There was no dream.
Astrael realized that before he became fully aware. Normally, sleep was always accompanied by fragments of random images—faces, places, incomplete sounds. This time, there was nothing. No darkness, no light. No boundary between existence and nonexistence.
He was conscious.
Yet he did not feel his body.
That awareness came slowly, like the surface of still water after the last ripple had faded. Astrael did not open his eyes, because he understood that he did not have any. There were no eyelids to lift, no lungs to draw breath.
And strangely, he did not panic.
If there was one thing he felt clearly, it was calm. Not the calm of confusion, but a stable calm, as if something within him restrained every excess emotion before it could overflow.
"I… still exist."
Not a voice. Not spoken words. Just an understanding that formed on its own.
He tried to remember. Sleep. Night. The apartment. The thought about rain tomorrow. There was no pain. No impact. No dramatic final moment.
The conclusion emerged without pressure: he had died.
That thought carried no fear. No regret. Astrael simply accepted it, as he had accepted many other things in life. If this was the end, then he would experience it honestly.
Yet this "end" did not feel empty.
Around him—if the concept of "around" still applied—there was something difficult to describe. Not space, not void, but a fullness of silence. As if he were suspended between two breaths of the world.
There was no sound. No time. And yet, there was continuity.
Astrael did not know how long he remained in that state. Seconds, minutes, or something longer held no meaning here. His awareness did not erode, nor did it grow. He remained whole.
And there, he began to notice the strangeness of it.
Whole.
He did not feel fractured. No part of him felt missing. His memories were intact. His personality was stable. Even subtle emotions—curiosity, mild interest—were still present, though in a quieter form.
As if his soul… was being preserved.
Then, something changed.
Not a sound, but an exceedingly subtle pressure. Not from outside, but from within his awareness itself. Like a flow of information that was not forced—merely… available.
Astrael did not "hear" anything, but he understood.
That his existence was acknowledged.
That he was not lost.
That he was not damaged.
No figure appeared. No god descended in light or shadow. There were no questions, no judgment. There was only a condition—a law operating without the need to be witnessed.
At that moment, Astrael realized something else.
There was something within him that was different.
Not an addition. Not a gift. More like a property that had always existed, but only now fully activated. He did not know its name, but he understood its function clearly.
His soul was stable.
Unaffected by transition. Uncracked by death. Unscattered by a change in existence.
If the soul was a vessel, then this vessel did not leak.
That understanding came not as text or voice, but as certainty. Astrael did not feel stronger. He simply felt… not fragile.
Silence flowed again.
But this time, there was direction.
He felt a pull. Extremely gentle, almost polite. Not coercion, but an invitation. Another world—unseen, unheard—opened itself as a possibility before him.
Astrael realized that he could refuse.
That awareness was real. If he chose to remain here, no hand would drag him away. There would be no punishment. No threat of a forced eternal void.
The choice existed.
He considered it—not hurriedly, but with the same honesty he used when deciding small things in life.
He was not bound to his former world. There were no unfulfilled promises. No regrets anchoring him. Yet he did not hate it either.
And precisely because of that, he did not feel the need to remain in between.
"I want to see it."
The decision formed without sound, but it was firm.
The pull responded.
The silence began to change. Not with an explosion of light or collapsing space, but with a subtle shift, like a curtain being slowly drawn aside. Something began to flow into his awareness—sensations he had never felt before, yet that did not feel foreign.
Weight.
Warmth.
A pulse.
He sensed boundaries.
For the first time since "awakening," Astrael felt himself having edges. There was an inside and an outside. A beginning and an end. Awareness that had once been expansive was now carefully condensed.
He was not suffocating. He was not in pain.
He was being shaped.
The sensations grew clearer. There was rhythmic pressure, steady and regular. Like the beat of a heart he had never known, yet instinctively recognized. There was a faint sound—not something comprehensible, but a vibration.
And then, cold.
Not a painful cold, but one that marked transition. Astrael could not breathe, yet he did not need to. He simply followed the current carrying him forward.
He did not know what awaited him.
Whether that world would be kind or cruel. Whether he would be born into safety or danger. Whether he would become something weak or strong.
But one thing he knew with certainty.
He was still himself.
His decisions, his memories, his way of thinking—everything remained. Nothing was obscured. Nothing was erased. If the new world demanded adaptation, he would meet it calmly.
The pull reached its peak.
Astrael's awareness narrowed, not because it was compressed, but because it was focused. Like light gathered into a single point so it could shine more clearly elsewhere.
Before everything faded, one final understanding formed within him.
If this was the end, then he would walk it calmly.
If this was the beginning, he would see it through to the end.
And then—
He fell into life.