Silence. I drift in an endless quiet, the last thing I remember is fire, the smoke filling my lungs. Now there is no pain, no sound. There isn't even darkness or light at first, just a void of perfect silence.
Gradually, sensation returns. A cool wind brushes against my skin, carrying the faint scent of steel and stone. My eyes open slowly to a gray fog that stretches out in every direction.
I found myself standing on solid ground, a vast expanse of grass and stone. Above me, the sky churns with ashen clouds. In the distance, I think I catch a low thrum, like the echo of distant drums beating a slow, solemn rhythm. I shivered, not entirely from the chill, but from the eerie grandeur of this all.
I take a tentative step forward, and my foot scuffs on the stone with a sound that seems startlingly loud in the quiet. "Hello?" I call softly, my voice swallowed by the open air. Where am I? I wonder. Did I… die?
Through the haze, a shape begins to form. At first it's just a dark outline against the gray fog, tall, broad-shouldered, moving toward me with calm strides. My pulse fluttered, as I blink to clear my eyes, and the figure came into focus.
It's a man, or at least he looks like one. He wears armor of burnished steel that catches the dim light of the dawn, a breastplate engraved with intricate knotwork patterns. A fur-lined cloak hangs from his shoulders, stirring gently in the cold breeze. At his side is a sword in a plain scabbard, the leather hilt worn by age and use. His hair is the color of iron and swept back from a stern, noble face.
My gaze drifts to his arms. His left arm is held against his side, but his right arm ends abruptly at the wrist? The sleeve beyond is empty.
He comes to a stop a few paces before me. His eyes, sharp gray-blue, meet mine. Despite his imposing stature, there's a gentle kindness in his expression that eases some of my anxiety. When he speaks, his voice is deep and rumbling. "Welcome, brave soul," he greets.
For a moment, I'm too stunned to respond. I open my mouth, but my throat is tight. Brave soul? I was just a girl who ran into a fire… My thoughts swirl between the surreal setting and the realization dawning on me. This man could only be one person. "Týr...?" I whisper, hardly believing it even as I say the name aloud.
He inclines his head. "I am," he confirms simply. Hearing it, a faint tremor runs through the ground, or perhaps through me, like a distant drumbeat I can feel more than hear.
Týr. The Norse god of war, of law and honor, the one who sacrificed his right hand to bind the great wolf Fenrir. A figure from myth and legend is standing before me, addressing me. It's almost too much to process. My heart hammers in my chest.
The memory of the roaring fire and the collapsing building surges back, and with it comes urgent concern. I step forward, almost without thinking. "The people I saved... the little girl, and the others... are they safe?" My voice cracks as I rush the questions out. If I died and they didn't survive, then my sacrifice... it would have been for nothing.
Týr's stern features soften. He brings his one hand to his chest. "They live," he says gently. "Thanks to your courage, the child and the others escaped the flames. They will carry the memory of your bravery with them all their lives. While your parents morn, they are proud of having you as a daughter."
A breath I didn't realize I was holding rushes out of me. Relief collapses through my body like a tide. I feel my eyes blur with grateful tears. They're safe. A shaky laugh, half-sob, slips from my lips. "Thank goodness," I whisper, my voice quavering. I swipe at my cheeks, wiping away the tears that have overflowed.
"Thank you," I manage to say to Týr, my voice hushed and sincere. He nods once, acknowledging my thanks. For a few heartbeats, neither of us speaks. The wind continues its restless sweep over the plain, carrying a chill but also clearing the last of my anxiety.
I draw in a steadying breath. Now that I know they're safe, the reality of my own situation presses in. I meet Týr's gaze, which is patient and watchful. "So... I really did die, didn't I?" I ask quietly. As obvious as it seems, I need to hear it said.
Týr's face is grave but gentle. "Yes," he replies. "Your mortal life has ended." There is a kindness in his tone, as if he knows the weight of those words and wishes to ease them.
I let out a slow breath. I am dead, i mean it made sense after all. I flex my fingers, half expecting them to flicker like a ghost's, but they appear solid.
