Volume 1 — Chapter 2
Consciousness Without Permission
There was no sense of falling.
No sense of rising either.
Rafi simply was.
If he concentrated, he could almost imagine a body—but the illusion collapsed the moment he tried to breathe.
There was no air.
No lungs.
No heartbeat.
Yet his thoughts flowed with unsettling clarity.
"…So I'm really dead," Rafi murmured.
The sound didn't travel.
It didn't echo.
It simply existed, acknowledged by the void as valid.
That alone was strange.
Rafi had always assumed death came with answers.
Judgment.
Reunion.
Punishment.
Rebirth.
Instead, he had silence.
And patience.
---
Time passed.
Or perhaps it didn't.
Rafi tested it by counting.
"One… two… three…"
The numbers felt meaningless.
There was no rhythm to anchor them.
No second hand ticking.
No hunger or fatigue to mark duration.
"…This is annoying," he concluded.
The void did not disagree.
---
Then came pressure.
Not sudden.
Not violent.
It brushed against his awareness like a cold current in deep water.
Rafi froze.
"Okay," he said carefully, "that's new."
The pressure intensified.
Not crushing.
Evaluating.
Dissecting.
> Existence detected.
Rafi frowned.
"Yeah. That would be me."
The presence did not respond to sarcasm.
> Soul structure: irregular.
"…Rude."
> Initiating classification.
Something tugged at him.
Not physically—but conceptually.
As if invisible hands were trying to slot him into a predefined shape.
Human.
Soul.
Dead.
Awaiting processing.
Rafi felt irritation bloom.
A sharp, instinctive rejection.
"No."
The word carried intent.
The tug weakened.
Rafi leaned into it.
"I don't remember agreeing to anything."
The pressure hesitated.
> Resistance detected.
"Good."
---
Memories surfaced unbidden.
His room.
The cracked ceiling.
The traffic cone.
The moment of impact.
Rafi examined them calmly.
He was still himself.
That mattered.
Whatever this place was, it hadn't erased him.
Yet.
> Re-evaluating assimilation protocol.
Rafi narrowed nonexistent eyes.
"Protocol?"
The pressure surged again.
Stronger.
Colder.
It felt ancient.
Impersonal.
Like gravity.
Like a rule that had never been questioned.
Rafi bristled.
"You don't get to decide that," he said flatly.
Silence.
Then—
Resistance.
The void pushed back.
Not maliciously.
Instinctively.
Rafi felt himself being pulled toward something vast.
A framework.
A system.
A path countless souls had walked before.
"…No," he repeated.
This time, the word was heavier.
It wasn't defiance.
It was certainty.
---
Something cracked.
Not audibly.
Conceptually.
The pull fractured.
The pressure recoiled.
> External authority denied.
Rafi felt it clearly now.
He hadn't been rejected.
He had rejected it.
"…Huh."
The realization settled.
He could refuse.
That wasn't supposed to be possible.
---
The void shifted.
Not collapsing.
Reorganizing.
As if reassessing a variable it couldn't solve.
> Subject displays autonomous self-definition.
Rafi smiled faintly.
"Glad you noticed."
The pressure receded.
Not gone.
Watching.
Waiting.
Rafi relaxed.
As much as one could without a body.
"So," he said into the nothingness, "what now?"
No answer came.
But something fundamental acknowledged the question.
---
Rafi felt… space.
Not physical.
Potential.
As if something was being prepared.
He didn't sense hostility.
Nor kindness.
Just inevitability—now slightly off balance.
For the first time since dying, Rafi felt anticipation.
Not fear.
Curiosity.
"If you're going to throw me somewhere," he said calmly, "at least make it interesting."
The void remained silent.
But far beyond it—
Magicules stirred.
A world shifted.
And a place that should never have accepted him began to open.
---
End of Chapter 2