Issac Grayford never imagined his life would end at eighteen.
He had always been quiet, cautious, someone who avoided unnecessary attention. But fate rarely cared about caution.
It was late afternoon, and Issac was walking home when a scream pierced the alley ahead. A man wielding a knife had cornered a stranger—a young woman—against the brick wall. Her eyes were wide with fear, frozen in place.
Without thinking, Issac rushed forward.
"Get back!" he shouted, but the attacker didn't falter.
Instinctively, Issac threw himself between the knife and the woman. Metal sliced across his chest. Pain exploded through him, searing and sharp. He fell to the ground, the world tilting around him.
The stranger scrambled back, unharmed, but Issac barely noticed. At least she's safe…
The city's sounds dimmed, then disappeared entirely. Darkness swallowed him.
---
He drifted—or maybe fell upward.
The darkness stretched in every direction, endless yet alive. Faint lights shimmered at impossible distances, drifting and twisting like living things. Shapes moved in the shadows, silent, watching. A chill ran down his spine—not fear, but expectation.
Then a presence appeared. He could not see her fully. Only fragments: hair flowing like galaxies, eyes shimmering with the weight of stars.
"Issac Grayford…" Her voice was everywhere and nowhere at once. It resonated deep in his chest and whispered along the edges of his mind. "You have crossed the line between life and… what lies beyond."
"I… I died?" he whispered, though his voice seemed swallowed by the void.
"Perhaps," she said. The light around her twisted, forming shapes he could not name. "Perhaps not. Time and life are… flexible here. Some threads unravel. Others… are woven anew."
Issac's chest tightened. What is this place? He didn't feel hope or joy—only uncertainty.
"I… I don't know if I should—"
"Shh," she interrupted softly. "Do not cling to what was. And do not leap without thought. But know this: your actions echo farther than you perceive."
Her hand—or the idea of a hand—stretched toward him. Faint symbols floated along her fingertips, turning in impossible patterns.
"Will you step forward, Issac Grayford… or let the threads fall?"
He swallowed. I don't know if I'm ready…
The circle of light beneath him pulsed. Slowly, gently, it began to lift him.
"Your name, in the life to come," she whispered, almost lost in the winds of this strange place, "will be Issac Veylor."
Everything dissolved into white.
---
Issac opened his eyes to soft, warm light. The room was unfamiliar—walls painted pale, a neatly made bed, sunlight spilling through the window. The faint smell of fresh linen filled the air.
He sat up slowly, taking it all in. Before he could fully process anything, the door opened.
"You're awake! Are you feeling okay?" a woman's voice asked, soft and worried.
He didn't recognize her. Her face was kind, but unfamiliar. Behind her stood a man, adjusting his tie nervously, speaking quietly about how worried he'd been.
Outwardly, Issac nodded and smiled faintly. "I'm fine. Thank you." His voice sounded calm, but inside, his chest tightened and his thoughts spun wildly. Who are they? Why am I here?
After a few minutes of small talk, they finally left, leaving him alone. The door closed, leaving him in silence.
Then it happened—a fluttering sensation in his mind. Memories, half-familiar and hazy, began to surface.
Not his memories… but now, somehow, they felt like his own.
Issac exhaled slowly, letting the fragments settle. His hands clenched lightly in his lap. Outwardly calm, inwardly, he felt a storm of nervousness, awe, and a little fear.
He lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Sunlight fell across the room, steady and warm, but his mind was elsewhere.
I'm alive… in someone else's life, in someone else's body. And yet… it's mine now. Every choice I make from here will matter. I can't waste this chance.
For a long moment, he simply stared, quiet. No rush, no excitement, no certainty—just the weight of a life waiting to be lived, stretching infinitely ahead.
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