I did not wake screaming.
That was the first wrong thing.
There was no pain in my body, no ache in my bones, no rush of breath to my lungs. I lay still, listening, waiting for sensation to return—waiting for water to choke me, for darkness to crush my chest.
Instead, I smelled smoke.
My eyes opened.
The sky above me was not a sky at all. It was a vast, churning ceiling of ash and embers, glowing faintly red like dying coals. The ground beneath my palms was warm, cracked stone dusted with black soot. I pushed myself upright slowly, my body responding as though nothing had happened, as though I had not just been dragged into a well that defied nature.
I was alive.
Or something close enough to it.
The air burned my throat when I inhaled. In the distance, jagged towers rose from the earth like broken teeth, their edges sharp and cruel. Rivers of molten fire snaked between them, lighting the land in an eternal dusk. This place did not scream or roar. It watched.
A shadow moved.
I turned sharply.
Figures emerged from the haze—tall, lean, their silhouettes wrong in subtle ways. Horns curved from some heads, others bore wings that dragged ash across the ground. Their eyes glowed like dying stars. When they saw me, they stopped.
Silence fell.
"A mortal?" one of them muttered.
"No," another said slowly. "She smells wrong."
Hands seized me before I could move. Their grip was firm but not violent, as though they were unsure what to do with me. I struggled, panic finally clawing its way up my spine.
"Let go of me!" I shouted. My voice echoed too far, too loudly.
The creatures stiffened.
"She speaks," one said. "She breathes."
They dragged me forward across the scorched ground toward the largest structure in sight—a palace carved from obsidian and bone, its gates towering high enough to swallow the sky. As we passed beneath its arch, the heat intensified, pressing against my skin like judgment.
Inside, the hall stretched endlessly, lined with pillars etched in symbols I could not read. At the far end, a throne of blackened stone sat elevated above all else.
And upon it—
He sat still, one elbow resting against the arm of the throne, fingers curled loosely as though holding invisible fire. His presence crushed the room into silence. Even the creatures holding me bowed their heads.
He lifted his gaze.
Ash-gray eyes met mine.
They were ancient. Cold. And unmistakably aware.
"This soul," one of the demons said, forcing me to kneel, "fell uninvited into the Afterlife."
The figure on the throne leaned forward slightly.
"A living girl," he said. His voice was calm, deep, carrying authority that did not need to be raised. "In my realm."
His eyes lingered on me—not with hunger, not with mercy—but with interest sharp enough to cut.
"Explain," he commanded.
I swallowed, my heart pounding. "I don't know how I came here," I said, forcing the words out. "I touched the water. It wasn't water. And then—"
"Enough," he interrupted.
He rose.
The room seemed to tilt as he descended the steps. Up close, he was taller than any man I had ever seen, his presence radiating heat and restraint in equal measure. Dark hair fell loosely around his face, and faint lines of fire traced beneath his skin like veins.
"You are not dead," he said quietly.
I looked up at him. "Then send me back."
A murmur rippled through the hall.
His lips curved—not into a smile, but something far more dangerous.
"There is no law for what you are," he said. "No rule written for a mortal who falls into judgment without dying."
He studied me as though weighing a weapon.
"And that," he continued, "makes you a problem."
I braced myself.
"What happens to problems here?" I asked.
His gaze did not soften.
"They are destroyed."
The word echoed through the hall like a verdict.
"And yet," he added after a pause, eyes narrowing, "something in you resists this place."
He turned away.
"Take her to the palace quarters," he ordered. "Do not harm her. Do not touch her."
The demons hesitated.
"Until I decide," he finished, voice final.
As they pulled me to my feet and dragged me away, I looked back once.
He stood at the foot of the throne, watching me leave, his expression unreadable.
I did not know his name then.
But the Afterlife already knew mine.
And somewhere deep beneath the ash and fire, something ancient had begun to stir.