I look past Týr at the endless gray horizon. "Is this... the afterlife?" I murmur. Nothing about this empty stone expanse feels like a final destination.
Týr follows my gaze briefly. "It is a threshold," he says, returning his eyes to me. "A waystation between what was and what, what will be and what comes after." His voice is calm and matter-of-fact, but then it takes on a meaningful lilt. "Few souls linger here with awareness." His eyes narrow just a touch, not in hostility, but in significance. "Fewer still are met by one of the divine."
It dawns on me that my presence here, his presence here, is probably highly unusual. I'm not just drifting aimlessly as a lost soul—Týr sought me out. My stomach does a little flip at that realization. "Why me?" I whisper. I wasn't a saint or a legendary hero. I was just a teenager who... who didn't want people to die when I could do something to help.
"Because of how you lived and how you died," Týr answers, as if he heard the unspoken doubts woven in my question.
"You showed courage and selflessness beyond the measure of ordinary mortals. You gave your life so that others would continue theirs, those who were destined to die live because of you. Such a noble sacrifice does not go unnoticed by the gods."
Heat flushes my cheeks, I'm not used to praise, especially if they were meant to die but I changed that fate."I-I only did what anyone should do," I say, ducking my head. The memory of that burning building. "They needed help."
Týr reaches out, and gently lifts my chin with one finger until I'm looking up at him again. His gaze is steady and sincere. "Not anyone would have done what you did," he says. "In truth, very few would. That is why you are here."
I bite my lip, emotions swelling inside me. It's a strange mix of sadness and fulfillment, sadness that my life ended so soon, but fulfillment that it ended for a reason, that I did something worthwhile in my final moments.
A quiet clang rings out in the distance, like a heavy bell or distant gong, cutting through the silence for just an instant. I glance around, startled by the sound, but the fog hides its source. Týr doesn't seem surprised; if anything, the corners of his mouth tilt into the faintest smile.
"You stand at a crossroads, brave soul," he intones, drawing my attention fully back to him. "Most who die simply move on to whatever destiny awaits them beyond this world. But now and then, a mortal spirit shines brightly enough to draw the attention of the heavens."
The air seems to stir as he speaks, and I feel a faint vibration under my feet. Crossroads... attention of the heavens? My heart gives a hopeful little leap.
Týr's voice deepens. "You are one such spirit. By your deeds, and by the purity of your intent, you have been deemed worthy of a choice."
My breath catches. "A... a choice?" I stammer. I can hardly imagine what he means. My mind immediately conjures up possibilities: A chance to go to Valhalla? To be some kind of spirit guardian? What sort of choice does a dead girl get?
Týr nods, the solemn look returning, though that tiny hint of a smile remains as if to reassure me. "Yes. The choice to pass on as every soul must... or to accept a different fate." He pauses, letting the enormity of his words sink in. "You may be given another chance at life, in a world far from the one you left behind. A rebirth with the blessings of the gods to aid you."
For a moment, I forget how to breathe. I stare at him, searching his face to see if he's serious. The calm honesty in his eyes told me he is. "Another... life?" I whisper. It sounds surreal and yet, I couldnt help but feel excited. I loved life. Even with its pain, I wasn't ready to let it go. And now... "You mean I could be alive again? In a different world?"
"That is correct, the last one one you were in, has closed its gates to you, thus a new world you must go too." Týr replies. He holds up his left hand in a gentle but firm gesture, forestalling the torrent of questions I can feel rising in me. "But consider this well. This is a rare honor, and not one without conditions."
"Conditions?" I echo, but not in objection. If anything, I'm eager to hear whatever rules there are if it means I get to live again.
"You will carry with you into that life four boons of your choosing," he explains. "Think of them as gifts or blessings to aid you in your new journey. However, each boon you choose must be balanced. I will ensure that no gift is so unchecked that it could upset the order of the world you enter. Power always comes with responsibility."
Four boons. Four wishes. It's like every fantasy novel or RPG gamer's dream scenario, except it's happening to me. I felt a thrill of excitement run through me, tempered by the gravity of Týr's tone. I nod slowly. "I understand. I'll be careful," I promise. I certainly don't want to ask for anything that would make me a threat to innocent worlds or draw negative attention.
