If life carried an expiration date, would people still waste it?
Suppose a man lived carelessly.
He woke, ate, laughed, and slept… never once asking why.
Days passed like shadows, indistinguishable from one another, each one spent simply because it existed.
Then one day, a doctor examined him and told him that he had cancer, that his remaining days were numbered.
Nothing changed about the world. But everything changed about his life.
The days he once threw away became priceless. The hours he had ignored turned heavy with meaning. The future he had never feared became something terrifying to face.
Only when death stood close did he finally understand the truth.
He had been alive, without ever truly living.
Humanity was no different.
They lived long lives and called it living. They drowned in routine and called it peace.
Many wished to die. Many lived without caring whether they did.
So the god decided to give them what they lacked.
An End.
♢ ♢ ♢ ♢
31st December, 2026.
The sky was dark as people prepared to welcome the new year.
Families wished one another a happy New Year. Some sat beneath tables, ready to eat grapes. Others drank and celebrated with friends, convinced the coming year would be the one they finally won in life.
When the clock struck midnight and fireworks burst across the sky, the darkness vanished.
Not because of celebration.
Because of something else.
The world shook as buildings trembled and roads split apart, accidents erupting across cities and villages alike while the ground convulsed like an awakening beast.
Before fear could settle, an ancient voice echoed across the world, not through sound, but directly within the mind.
No matter the language spoken, everyone understood.
[ You mortals call existence a burden because you have never been forced to fight for it. ]
[ You waste time because you believe it is endless. ]
[ I will correct that. ]
[ I will place a limit upon your lives, one you will always feel. ]
[ Those who waste their lives will be marked. ]
[ Each of you who has been marked will carry a curse. ]
[ Find its remedy, and live. ]
[ Fail, and your existence will end. ]
The voice faded and the shaking ceased. In its wake, a fraction of humanity vanished from the face of the earth.
Fireworks continued to fall from the sky, their colors meaningless against the screams tearing through the streets.
Families searched for missing loved ones, while others stared in disbelief at empty chairs and shattered homes.
That day, humanity learned what it meant to truly want to live.
♢ ♢ ♢ ♢
Time had flown, and a century had passed since the God's Decree first fell upon the world.
31st December, 2126.
The grand auditorium of Thousand Sunny High School was silent, its air heavy and cold, more fitting for a morgue than a place meant for celebration.
Rows of students sat in ascending tiers, all facing the stage. Every single one of them was 18 years old, and today was the day their fate would be decided.
Fear filled most of the hall.
But not everyone shared it.
Some students looked bored. Others looked oddly excited, as if they were about to attend an event rather than be condemned by it.
Among them sat a black-haired boy with silver eyes, slouched in the back row, boredom etched clearly across his face.
His name was Mors.
He watched as the bald principal stepped onto the stage, clearly preparing to deliver yet another speech about life and purpose.
Principal Grant looked over the students and couldn't help but sigh.
Every year, he faced a new batch of students and delivered the same motivational speech, fully aware that it never motivated anyone.
He stepped up to the microphone and began this year's address.
"It has been exactly a century since the God's Decree. Today, it will be decided whether you all will be included in it."
A few students murmured in fear.
Mors shook his head. The old man clearly had no talent for motivation.
"But worry not," Principal Grant continued. "Those who have lived their lives to the fullest and possessed a purpose will not be Marked."
The Marked, also called the Forsaken, were the titles given to those chosen by the god for wasting their lives on the mundane.
Every year, on New Year's Eve, those who had turned eighteen that year and had successfully wasted their lives would be Marked and cast beyond Earth.
They vanished into the Aetheric Expanse— a boundless plane of fractured realms, forgotten civilizations, untamed Aether, and monstrous forces that had long outlived their creators.
Yet their destination within the Expanse was not random.
They were drawn toward a single colossal world.
Hexgyre.
More precisely—
They were cast into its First Ring.
The First Ring was the outermost region of Hexgyre — an expanse of endless wilderness and ruined cities swallowed by forests.
Of course, many dreamed of an adventure to such a magical world.
But the truth was far grimmer.
Every Marked carried a curse, and every curse carried a ticking time limit. When it fully erupted, it meant death.
Curses could be wildly different, or terrifyingly similar. Only by finding the remedy and undoing their curse could a Marked return to Earth.
Principal Grant looked at the restless students and continued, "And those who get Marked… I can only hope you receive a Mild Curse and make it back home safely."
"Today will be your last day at this school, whether you are Marked or not. Your fate will be revealed at midnight, just as the New Year's fireworks begin. Go home early, stay safe… and maybe pray."
