The void stretched on forever.
A place of endless black, where silence weighed heavier than stone. Countless shapes drifted in the dark—bodies without breath, husks without heartbeat. They floated as though suspended in an invisible sea, their faint outlines barely visible in the abyss. Among them was one body, still and dim, a man with features half-erased by shadow.
For a moment, nothing changed. Then the darkness stirred. Like a hand unseen, the universe itself reached out and pulled. The body lurched forward, swallowed by a sudden rupture of light.
In an instant, the black was gone.
The world became white. Blinding, consuming, stretching infinitely in every direction. In the center of that pale void stood a throne of impossible size, carved from something that shimmered between marble and starlight. Upon it sat a boy—or at least, he looked like one. A teenager, draped in loose clothes, posture lazy, one arm resting on the throne while the other propped up his head.
His expression was boredom itself.
A single click of his fingers echoed across the emptiness.
From the void, a shape emerged—a soul glowing faintly in pale blue light. It floated forward before settling upright, feet planted though no ground could be felt, eyes shut as though sleeping.
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First POV
I opened my eyes.
The first thing I saw was him—the boy on the throne, leaning sideways, green eyes like dull glass staring straight into me. That look… cold, empty, like I wasn't a person, just something he dragged in to pass time.
My throat worked, but the words came out raw. "...Where the fuck am I?"
Memories slammed back into me—the road, the headlights, the crash, the blood. My legs being crushed. The taste of iron filling my mouth.
"I… I died." My voice cracked, more disbelief than fear. "Holy shit. I actually died."
I spun, scanning the nothingness around me. Just white, endless white, like it was eating me alive the longer I stared at it. No shadows, no ground, no air. Just blank.
Slowly, I turned my head back to the throne. My heart dropped into my stomach.
"Really? Fucking hell… is this the afterlife? No way. No fucking way."
The boy didn't move, didn't even blink. Just kept watching me, like a cat eyeing a trapped rat.
Ryan narrowed his eyes at the boy on the throne. "Don't tell me… I'll have to hail you for eternity."
The boy's lips curled into a smirk. For the first time, Ryan felt something colder than fear sink into his gut.
"No… fucking way," he muttered under his breath.
The boy's reply came, not in one voice, but in many—a child's lilt overlapping an old man's rasp, a woman's hum layered beneath a soldier's bark. It was as though time itself spoke through him.
"Not once in my whole existence has a soul said that to me." He leaned back, chuckling softly, the sound sharp enough to make the void tremble. "Utterly amusing."
He waved his hand lazily, then returned his gaze to Ryan. "As for your answer: no. I might want to keep you, but eventually… I'd get bored."
Ryan swallowed, his throat dry. "Okay… okay. So, some logical questions. Who the hell are you, and where am I?"
The boy tilted his head, his tone slipping back into something bored, almost mechanical. "Always the same questions… always the same." He lifted his hand—the one not supporting his head—and pointed at his own face.
"I am a god. One of the ones who did not take part in shaping the Third Dimension—your little reality. You may call me… Sheogarth."
Ryan's brows furrowed. "Third Dimension…?"
Sheogarth's smirk widened. "This realm you knew—your universe—is but one layer in a staircase of existence. The First Dimension is thought: pure, formless, where cause and effect never meet. The Second Dimension is time, endless but without depth. And then comes the Third—your realm of matter and mortality, the only place fragile enough to crack and remake itself over and over again. Where you lived, where you died." He swept his hand outward, the white space around them flickering like static. "And this… is my plane. A boundary between death and rebirth. A place where realities can be folded, rewritten, erased."
Ryan scratched his chin, trying to look casual though his heart thundered in his chest. "So… what now?"
The god's voice deepened, resonating like countless whispers. "You will be transmigrated. Placed into a new body."
Ryan stiffened. "...Can I deny it?"
That seemed to amuse Sheogarth even more. His head cocked to the side, like he was examining some strange new bug. "Unusual… for a young mortal to ask. But yes. You may refuse. You may linger in the Plane of the Dead until all memory and experience are eroded, scattered to nothing. And maybe, one day, you'll be reincarnated as something unrecognizable. Worm. Dust. Wind."
"...Yeah, no thanks." Ryan waved a dismissive hand. "I'll take the transmigration option. But one thing—will I keep my memories?"