My mind is already racing with possibilities, and I realize my answer is obvious. If I can live again, I want to. Not because I'm afraid to move on because if fate or the gods think I'm worthy of more life, then I want to make the most of that opportunity. I could help more people. I could see wonders I only dreamed of.
Týr watches me, his expression unreadable but patient. I think he already knows what I'll choose; maybe he saw it in my eyes or my soul the moment I arrived. But he gives me the respect of voicing it myself.
I straighten up, lifting my chin with determination. "I accept your offer," I say, the words coming out stronger than I expected. "I choose to live again."
The faint smile on Týr's face grows just enough to crinkle the corners of his eyes. I feel a gentle warmth from him, like approval radiating through the cool air. "So be it," he says quietly.
He then takes a half-step back, standing tall and formal as if presiding over a sacred rite. "Speak your wishes, child of Midgard. Declare your four boons, and I shall judge if they can be granted."
I have to resist the urge to pinch myself. This is beyond anything I ever imagined happening when I charged into that fire. I get to design my next life with four special gifts... It's exhilarating and daunting all at once.
I take a deep breath. I should start with the foundation. What do I want to be in this new world? If I get to choose any form or power source... my mind immediately leaps to all the fantasy and anime worlds I loved. And one stands out above the rest for raw potential.
"My first boon," I begin carefully, "I wish to be reborn as a Saiyan."
I watch Týr's face for a reaction. There's a flicker of acknowledgment in his eyes, perhaps he's heard of Saiyans, perhaps not. I clarify, my words tumbling out a bit quickly, "Saiyans are a warrior race from another world, um, another universe's mythology, I guess."
Týr actually lets out a low hmm, as if considering the request deeply. He nods slowly. "A Saiyan of the Dragon Ball multiverse," he says, pronouncing it as if it's a place he's catalogued in his vast divine knowledge. "A proud people, driven by battle, yet capable of great heroism. Their strength indeed can grow without known limit. This is an unusual request, but not beyond granting."
A rush of relief and excitement fills me. He didn't say no. In fact, he seems almost intrigued. But I realize there's something very important I need to ensure about this wish. "I... I have one concern," I say quickly. "If I'm reborn as someone else, will I still be... me? Will I remember my life, my experiences, this conversation?" I clutch a hand to my chest unconsciously. "I don't want to start over completely blank. I want to remember who I am."
Týr's expression softens slightly. "Your memories are the fire that forged your soul," he says. "They will not be lost. You will carry them into your new life." I close my eyes for a moment in sheer gratitude. "However," he continues, "memories of another life can be both a gift and a burden. There are those in some worlds who might sense that you are... different. They could seek to read your mind or even manipulate it, to uncover secrets or bend you to their will."
A chill runs through me at that thought. Mind-readers, psychics, magical coercion, all those exist in various stories. Dragon Ball has telepaths, and other worlds certainly have legilimens or telepaths too. I hadn't considered that danger.
Týr sets me at ease with a raised hand. "Fear not. I shall place a ward upon your mind, a shield no ordinary mortal or even most sorcerers can penetrate. Your thoughts and memories will be yours alone. Only beings of truly divine power might sense them, and even they will find it difficult to tamper with your spirit."
"Thank you," I said. The value of such protection is immeasurable. The idea that someone could have peered into my past or stolen my free will sent a shudder through me. Now I feel secure, knowing my very self will be safeguarded.
Týr inclines his head. "Your first boon is set: you will live again as a Saiyan, bearing your past within you, guarded from prying eyes. You will be born on planet Vegeta, as a female saiyan. What is your second boon?"
I bite my lip, moving on to the next idea. This one is perhaps even more obscure, but it addresses one of my biggest worries: survival. In the Dragon Ball world there are threats that can blow up planets. Saiyan biology is strong, yes, but not indestructible. I want an edge in durability, something that will keep me in one piece when the going gets tough, even if say someone blew up the planet I was standing on.
"For my second boon," I say, "I wish to have the enhanced durability of the Viltrumites, essentially, I want my body to be made of those 'smart atoms' from the Invincible universe."
