to flee the chains of your own body."
...
"Ughhh!"
"You have to face it," the voice whispered again."To see it. To accept what you are. Oh… how pitiful."
...
"...Why…?"
"And you—You were the one who swore never to forget."
...
"…"
"Still, your brush with death has only strengthened your soul.So why… are you still running from reality?"
The figure in white spoke to the world collapsing around him, his expression eerily calm as he faced the pile of mangled, blood-soaked flesh before him.
...
The Wraith sat back at the now-empty banquet table.Before him were dozens of silver platters, stacked neatly—each one silent witness to another soul's torment.
He turned toward the figure seated across from him—pale, shaking, half-awake, still lost somewhere between dream and death.
"Are you well," the Wraith asked, his tone almost gentle,"…my honored guest?"