Dying did not feel like a sudden dark room. Instead, it felt like sliding into a quiet, empty space.
Max felt himself disappearing. His memories—like the smell of rain and the sound of cars—started to fade away. They were being pulled away as his soul began the journey to be born again.
Then, the drifting stopped.
A bright, glowing hand reached into the gray mist and grabbed his soul.
The hand was as bright as many stars. It felt like being hit by lightning.
The cold feeling of death went away. Suddenly, Max was wide awake. His "eyes" snapped open, and he could see everything clearly again.
Standing before him was a figure that defied every law of human beauty.
He was tall, draped in robes that seemed woven from moonlight and silver silk. His hair was a cascading waterfall of pure, blinding white, falling past his shoulders and glowing with an internal luminescence.
But it was the face that struck Max like a physical blow. The features were carved with a perfection that made the most beautiful humans look like rough sketches in the dirt.
His skin was like polished alabaster, and his eyes—limitless orbs of solid, brilliant white—contained no pupils, yet they held a gaze so piercing but it felt like he could see everything inside Max. Max felt very small, like a tiny bit of dust.
Max could only tremble. He felt small. He felt like a speck of dust standing before a supernova.
"Are you...done gazing?" The voice was a harmony of bells and thunder, vibrating through Max's soul.
Max gasped, his spiritual form flickering.
"I... I..." He shook his head, trying to clear the divine fog. "Who are you? Where am I?"
The figure tilted his head, a gesture of cold grace.
The man moved gracefully. "I am the God of Light," he said. "You are in the place between your old life and your new one."
"The God of Light?" Max's voice cracked.
"Gods... gods aren't real. I lived my whole life... I never saw a sign. I spent years praying for a break, for a sign that my life mattered, and I got nothing.
"Your blindness does not negate my existence, mortal," the God replied, his voice devoid of malice but heavy with an ancient, weary weight.
"The world you knew was but a shadow. This," he gestured to the shimmering energy surrounding them, "is the truth."
Max's fear began to turn into a desperate curiosity.
If he's God, why does he look so sad? Max wondered. Underneath the blinding light, there was a jagged edge to the deity's aura, like a cracked diamond.
"So, what happens now? Do I go to heaven? Is there a hell?"
The God of Light stepped closer, his brilliance intensifying until Max felt he might dissolve.
"Do you want to be reborn, Max? To breathe again? To hold a sword and feel the pulse of magic in your veins?
Max's heart—or the memory of it—leapt. Magic. Swords. A world that i always dream of?
"A world of magic and swords? Like the stories?" His expression brightened for a fleeting second before the reality of his situation crashed back down.
"Wait. You didn't pull me out of the cycle just to be nice. You're a God. You could have picked anyone. What's the catch? What do you want from me?"
The God's beautiful face darkened. For a moment, the light around him flickered, revealing a glimpse of a terrifying, cold rage. "I want a simple thing. A debt to be paid. I had a friend—a brother in divinity. He died some time ago."
"How does a god die?" Max asked, his voice a whisper.
"You do not need to know," the God of Light snapped, the air around them vibrating with enough force to shatter glass. He regained his composure instantly, but the mask of perfection had slipped.
"I will grant you a second life in the world of Lumar. I will give you a body, a home, and a future. But in exchange, you must carry his legacy."
Max felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold of the void. "Whose legacy?"
"The God of War."
Max recoiled. "The God of War? I'm just... I was an a student! I've never even been in a real fight. Why me? Why not a soldier or a hero?"
"Do not ask me 'why you'," the God of Light said, his white eyes flashing. "The threads of fate are tangled.
You are the one who fit the needle. That is all. Perhaps it is because you have nothing to lose. Perhaps it is because your soul is a blank slate, ready to be written upon by a power that would shatter a lesser man."
"And the people who killed him?" Max asked, his voice gaining a sudden, sharp edge.
"If I carry his power, I'm basically putting a target on my back, aren't I? Who am I supposed to be hiding from? Or who am I supposed to be fighting? If they could kill a God, they can definitely kill me."
"I think I do!" Max shouted, his soul flaring with a spark of defiance.
"If I'm going to be his vessel, if I'm going to live a life for a fallen god, I have the authority to know who killed him! I won't be a blind puppet!
The God of Light looked at Max, and for the first time, there was a flicker of respect—or perhaps pity—in those white orbs.
"You are small, but you have teeth. Very well. You may find the truth, but only when you are strong enough to survive it. To know now would be to invite madness.
The beings who struck him down are not of your comprehension. Grow. Survive. The truth will find you when your blade is sharp enough to cut through the lies."
Max let out a long, shaky breath. "Okay. Fine. I'll do it. I'll take the deal."