Týr's brows draw together; I suspect he is parsing that, so I elaborate. "Viltrumites are a race of super-strong beings from another realm. Part of what makes them so tough is that their bodies have an atomic bond that's incredibly strong. Their cells and atoms hold together under stress that would rip others apart. It means they're extremely hard to kill, they can survive explosions, extreme forces, and they heal faster too. People in my world describe it by saying their atoms are 'smart' and keep their bodies intact."
Understanding lights in Týr's eyes. "Ah, I have heard of these people," he murmurs. "A warrior race that nearly conquered their galaxy. Their strength and resilience are indeed remarkable, though there people are cruel." He looks at me, and I see concern mingled with thoughtfulness. "To intertwine such endurance with a Saiyan form... yes, I can grant this. Your flesh shall be bound together with that same tenacity. Blows that might shatter bone or rupture organs will find your body much harder to break. You will mend swiftly, as those warriors do, so long as life yet stirs in you."
I exhale, a tension I'd been holding releasing. With that kind of durability, I'll have a much better chance of surviving the kind of battles or even space. "That's exactly what I was hoping for," I say, a smile breaking out.
Týr holds up a finger, his eyes sharpening. "But heed this. The Viltrumites and saiyans are not purely creatures of honorable strength. Their legacy is one of conquest, domination, and fierce pride. Such power can carry an instinct to violence, a lust for supremacy. I will not see you corrupted by that."
I shake my head immediately. "I don't want any of that, I promise. I just want the toughness, not the conquest-driven mindset."
"Just so," Týr says, nodding in approval. "I will weave the boon such that you gain their physical resilience, but none of the bloodlust that might accompany it. Your spirit remains your own, guided by your values. The strength will serve you, not the other way around."
Once again, gratitude floods me. Each time, Týr is looking out for the pitfalls of my wishes, adjusting them to keep me safe not just from others but from myself. "Thank you," I say softly. "I truly appreciate that."
He dips his head, and I realize two boons are now accounted for. My heart beats a little faster as I consider the third. So far I've made myself into a powerful being with protection and toughness. What next? The idea that's been shimmering at the back of my mind comes forward again.
This one is a bit more abstract: freedom. In so many stories, characters are stuck in one world, bound by its rules and stuck with its problems. But there's an entire multiverse of possibilities out there. If I could move between them... I mean, the adventures and knowledge I could gain are endless.
"For my third boon," I say, feeling a thrill just voicing it, "I want the ability to travel between different worlds or universes at will."
Týr's eyes widen a fraction; I suspect this is not a request he hears often. "You would walk the realms, like I have" he says, almost to himself. "A wanderer of worlds."
I nod, finding it hard to contain my excitement. "Yes. I want to be able to explore other universes. To have the option to leave one world and enter another. It could be to seek knowledge, or just to experience different things, meet new people and sights."
Týr considers this. His face betrays little, but I feel the gravity of what I'm asking. This is no small power; even gods respect the boundaries between universes. After a long moment, he speaks. "The boon of realm-walking shall be yours," he says at last, and I realize I was unconsciously holding my breath in anticipation. "You will have the ability to step from one reality into another. A limit of about once per day seems prudent and shall be a part of it."
I beam, imagining all the possibilities. Then Týr's expression darkens slightly, not in anger, but in warning. I immediately sober up to listen carefully.
"But know this," he cautions, raising his hand. "The boundaries between worlds are guarded, even if invisibly. Every time you tear a hole, no matter how small, between realities to cross from one to another, there will be those who become aware and even a chance that something could slip into the realm you are leaving behind. The great powers of those worlds, the gods, the cosmic sentinels, even the fabric of the universe itself will feel the tear between the veil."
His voice is quiet but firm, each word heavy with caution. "Some realms might merely take note of you. Others might attempt to bar your entry or pursue the trespasser who slipped past their gates. You must use this gift judiciously, with respect for the places you visit and caution for the risks you might invite."
