The rain pounded against my apartment window.
Not a light, soothing rain. No. A heavy, mechanical, almost aggressive downpour, as if someone up there was shaking a bucket of water while muttering:
Cosmic Voice: "Come on, a little more misery for Thalen."
Each drop echoed like an invisible clock. A cold, precise rhythm.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Reminding me that my life was a masterpiece of banality. Me, Thalen Rowen, 32 years old, architect — a designer of buildings praised — with hypocritical admiration — as "bold."
In reality: a mix of talent, madness, and "if you approve this budget, we close tomorrow." Projects were rarely entrusted to me, and when they were, it was always a test: would I crumble or save the building... sometimes I did both.
I was proud of my work. Until I realized my creations had more soul than I did. Admired by artists. Hated by accountants. Ignored by everyone else.
My life?
A too-large apartment.
A prestigious but empty job.
Exceptional projects that filled nothing inside me.
An absent family.
Colleagues offering coffees with no date.
Chronic fatigue. Chic but hollow solitude.
In short: I was the human version of a high-end office chair.
Useful, comfortable, expensive... but forgotten in a corner. And true to my luck, even on Earth, gravity regularly humiliated me:
I dropped my keys, phone, folders, pens...
And especially my dignity, at least twice a week.
That night, I had decided to celebrate my birthday alone. As usual.
A bottle of wine.
Candles — because ambiance, damn it, matters.
A very good piece of cake.
And an old fantasy manga open on the table.
Simple concept: celebrate solitude as an art.
Then thunder rumbled. And in the chaos, I heard... a note. A strange, almost living sound, but soft. It vibrated in the air like a whisper.
Cosmic Voice:
— Harmony broken.
— Anomaly confirmed.
— Compatible soul detected.
— Transfer initiation.
I froze.
"...I guess dying quietly was too much to ask."
Before I could laugh at my terrible joke, the light vanished.
The world fell silent. A silence so pure it hurt.
Cosmic Voice:
— Welcome to Noctsylva, dissonant traveler.
— The world hears you.
— May your soul find what it has forgotten...
— or break trying.
I opened my eyes slowly. A forest. Immense. Twisted. A scene ripped from a gothic nightmare... yet so beautiful it stole my breath.
And my hands — pardon — my wings, greeted me with elegance.
Cosmic Voice:
— Welcome, dissonant traveler.
— The thread of the Void caresses you.
— Form: Shadow Owl.
— Essence unstable.
— Observation begins.
...I WAS A SERIOUS OWL. A. FREAKING. OWL.
Thalen: "Great. I die in my apartment without understanding why, on my birthday... and boom. Gothic owl. Wings. And apparently zero dignity."
I tried to move. Clumsily.
A branch. A flap of a wing. I'm flying —
Thalen: "Oh no! I'm falling! Wait... I'M FALLING!! Damn it, not now... not like this!"
And there I was, upside down, hanging like a sock.
Apparently, even in another world, gravity had decided to humiliate me.
But as I struggled, the forest vibrated. No sound... just a pulse.
Like a melody calling me.
And for the first time in years, I felt something pure.
The forest... had a soul?
Cosmic Voice:
— Soul Architect detected.
— A new path is forming.
— Shadows watch every step.
Thalen: "Okay, mystical world. If you have a tutorial, now would be great."
The forest left me hanging.
Just a distant, mocking hoot.