For the first time, Sheogarth blinked. The layered voices grew quiet. Slowly, he rose from the throne, each step echoing through the endless white as he descended toward Ryan.
"That," he said, voice sharper now, "we'll get to later. First—let me introduce you to the world where you'll be going. After all…" He glanced at Ryan with a sly smirk. "I've read your memories."
Ryan's eyes widened. "Wait—you can do that?"
"I already have." Sheogarth chuckled, the sound crackling through the void. "Relax. It's not that reverend insanity you muttered about. No… this is a different one. A world you barely know."
Ryan's brow twitched. "Any hint?"
The god's lips curved upward. "Debate."
"...What?"
The word rattled around in Ryan's head before it clicked. His face went pale. "Wait… no way. No fucking way. TBATE?! That damn novel Tony kept telling me to read—hell, I only remember the name of the protagonist! Arthur… yeah, Arthur something." His thoughts spiraled, panic threading his voice. How the hell am I supposed to survive if I barely know shit?
Ryan's gaze flicked to Sheogarth. For half a second he considered asking the god to change the world entirely. But the thought of pushing his luck against that strange, cruel grin made his stomach twist.
Instead, he forced a smirk. "So… I'll be transmigrated as the protagonist then, huh?"
Sheogarth's laughter cracked like glass, echoing in every direction. "No. Not the protagonist. Random. Could be anyone." He leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper that chilled Ryan's bones. "Just pray it isn't the opposite gender."
With that, he waved his hand. The empty white around them rippled like water, swallowing Ryan whole.
The white void rippled.
A strange, liquid-like substance rose from the floor, swallowing Ryan up to his chest like he had been dropped into living mercury. It didn't hurt, but it pulsed faintly, warm and cold at the same time, as if holding him still for judgment.
Sheogarth strolled casually around the trapped soul, hands tucked behind his back, that same lazy smirk plastered across his face.
Then, with a flick of his finger, the liquid burst apart into smoke and was gone.
"Now," Sheogarth said, voice cutting through the silence, "for your powers. Fantasy world, after all. Let's give you some elements to choose."
Ryan blinked, a grin tugging at his lips. "Really? I actually get to pick?"
Sheogarth stopped, looked at him flatly, and then broke into a sharp laugh. "No." His tone turned mock-serious. "The wheel will decide."
With a snap of his fingers, the air in front of them warped. A massive wheel appeared, glowing with impossible symbols and runes, each section marked with numbers and strange elemental names. Its edges shimmered like molten gold as it hovered in the void, waiting.
"Let's see how many elements you'll get," Sheogarth said, gripping the wheel and spinning it hard.
The arrow blurred, rattling violently as it passed over glowing numbers: 4… 8… 10… and finally slowing… 3.
The god chuckled. "Ohh. Looks like you get three. How generous of fate."
Ryan opened his mouth to speak, but Sheogarth was already spinning again.
"First spin," the god announced, giving him no time to argue—like Ryan even had a choice.
The wheel spun faster than before, its labels flashing past: water, earth, lightning, wind, aether… It slowed, and finally the arrow clicked down on one word.
"Fire," Sheogarth said with a small nod. "First affinity decided."
Before Ryan could react, the wheel spun again on its own. This time, the arrow slammed to a stop on Healing.
Sheogarth froze. His smirk faltered for the first time. He stared at the wheel, then at Ryan, rubbing his chin slowly. "...Do you want to change this one?"
Ryan narrowed his eyes. Something about that tone made his gut tighten. "...No," he said flatly.
The god muttered something under his breath, face souring like he'd swallowed vinegar. But with a shrug, he sent the wheel spinning one last time.
It clicked, slowed… and landed on Ash.
Sheogarth scratched his cheek, almost disappointed. "Fire, Healing, Ash… That's your lot." He waved lazily, the wheel fading into motes of light. "You'll keep your memories. Bye-bye now. Try not to die too fast."
Ryan's jaw dropped. "Wait, that's it? No tutorial? No—"
The floor beneath his feet fractured like glass. Space itself shattered, and Ryan's soul plummeted downward, swallowed by the endless dark.
Sheogarth watched him fall, a small grin tugging at his lips. "This will be… amusing."
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