Ten o'clock in the morning.
Brian's footsteps echoed softly as he walked down the damp stone path. Fallen leaves drifted lazily across the cemetery, carried by a gentle wind that whispered through rows of trees. The place was quiet, serene, almost detached from the world outside—where the noise of life always tried to drown out silence. Here, silence reigned.
He stopped at the small iron gate. Rust clung to its frame, and the metal felt cold under his touch. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the earthy scent of soil and dew.
"If death is what people fear…" he whispered, "then what do they call life? Doesn't it all end the same—everyone will eventually rest here."
His hand pushed the gate. It creaked open, and he stepped inside.
The narrow path stretched ahead. Gravestones stood in rows—some polished with fresh flowers, others swallowed by moss, their inscriptions barely legible. Some grand and carved with ornate details, others plain with just a name and two dates. All different, yet all equalized by silence.
Each step Brian took felt heavier. Not because of fatigue, but because every stone reminded him of something he once had.
And then he reached it.
A simple gravestone. No elaborate carving, no unnecessary decoration. Just a name, a date of birth, and the day of passing.
He crouched down, running his fingers across the letters etched into the stone. The memories hit him like waves—waiting late at night for his father to come home from the hospital, exhausted but smiling. Learning to pray before bed, with his father's gentle hand on his head. Listening to him talk about the value of saving lives, not because it was a duty, but because it was what it meant to live.
"Father…" Brian's voice was soft. "You were the man I admired most. You saved countless lives with your own hands. And in the end… you collapsed in the operating room. Not because you failed, but because your own body gave up. A bitter irony, but also… strangely beautiful. You died not in defeat, but in defiance."
Brian drew in a long breath, eyes closed.
"I still remember your words: 'Death is only a process. I am not gone. I've only moved on to the next stage.'"
He lowered himself, one knee pressed to the ground, his right hand on his chest. Like a knight saluting his king.
"The next stage, huh, Father? Maybe I finally understand. And I too… want to step into my own stage."
The air thickened. The wind blew softly, almost as if it carried his words upward.
In his mind, echoes of his father's teachings surfaced:
—"Brian, the world is complex. Don't think you can control it. The only thing you can control is yourself."
—"If you take the wrong path, don't be afraid. Even the wrong road leads somewhere, as long as you're willing to learn."
—"Don't live just to be safe. Live to matter."
They weren't just lessons. They were the framework of his life.
Brian stood slowly, dusting dirt from his knee. His lips curved into a faint smile.
"I won't stop searching for meaning, Father. Because like you said—truth isn't something you find once. It's something you live with, for as long as you breathe."
He turned to leave. That's when something blocked his path.
A ginger cat sat right in the middle of the walkway, tail swaying, its amber eyes locked on him.
Brian stopped. Stared back.
"Hm. Are you the gatekeeper to the next stage?" he asked, deadpan.
The cat meowed, long and drawn-out.
"Diplomatic answer," Brian nodded seriously. "You'd make a good ambassador, Mr. Orange."
The cat walked closer and rubbed its head against his leg.
Brian crouched, meeting its gaze.
"I know you're not my father reincarnated. But… why does it feel like you're testing my resolve?"
The cat meowed again before strutting away, tail high, like a king leaving his throne.
Brian chuckled faintly. "Guess I passed the test. The next stage really is waiting for me."
The Airport – Farewells
buzzed with life. Suitcases rolled across polished floors, departure announcements echoed overhead, and families clung to each other in quick embraces before goodbyes.
Brian walked steadily, a black backpack slung over his shoulders, a small suitcase pulled at his side. Alongside him were his mother, his sister Clara, her husband Evan, and little Easter who hopped along like a restless sparrow.
"Brian, double-check your documents," his mother said, worry lacing her soft voice.
Brian glanced at her calmly. "Already done, Mom. Passport, tickets, gear—everything's fine. Remember, I live with a checklist."
Evan smirked. "Checklist, huh? And what if you forgot your hiking boots?"
Brian answered flatly, "Then I'll climb Everest in flip-flops. I'll become a legend."
Clara slapped her forehead while Easter shouted with glee, "Master Sect! With the Eternal Flip-Flop Technique! That's the ultimate move!"
