CHAPTER 1 — AN ERROR IN HEAVEN
The heavens were not supposed to shake.
They were designed to be immutable—layers of law stacked upon older laws, overseen by beings who had long forgotten what it meant to hesitate. Disputes happened, yes, but they were resolved through protocol, probability, and precedent.
Not through force.
"You're stalling," the God of Systems said coldly, his voice echoing like steel dragged across a ledger. "The world requires a corrective variable. Delay compounds instability."
Across from him, the God of Reincarnation frowned—not in anger, but irritation. His domain was cycles, continuity, and flow. Nothing about this situation pleased him.
"A forced hero destabilizes the cycle," he replied. "Souls are not tools to be pulled at convenience. You know this."
The God of Systems raised a hand. Symbols—pure logic given form—flickered around his fingers.
"I know the models," he said. "And the models say your caution is inefficient."
The air tightened.
Power gathered.
The God of Reincarnation's eyes narrowed. "Stand down."
The response was lightning.
Not the crude kind mortals imagined, but condensed authority—judgment given shape. It tore through the heavens, aimed not to kill, but to override. A correction, nothing more.
But the God of Reincarnation moved.
The lightning missed.
And because divine power does not vanish when it fails, it fell.
Downward.
Through layers of existence.
Past probability thresholds.
Past safeguards.
Into a world that was never meant to notice it.
———————————————————
The man was thirty years old.
He lived alone in a narrow apartment, lights dimmed even during the day. His life was quiet—not tragic, not dramatic. Just small. He worked remotely, slept irregular hours, and rarely went outside unless necessity demanded it.
That night, necessity did.
Rain hammered the streets. Thunder rolled overhead, distant and unremarkable. He walked with his head down, thoughts drifting without focus.
He never saw the sky tear open.
The lightning struck without warning—no sound, no pain. Just instant cessation. A body collapsing under a force it had no context for.
Death, clean and absolute.
His soul detached naturally, drawn toward the cycle it had followed countless times before.
That should have been the end.
"—That was not in the projection," the God of Reincarnation said sharply.
Below them, reality rippled.
The God of Systems stared, calculations racing. His lightning had passed through seventeen probability filters. It should have dissipated. It should have been absorbed.
Instead, it had killed a mortal.
A non-variable.
An unmarked soul.
"…Statistical anomaly," he said at last.
Silence followed.
Then, something worse.
Far above them—beyond Systems, beyond cycles, beyond even gods—a pressure shifted.
The Almighty did not speak. It did not need to.
Attention alone was enough.
"If that soul enters the cycle," the God of Reincarnation said quietly, "the error will be logged."
The God of Systems clenched his hand.
"And punishment will follow."
They acted simultaneously.
The soul—already drifting, already aligning—was seized.
Not violently. Precisely.
Time stalled around it as it was removed from the flow an instant before reintegration. The cycle closed behind it, seamless, unaware of what had been taken.
The pressure receded.
For now.
———————————————————
Lucician became aware of darkness.
Not the absence of light, but the absence of everything else. No weight. No sound. No sense of body. Thought arrived slowly, like a process booting without confirmation.
Am I… dead?
"Yes," a voice answered.
Another followed immediately.
"Unintentionally."
Form returned. Not flesh, but perception. Two figures stood before him—vast, indistinct, their presence heavier than gravity.
Lucician did not scream. Shock muted fear. He simply stared.
"You were not meant to die," the first voice said. "Your soul's trajectory was… interrupted."
"An error," the second corrected. "One that must be corrected."
Lucician laughed softly. It surprised even him.
"So," he said, voice echoing strangely, "I get hit by divine lightning and that's it? That's the explanation?"
Neither god responded immediately.
That, more than anything, unsettled him.
"To compensate," the God of Reincarnation said at last, "you will be given another life."
"In a world of your choosing," the God of Systems added. "With parameters."
"Why?" the man asked. "Because you feel bad?"
"No," came the honest answer. "Because consequences exist."
Lucician exhaled slowly.
A second chance.
Not out of kindness. Out of necessity.
He understood that much.
"What's the catch?" he asked.
The two gods exchanged a glance—an exchange of data, not emotion.
"You will not return as human," the God of Systems said. "And the world you choose will not be gentle."
Lucician smiled faintly.
"That's fine," he said. "I wasn't gentle either."
Something shifted.
Interest, perhaps.
"Choose," the God of Reincarnation said. "Before the window closes."
And in the space between cycles, between error and correction, a soul that should have moved on began to plan.