That day, Aarav Tanaka died.
The sky blackened as if mourning ahead of the world.
Rain fell in sudden bursts, soaking the pavement and washing thin rivers of blood across the white stripes of the crosswalk.
People had begun to gather.
Some stared, some whispered, and some—of course—lifted their phones.
A dead man on the road, a scene to capture, another headline in the endless scroll.
But then—the thunder came.
A roar split the heavens.
CRACK.
A jagged bolt of lightning tore through the clouds and slammed into the body.
His body.
It ignited.
The fire was instant—unnatural—blue flames dancing across soaked flesh, consuming without smoke, without hesitation.
Screams erupted.
People ran.
Phones dropped.
The curious scattered like flies swatted by an unseen hand.
And when the flames finally faded…
Only ash remained.
And the ring—that silver wedding band on Aarav's left hand—was no longer there.
It had vanished.
"…What… what is this?"
A voice.
Familiar, distant, floating inside an emptiness.
"Am I… dead?"
Aarav opened his eyes—or what felt like them.
There was no light.
Only blackness.
But not void. Not nothingness.
Instead, he stood—or floated—in the center of a black desert.
The ground beneath his feet was made of fine black sand, stretching endlessly in every direction. It glittered faintly, as though flecks of obsidian had been crushed and scattered across the land.
Above, no stars. No moon.
Only an unmoving black sky.
But there were trees.
Tall, bone-white, leafless. They spiraled upward like bleached antlers, glowing faintly against the dark. They made no sound. Did not sway. Just… stood there, watching like sentinels of some ancient graveyard.
Aarav took a breath—but felt no air.
He wasn't sure if he had lungs anymore.
"I'm dead. I see. So this is it. The afterlife?"
His voice echoed strangely.
Not like it bounced off surfaces, but like it tried to cling to something that wasn't there.
He walked.
Each step left no footprint.
The silence pressed against him.
Until it was shattered.
SHUNK!
A sudden, violent pain erupted from his back.
Aarav's eyes widened—if he still had eyes.
A tusk—long, jagged, and black as night—had pierced clean through him from behind, exiting his chest in a spray of spirit-light.
He looked down.
No blood. Just cracking threads of white light leaking from the wound, like glass fracturing.
He turned his head, trembling.
Behind him was a beast—hulking, chitinous, part shadow, part bone. Its eyes glowed with a hateful red shimmer, and from its twisted snout jutted two razor-sharp tusks.
It reared back for a second strike.
But it didn't need one.
Aarav collapsed.
Dead. Again.
But this time… something changed.
His mind surged—memories poured in like a dam breaking.
Names, faces, flashes of a world beyond this one.
Not just his own life—but something deeper.
Knowledge not his.
Visions of towers made of bone and glass.
Of beings made of pure soul fire.
Of trials. Of contracts. Of the ancient Soul Tower.
And suddenly… he understood.
This wasn't heaven.
This wasn't even hell.
This was Layer 0.
The beginning of the afterlife system—a soul realm.
He was no longer a man.
He was now a stray soul.
And to ascend… to evolve… he needed to survive.
"Soul Tower Layer 0 — Entry Confirmed."
"Task: Merge with a compatible soul to initiate First Level-Up."
"Warning: Host body unstable. Merge required within 24 soul-hours or risk total fragmentation."
Aarav clutched his chest. The wound had closed. He was whole again—but barely.
He looked at his hands. They were no longer flesh. They shimmered with translucent white flame, flickering slightly with each breathless breath.
He wasn't Aarav anymore.
But he wasn't someone else either.
Not yet.
And in this black desert, beneath the trees of bone, surrounded by beasts that hunted the weak—
he would have to find a soul. Or die. Again.
The pain vanished.
Like someone snapped their fingers and rewound time.
The instant the tusk impaled him, the world froze.
Light fractured. Air stopped. Even the boar behind him became still—frozen mid-roar, mid-motion.
Then—
Time reversed.
The sand blew backward. The sky unwound into a darker shade. His broken spirit-body mended in reverse, like a video being scrubbed back frame by frame.
Then, time played forward again.
Only now, he didn't die.
The tusk hit him again—but this time, it shattered on impact.
Splinters of black and white bone flew into the air like glass shards caught in slow motion.
Aarav stood still. Wide-eyed.
And this time, he saw it clearly.
The beast wasn't just a monster.
It was a boar—but unlike any natural thing.
Its fur was white, with black stripes running along its spine and flanks like tattoos.
Its tusks glowed with dark energy, and its eyes—black, pupil-less voids—locked with his for a single heartbeat.
Then, without warning, the boar let out a trembling cry—not a roar, but a frightened, broken sound.
And it ran away.
Vanishing into the black dunes, leaving behind only silence.
Aarav stood still, heart racing, confused.
"What is going on…?"
His voice cracked into the silence.
He looked down.
His hands—still shimmering with ghostly light—were no longer cracking. No longer fragile.
But what shocked him more—
—was the sudden warmth in his finger.
He gasped.
There, on his left hand, was the wedding ring.
The same silver band he had worn in life—
The same one bathed in blood the day he died—
The same one he knew had vanished in the fire.
It glowed now. Gently.
Then—shattered.
But instead of disappearing into dust, the particles hovered in the air, black and white flecks swirling like fireflies. They moved with purpose, spiraling upward, drawing symbols in the air.
Then, they condensed.
Into a book.
It was unlike anything he had ever seen.
Bound in black and white leather. Red streaks crossed it like bleeding brushstrokes. The pages shimmered with silver lining. It hovered before him, silent, waiting.
It opened.
A pulse of light.
Then, red letters etched themselves into the air:
[Aarav – Avenger Returns]
[First Death – Tusk Soul Boar]
[Return Chance – 0]
[Skill Gained – Adaptation: Physical Hardening]
[Story Creation Chance – 1]
[Do you want to create a story?]
Aarav took a shaky step back.
"What… what is all this? What are you?"
The book floated silently. Then, in bold red script:
[This is the Book of Stories.]
[A soul inheritance artifact bound only to you.]
[You are its Solo Inheritor.]
[With it, you may create stories to gain skills, alter fate, or gain a chance to rewind time after death.]
[Do you now wish to create a new story?]
His mouth parted, words caught in his throat.
Moments ago, he had been hunted. Moments ago, he was dying—again.
But now…
The world dimmed.
His confusion?
His fear?
His pain?
All of it dulled.
Because now, something else took over.
Curiosity.
Deep. Childlike. Dangerous.
Like a writer staring at a blank page.
Like a god looking down at a broken world and realizing he could shape it.
"A story… my story?"
Aarav forgot his pain.
Forgot the afterlife.
Forgot Roin, the betrayal, the street, the car.
All that remained was the book.
The Book of Stories.
Floating before him, silent… and waiting.
And deep within his soul, for the first time in years—
something stirred.