This is the life of an innocent soul, one who had done no wrong. Yet he was punished for a sin he did not commit.
What made it even crueler was that he didn't even know he was being punished.
In our world...
A frail, lifeless body lay on the hospital bed. The room was silent. The faint noise of the monitors was the only sound. No one was there to grieve for him.
Eighty-four years—lived in solitude, without family, without the warmth of another voice to call his name. To the world, he was just another man dying quietly
And yet, despite the loneliness that shadowed him for years, he carried no bitterness. No anger. No regrets. His life had been simple, but it was his life.
Now, as his breath grew shallow and the weight of death pressed closer, one final thought lingered in his fading mind. Not a wish for more time, not even sorrow for the life unlived.
It was a quiet truth, soft as a whisper:
"Life was too short."
And then the silence deepened.
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Somewhere else, chaos erupted in the corridors of power.
"Protect the president!"
"Shoot! Shoot! Hold the line!"
A middle-aged man in uniform shouted at the remaining soldiers. He was the commander of the Republican Guards—the president's private guards, the elite of the elite.
"Commander, we can't hold much longer! We need to evacuate immediately!"
Blake, the second-in-command, shouted back. They were attending a meeting with the president when a group of terrorists stormed in.
Just as they prepared to evacuate—
"Grenade!"
Blake's mind went blank. The grenade landed directly in front of the president. For a heartbeat, he froze, torn between two choices: abandon the president and run, or risk everything to save him.
"BLAKE! SNAP OUT OF IT AND SAVE THE PRESIDENT!"
The commander's voice jolted him back. Almost instinctively, Blake jumped onto the grenade without a second thought.
The explosion tore his abdomen. As Blake's consciousness faded away, only one thought echoed in his mind. It wasn't regret. It wasn't resentment.
It was a simple truth: "Life was too short.
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Elsewhere, a different life was beginning.
A woman screamed in pain as she gave birth to a beautiful baby girl with light blue eyes. The father, a man in his mid-twenties, clasped his wife's hand, his face a mixture of exhaustion and joy. The mother, also in her mid-twenties, was radiant despite her tears, her beauty only magnified by the moment.
They named the child Erica, a name born from their own—Erik and Carla.
Erica grew up in a little house on the outskirts of the kingdom of Nörwa, where she spent her days chasing a dream. From a young age, she aspired to become a mage. And indeed, the spark was there—the talent, the hunger for knowledge.
But dreams often carry their own shadows.
Years later, deep within the halls of a dungeon, Erica's journey came to an abrupt end. Despite her talent, despite her will, fate was merciless.
As her life slipped away, her final thought was not of failure, nor of sorrow—it was a simple truth whispered to her fading soul:
"Life was too short."
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In a distant land, fire and rebellion rose against tyranny.
"My brothers and sisters! Tonight—tonight we put an end to this eternal suffering!"
"Even if we all die today, our ideals will live on. As long as our children understand the cruelty of this world, they will rebel…and they will overthrow the corrupt!"
Those were the final words of Jadeef, the fearless leader of the resistance. His voice had carried hope to the desperate, fire to the oppressed, and now it rang out one last time.
When his head was decapitated, and darkness crept in, the only thought that lingered in his mind was neither vengeance nor regret.
It was simple.
"Life was too short."
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"Life was too short."
"Life was too short."
"Life was too short."
"Life was too short."
"Life was .."
"Hi! Good to see you again!"
As the protagonist opened his eyes, a presence greeted him—an aggressive yet calm, loud yet silent, clear yet distorted voice that seemed to pierce the very air.
That sound alone was enough to make anyone tremble with fear.
Before him stood a figure that was neither man nor woman, transparent yet somehow visible, shifting and flickering like smoke caught in sunlight.
The protagonist's mind raced. And yet, despite the fear curling in his chest, he found his voice.
He replied to the strange, otherworldly presence…
"Again? Do I know you?"
"You don't know about me, but I know everything about you"
"What? what do you mean? How do you know about me. Who are you?"
"Me I'm no one. I don't have an Identity."
"Oh! but I know a name your kind like to call me."
"God"
...