A shiver runs through me. I nod solemnly. "I understand. I won't abuse it. I'll be very careful." He's basically telling me I could end up on the radar of beings like Beerus the Destroyer maybe, or Doctor Strange, or god knows who else depending on where I go. The thought is intimidating, but at least I'm forewarned. I'll have to make sure I'm prepared or have a good reason whenever I world-hop.
Týr studies my face for a moment, then seems satisfied with what he finds there. "Your third boon is granted with those stipulations."
I let out a breath, my mind already swirling with glimpses of possible worlds: I could Marvel universe, or DC one or anywhere my heart desires. But I reel myself back to the here and now. There's one more boon to choose, and it might be the most important of all.
What do I still lack? I've got the body and potential of a Saiyan, extra durability, and freedom to travel. These are all amazing, but I know the kind of threats that might lie ahead. People like Frieza, Cell, Majin Buu... gods and monsters... And in other universes too, there are so many dangers. I need to be able to rise to those challenges before they can crush me. Even with Saiyan talent, it can take years of intense training to get to the level of the top fighters. What if I don't have years before something happens? I need an edge in growth itself.
"My fourth boon," I say clearly, "is to have an accelerated rate of learning and growth in strength. Specifically, I'd like to gain power and skill twice as fast as a normal Saiyan would."
Týr appears thoughtful, but not disapproving.
A slow smile spreads over Týr's face , small, but genuine and full of approval. "You have a good mind and heart," he declares. "Many would have asked to simply be made powerful from the start. You chose instead to hasten growth, not to skip it. That speaks well of you."
"This boon I shall grant," Týr continues. "Your progression in strength, skill, and knowledge will be twice as quick. Victories will yield you greater spoils of ability. Training will bear fruit more swiftly. What might take years could take months, what demands months could be achieved in weeks. But this only applies to normal saiyans not the special one, those will still be ahead of you in lear ing ability.
A burst of happiness flares in me. That could make an enormous difference. It could be the line between life and death in critical moments. With that, I could potentially stand among the strong ones, if I dedicate myself.
Týr isn't finished yet. His face grows stern again, his single hand tightening on the pommel of his sword. "But never forget: this boon offers you only opportunity, not guarantee. If you do not put in the effort, if you grow complacent or lazy, then nothing will come of it. The boon doubles your output; it does not create strength from nothing. There will be no miraculous surges unless you ignite them yourself through diligence and trial."
"Yes, sir," I answer, and I mean it wholeheartedly. "Good," Týr says softly, seeing the resolve in my eyes.
I realize that I've made all four of my choices. A strange calmness falls over me even as my stomach flips with excitement for what comes next. These wishes… they started as daydreams in the back of my head while I read books or watched shows, and now they're about to become reality. I feel almost giddy.
The fog that once surrounded us has thinned considerably, I noted absently; I can see much farther across the grass plain now. Pillars or rock formations stand in the distance. Many that appeared to be doors in a sense, and that massive tree that i had somehow not noticed. What i though had been storm clouds were actually leaves and branches from that tree.
Týr steps back, drawing himself up to his full imposing height. I instinctively straighten as well. "It is done," Týr declares, his voice echoing with authority across the expanse.
The atmosphere around us shifts. The air that was cool now feels charged, as if alive with unseen power. I feel the tiny hairs on my arms stand up. Týr reaches to his side and pulls his sword free from its scabbard. The sound of steel leaving its scabbard rings out, clear and sharp.
He holds the blade aloft for a moment. The weapon catches what little light there is and gleams with it. Then, with a graceful motion, Týr flips the sword in his hand. "Kneel, brave soul," he instructs, his deep voice kind but firm.
My heart thrums as I lower myself to one knee. The stone is cold through the thin fabric of my gown, I hadn't even realized i was wearing this. I keep my back straight and my chin up.
Týr steps forward, and lightly lays the flat of his blade on my right shoulder. I feel a thrum of energy from the metal, a gentle vibration that travels through me.
He speaks, and his words resonate deep in my soul. "By the First Boon: you shall be reborn as a Saiyan, child of a warrior race." He moves the blade to my left shoulder. "Your identity, your memories and spirit, shall accompany you into this new life, untarnished and shielded from any who would assail your mind."