Principal Grant stopped there.
Mors stared blankly, 'Pray to whom? The god who gave the curse?'
He stood as the other students rose, ready to leave for their homes.
Unlike most, Mors wasn't afraid. He was… excited.
One of his dreams had always been to venture into Hexgyre, explore that world, and of course find the remedy to his curse while he was at it.
Those who were cursed awakened both their Aether Core and their Aspect.
Aspects were much like classes in an RPG, except they weren't random. They were determined by the curse you received.
There were 12beginner Aspects, and everyone would awaken as one of them.
'Hope I get a Wizard. It would be cool to just blink across the map instead of walking,' Mors thought, rubbing his hands against the cold.
He paused and glanced around the school compound. He didn't have any close friends, only casual acquaintances. No one seemed interested in celebrating, and the end of school meant nothing to most.
He watched the others leave with their parents or relatives who had come to pick them up.
Mors's mood dimmed as he walked out through the school gates, memories of the past surfacing uninvited.
Abandoned at birth and left in an orphanage, he was later adopted by an elderly couple. He lost them while he was still young, but they had left him their home and savings, allowing him to live a peaceful, quiet life.
He missed them deeply. To him, they had been grandparents in every sense that mattered.
As for his biological parents, he did not care whether they were alive or dead. No excuse could ever justify abandoning a child at birth.
He had hints that his real parents were probably in Hexgyre, judging by his silver eyes. Those eyes were not native to Earth, unless some strange mutation had occurred.
One of the reasons he wanted to go to that realm was to find them himself, and give them a middle finger for good measure.
♢ ♢ ♢ ♢
Mors finally reached his cozy house in a quiet neighborhood and unlocked the door.
"I am home," he said, stepping inside. Of course, nobody responded.
He went upstairs and freshened up. It was about four in the evening, and the judgement would come at midnight, telling him whether he was fated or not.
'I wonder if I'll get marked. I've been wasting my time only learning and training for the First Ring. Does that even count as wasting my life?' he thought, fully locking the house before sinking into the recliner on his balcony.
He had already sold everything of value in the house and put it into his bank account.
If he got selected and left Earth, he wouldn't be able to return until he undid his curse. How long that would take, he had no idea. Maybe a few years if the curse was mild.
The quality, strength, and difficulty of finding a remedy for a curse followed a hierarchy: Mortal → Earth → Heaven.
The first two were further subdivided into: Low → Mid → High.
So far, only those with a curse below Mid-Earth had ever returned home.
Those with High-Earth and HeavenlyCurses gained incredible boons, but nobody had yet found a complete remedy. Most had died when the curse fully erupted, while a few were still struggling to survive and uncover it.
"Let me get a Mid or High-Mortal Curse, please," Mors muttered, grinning like a kid ready for an adventure, completely unaware he was wishing for death.
'I can probably find the remedy in ten years.'
♢ ♢ ♢ ♢
Time ticked away and midnight finally arrived.
Tick… tock!
Mors watched the fireworks explode into the night sky from his balcony. The streets were mostly empty.
100 years after the Decree, humanity had decreased to about six billion.
Only a tiny fraction of the Forsaken had ever returned to Earth, and most of those soon went back to Hexgyre, since the planet had no resources strong enough to sustain them.
As he drifted into random thoughts, a black, translucent runic panel with silver letters materialized in front of him:
[ You have been Marked! ]
"YES! LET'S GOO!!" Mors leapt from his recliner, throwing his arms toward the sky as if he could embrace the moon itself.
A wild grin spread across his face, brighter than anything he had shown all night.
Suddenly, heat flared across the upper side of his left arm.
"Ow—!"
He hissed, glancing down as the burning sensation spread across his skin. Black lines appeared like ink rising through water, forming a stag's head bound within a perfect circle of interwoven knots. At the stag's forehead, a single Roman numeral ( I ) was inscribed.
The mark pulsed once.
"Origin Sigil…" he whispered, unable to suppress his grin.
The sigil confirmed it: the Decree had chosen him, whether for a life with no purpose or for wishing too strongly to escape it.
Before he could even revel in his excitement—
[ You have been cursed by the Heavenly Curse: 'Constellation of the Black Wild' ]
For a heartbeat, Mors simply stared.
Then his breath hitched, and his eyes went wide in horror.
"Shit!"
Before he could even scream at the heavens, his body vanished from Earth.
The New Year's fireworks bloomed across the sky as humanity's population shrank once again.