Brian crouched to meet Easter's eyes, clearing his throat like an ancient sage.
"Correct, disciple. But only one with a steel mind can master it. You still need three hundred years of cultivation."
The boy pouted, then burst into laughter.
When they finally reached the international departure gate, the mood shifted. Smiles were still there, but beneath them, an ache of parting.
Clara held his gaze. "Brian… take care of yourself. You know Father would be proud, but… don't be too hard on yourself."
"I'm not being hard, Sis. I'm just consistent."
His mother embraced him tightly. "Son, don't just search for answers. Remember to live, too."
Brian hesitated, then wrapped his arms around her. "I'll remember, Mom."
Evan clapped his shoulder. "If you need a climbing partner, call me. I'm ready—even without the Eternal Flip-Flop."
Brian smirked. "Duly noted."
Then he looked at Easter. "Listen, disciple. While I'm gone, you're the acting sect leader. Don't let your imaginary disciples rebel."
Easter stomped his foot theatrically. "Yes, Master! I'll welcome you back with a thousand new techniques!"
Brian gave him a thumbs-up. "That's my disciple."
One by one, he bid farewell. Then he turned and walked through immigration, his figure swallowed by the crowd.
The Plane – A Cosmic Glimpse
He settled into his window seat. The plane rumbled as it taxied, then lifted, city lights shrinking beneath the wings. The cabin dimmed, the drone of engines steady as most passengers drifted into slumber.
His phone buzzed with messages:
Caleb: "Don't die before I beat you. Still owe me a serious spar."
Jaden: "Sensei, if you meet aliens, please buff me so I can climb rank easier."
Lin: "Do your best. Don't forget souvenirs."
Noel: "My Lord Brightveil, this humble servant shall guard the endpoint while you roam the outer world. May your error logs always stay green!"
Brian scrolled through them, his face expressionless. Yet a faint smile tugged at his lips.
"Strange people… but they're my circle."
He leaned his head against the window. The city lights were gone, replaced by endless dark sky dotted with faint stars. He closed his eyes.
"Alright. The next stage begins."
Darkness.
Weightlessness.
Brian felt himself floating, suspended in nothingness. No air. No sound. His chest tightened.
Am I dead? Or alive… but without a body?
A humorless laugh escaped him.
"So this is what isekai feels like? Where's the goddess? The status panel? Not exactly premium service…"
But the smirk faded quickly as unease coiled in his chest.
Then—light.
Faint at first, like a heartbeat in the void. A glow that pulsed, expanded, breathing like a star. It drew closer, growing clearer.
Whispers slithered through the emptiness.
…Aš-tîl… Ma-ra… En-ûm…
Brian froze. His chest vibrated. He knew these voices. He had heard them before—in his dreams.
The altar emerged.
Colossal. Ancient. Octagonal stones interlocked, black as obsidian, glowing faintly at their seams. At its center floated a book, bound in black, its cover shimmering like the night sky.
Brian's eyes widened. "This… exactly the same. The one from my dreams."
The book shivered, then opened by itself.
Symbols spilled out—lines, hooks, curves—like cascading code in The Matrix. Not numbers. Not letters. Runes. The language of something far older than human tongues.
Three runes hovered before him, spinning slowly, their dim glow cutting into the void.
And then, from them, a towering silhouette materialized. A giant, featureless figure. Its mouth moved soundlessly, but the words… the words poured directly into his mind.
…We… are a race… who came from another world…
…cut off… from the gods…
…we… Annunaki…
Agony split his skull. His temples pounded, eyes burning. The words were too alien, the language too dense, like trying to decode signals with a broken key.
He gasped. His body trembled. Sweat beaded along his skin even in this void.
"I… can't… understand…"
The light fractured. The whispers faded. The altar crumbled into darkness.
Brian jolted awake in his seat, chest heaving. His trembling hand gripped the armrest, eyes darting to the window. Outside, there was nothing but the night sky and the distant scatter of stars.
His lips moved, barely audible:
"…Runes…"
The image of the altar lingered. Burned into his mind like a cosmic scar.
And the silence of the cabin felt heavier than before.