Chapter 2
The street smelled of gunpowder and smoke, faint screams still echoing down the block. Ethan stood there, stunned, staring at the cloaked man who'd just crushed a monster into rubble.
"You're a ghost," the man said slowly, studying him like some odd specimen. "But you don't seem… corrupted."
Ethan swallowed, throat dry. "Corrupted?"
The man smirked faintly. "Relax, kid. If you were, you'd already be dust. The name's Mark by the way. Now—" He tilted his head. "Care for a lecture?"
Mark led him up to a nearby rooftop. From there, the city sprawled beneath them—sirens flashing, lights buzzing, shadows shifting in alleys that normal people would never notice. Ethan hugged himself, trying not to look down too much, while the man—Mark, apparently—stood calm, as if this were all routine.
Mark glanced sideways at him. "Tell me something. Is the earth round or flat?"
Ethan blinked. "…Are you serious? Round, obviously. What's next, you gonna tell me the moon's made of cheese?"
A corner of Mark's mouth lifted. "Cute. But no. We live under a dome. Surrounded by water."
Ethan let out a sharp laugh, half-nervous. "You've got to be kidding me. That's—"
"—a lie?" Mark cut him off, his tone smooth, but his eyes never wavered. "Space? Satellites? The moon landing? All staged. Propaganda fed to the masses for generations by government higher ups. Convenient little stories so people never ask what's really above their heads."
Ethan stared at him, words caught somewhere between disbelief and morbid curiosity.
Mark gestured upward, toward the night sky. "There's a barrier up there. No one can break it. Not humans, not technology. Maybe—spirits. If you believe in them."
"Spirits," Ethan repeated, flat.
"Not the same as ghosts." Mark leaned against the ledge casually, like they weren't having a conversation that shattered everything Ethan thought he knew. "Ghosts are corrupted. Born from people twisted up with regret and malice. They're rare here—this one you saw just now was barely a level four. The real ones, the ones that could level entire cities? They don't wander here. They're beyond the Ice Wall."
"The… Ice Wall?" Ethan frowned.
Mark's smirk sharpened. "That's a story for another night."
Ethan rubbed his face with both hands. "Right. So, let me get this straight. The world's flat. Space is fake. Ghosts are real. And apparently I'm one. Anything else you want to ruin for me while you're at it? Santa Claus? Tooth fairy?"
Mark actually chuckled. "Good. You're keeping up." Then, with the same offhand tone someone might use to talk about the weather, he added, "Some humans—very rare—are born with unique abilities, they can see the unseen, ghosts,magic and the power to use it . They're called Ghost hunters. Like me. And now you've seen what that means."
Ethan stared at him, still searching for cracks in the man's expression, some sign this was an elaborate prank. None came.
Mark straightened suddenly, brushing the dust from his cloak. "Well, lecture's over. I've got places to be."
Ethan blinked. "Wait, that's it?"
"Mm." Mark started toward the edge of the rooftop, glancing back just once. "If you're curious about what comes after death, there's a simple way to find out. Fly. Try to break the barrier. Maybe you'll reach the heavens, if it exists."
Before Ethan could argue, Mark leapt off the building, vanishing into the wind as effortlessly as he'd appeared.
Ethan stood frozen on the rooftop, the city humming far below, Mark's words rattling around in his skull.
"…Fly?"
The sky had begun to change. The golden edge of the sun bled into soft purples, painting the horizon in fading light.
Ethan stood at the edge of the rooftop, Mark's words echoing in his skull. Fly. Break the barrier. Maybe you'll reach the heavens.
He took a shaky breath. His feet lifted, weight falling away. In an instant, the rooftops shrank beneath him.
The city blurred. The sound of cars, the sirens, the chatter of life—all slipped into silence as the wind roared in his ears. He kept climbing, higher and higher, until the air felt thinner and the clouds brushed past his arms like mist.
At first, it was exhilarating. Freedom. He was actually flying. But the higher he went, the more the thrill gave way to something else. His muscles ached, though he wasn't sure if ghosts were even supposed to get tired. His mind felt heavier than his body.
How the hell did my life come to this? he thought bitterly. Yesterday I was arguing with Jacob about cafeteria food. Now I'm… this. Dead. Flying into the sky like some idiot chasing an invisible wall.
He almost laughed at the absurdity of it, but then he felt it—
A jolt.
His whole body convulsed as if he'd grabbed a live wire. Energy crackled across his arms and spine, sharp enough to make him hiss. He hovered there, gasping, staring upward at something he couldn't even see. But it was there. He could feel it. A wall of pure force, invisible yet unyielding.
"The barrier…" he breathed.
Another spirit drifted past him, silent and effortless, slipping through the unseen wall as if it weren't there. Another followed, then another. All of them vanishing into the white beyond without resistance.
But when Ethan reached again—
The shock tore through him, harder than before, rattling his bones.
He grit his teeth. "Why… won't it let me through?"
Anger swelled, burning through the fear. He pressed his palms flat against the invisible surface, shoving with everything he had. Lightning flared under his skin. His chest seized. Still, he pushed.
"Let… me… through!"
Every nerve screamed, his body flickering with light. The barrier refused him, hammering him with wave after wave of pain. But Ethan only forced himself harder against it, furious at the unfairness of it all—at death, at fate, at everything that had shoved him into this nightmare.
The world began to bleach white, edges dissolving into a flood of brilliance. His own voice echoed faintly in his ears, swallowed by the storm.
Then—
Black.
Then sound bled back in.
A siren. Shouts. The metallic tang of blood thick in the air.
Ethan gasped, choking on air that suddenly had weight again. His back slammed against rough pavement. His eyes flew open—above him, the sky wasn't endless white anymore. It was dim, streaked with deep purples and grays. Streetlights flickered on one by one as the last scraps of daylight drained away.
His hands clawed at his chest. Fabric. A shirt. Warm skin beneath it. And blood. His shirt was soaked through, sticky and dark—but there was no wound. No bullet hole. No pain but the frantic pounding of his heart.
He sat up in a daze.
The world around him froze in disbelief. Paramedics who had been crouched over his lifeless body—his corpse—jerked back violently. One dropped his defibrillator pads with a metallic clatter. Another muttered a prayer before scrambling to his feet and running.
"W-what the hell—he was—he was dead!"
Ethan turned his head—and there it was. Himself. His own body still sprawled on the pavement, pale and empty-eyed, chest forever still.
Yet he was here. Breathing. Awake. Alive.
But not the same.
The dim street glimmered faintly, veins of unseen magic energy coiling through the air like fireflies in the dark. shadows at the edges of his vision, forming and dissolving with every blink. The veil hadn't lifted. The ghosts hadn't vanished.
He pressed trembling fingers to his face, voice barely a whisper.
"I'm… human again."