As he says this, a warmth blooms in my head and chest. I close my eyes, and I swear I can sense a faint glow outline me and then fade. My memories… I can feel them, like familiar books safely locked away in a treasure chest. There's an extra presence there too, a protective seal around my very thoughts. It's subtle but I can still feel it.
Týr lifts the sword and now brings it gently down to tap the top of my head. "By the Second Boon: your body shall be woven with the enduring might of another realm. The resilience of the Viltrumites will flow in your blood and bind to your bones. You will find strength in adversity and recover from injuries with uncanny speed."
This time, the energy that flows into me is hotter, more forceful. It surges down from the point of contact and rushes through every limb. I feel my muscles contract momentarily, a tingling heat flooding them before settling. It's invigorating, like I've just had a burst of adrenaline without the panic.
Týr continues the ritual. He raises the sword once more, holding it upright before me in a salute-like pose. "By the Third Boon: the pathways between worlds shall open to you. No single reality shall contain your journey. You will have the key to walk among the realms, stepping from one universe into another when you so choose."
A cool wind picks up around us, swirling my hair across my face. I catch the scent of something new on that breeze, something floral and salty and smoky all at once. It's gone as quickly as it came, but I know it was real. It was a hint of elsewhere, of a place beyond this liminal realm.
Finally, Týr lowers the sword until its tip touches the stone ground right in front of my knee. The metal ringing softly against the rock is like a closing bell, marking the final act about to begin. His voice rises in both volume and intensity for the last blessing: "By the Fourth Boon: the flame of your potential shall burn with uncommon fervor. Each hour of training, each challenge overcome, will stoke that flame twice over. Your growth in power and skill will be swift."
The energy that follows is gentle at first, a comforting warmth that wraps around me. Then it pulses, once, twice, like a heartbeat of fire. Each pulse sends a wave through my soul. I imagine it lighting a forge within me, setting coals aglow that will burn whenever I feed them effort. I can almost see myself in the future: pushing my limits, and feeling that forge-fire blaze, strengthening me from within.
It's done. Four boons, four blessings, granted by a god. I open my eyes. There's a soft radiance enveloping me now, a multicolored aura that shimmers and then fades. I feel... new. Not dramatically different.
He meets my eyes, and I see pride in his gaze. "Rise, warrior," he says.
I do. I stand up from my kneel, feeling a lightness and strength coursing through me. The stone beneath my feet seems to vibrate faintly with the echoes of the ritual's power.
Týr then lifts his sword in a one-handed salute. Before I can open my mouth to thank him again, the world around us begins to shift.
The gray fog that has surrounded the field is now luminous, brightening with each passing second. The ground under me trembles. As if the very fabric of this place is unraveling gently, because my time here is done.
A beam of light spears down from the branches above, enveloping me in a column of radiance. It's warm and soft, and I feel myself being drawn upward, or forward, or... in some direction that mortal senses can't fully pinpoint.
Through the glow, I see Týr watching me depart. His fur cloak and hair stir in the rising wind. I raise a hand, whether in farewell. "I won't waste this chance! Thank you... for everything!"
He gives me one last, proud nod. And though the light is nearly blinding now, I think I see the slightest smile on that ancient warrior's face.
In a voice that reaches me clearly over the hum of power, he speaks a final benediction: "Live with honor, brave soul."
Then my world becomes light and motion. The stone ground disappears from under my feet and I'm floating, flying. There is a sensation of incredible speed, yet I feel calm and unharmed by it.
I hurtle through what looks like a tunnel of swirling colors. Stars, galaxies, maybe entire universes, streak past me or is it me streaking past them? Time has no meaning. I feel a laugh bubbling up from inside, part exhilaration, part sheer awe.
I don't know what awaits me where I'm going. Will I be born as a baby Saiyan on Planet Vegeta in the past? Will I pop into existence as some teenage fighter on Earth in Goku's time? Or will the gods place me somewhere entirely original? Whatever it is, I cant wait.
The brightness ahead swells until it's all I can see, like the moment just before you wake from a dream when sunlight breaks through your eyelids.
I cross that brilliant threshold... and my second life begins.