Darkness.
A vast, oppressive emptiness clung to everything like fog to a dying moor. Time did not move here—if time even existed at all.
Kylexsis had been falling.
Endlessly. Weightlessly. Wordlessly.
At first, there had been panic—the kind that curled in the lungs and screamed without a voice. No wind. No light. No sound. Just him... and the aching void that swallowed everything, even memory.
He was dead. That much he knew.
The sound of bones cracking under the weight of the truck still echoed like a twisted lullaby somewhere inside him. It was tragic, yes. Cliché, sure. But it was more peace than he'd ever known.
Anywhere was better than Earth. Even this silent plunge into oblivion.
The living world, he thought bitterly.
Funny. He'd just left it moments ago, and yet it already felt like a bad dream—muddy and distant.
But falling forever? That felt more like a sentence than salvation. And yet... he embraced it.
Because here, in the void, he was free.
Free from the beatings.
Free from the stares.
Free from the jeering whispers and cruel laughter.
Free from being a burden to Clarke.
Clarke…
A name that hit the chest like a hammer wrapped in velvet.
Clarke must be shattered now. Kylexsis could almost hear the boy's scream echoing through an empty hospital room or against a tiled dorm wall. But he hoped—no, prayed—that Clarke would find peace.
He deserved it.
Maybe now he could live the life he was meant for. Without Kylexsis dragging him down.
A tear slipped loose, drifting into the abyss like a pearl in ink. A smile followed. Quiet. Resigned. Heartbreaking.
Clarke, live for the both of us. Goodbye, old friend.
Then it came.
Light.
Bright and sudden, like being wrenched from a nightmare into the warmth of a summer sun.
Kylexsis shielded his eyes with an arm, grimacing as the brilliance scorched his retinas. And then—
Thud.
His back collided with solid ground. Grass? Dirt? He wasn't sure. But it felt real.
Blinking, Kylexsis opened his eyes to the sight of lush green leaves swaying above him. The branches of a tree curved protectively overhead, cradling the sky in its arms.
And the sky… oh gods.
It bled colors—orange, violet, pink, deep indigo—like a sunset painted by a dreamer on opium. The air was warm, kissed with jasmine and something ancient. Grass as green as emeralds brushed his arms, and flowers bloomed in every color like confetti at a divine parade.
A lake glistened nearby, its surface catching the sun's golden farewell. A single path of polished stone led directly to it. And there—at the lake's edge—stood a woman.
No… not a woman. Something more.
Her back was turned, but she radiated divinity. Her golden hair, knee-length and kissed by wind, fluttered like flames. A long, white silk gown clung to her elegant frame, billowing like smoke. Gold bracelets shimmered on her wrists. A crown sat atop her head like a halo that knew it was better than you.
Kylexsis made no move. His body, once falling endlessly, now frozen with awe. This wasn't hell, and it didn't feel like heaven either. No screen. No judge's podium. No choir of angels.
Just… this.
Maybe the church got it wrong. Maybe the narrow path led here instead.
He hugged his knees beneath the tree, trying to piece together the strange puzzle that was his afterlife.
As the sun dipped lower, painting the lake in shades of molten gold, Kylexsis finally rose. His feet moved of their own will, drawn toward the figure who stood so still she could've been carved from moonlight.
The woman turned.
And just like that—Kylexsis forgot how to breathe.
She was radiant. Her face a perfect sculpture of symmetry and grace. Eyes of polished gold met his. Olive skin glowed with life. Her lips, the color of ripe cherries, curved into a smile that could command stars to bow.
"H-h-hi," he stammered, throat suddenly dry. Even in death, his gay ass was flustered by divine beauty.
"I was wondering when you'd stop sulking and come say hello," she said, her voice a melody made of wind and honey.
She smiled—warm, knowing—and Kylexsis felt a blush crawl up his cheeks like ivy. He looked down, then back up, feigning confidence.
"Is this… is this heaven?" he blurted.
The woman chuckled. "No. It is not."
Oh.
Cool.
"So uh… where am I, then?"
"This is the Rift. A transitional plane. Souls come here to be judged. It exists between Heaven... and the Void."
The Void.
His stomach flipped.
"You mean that endless falling thing I just went through?"
"Precisely," she said, nodding. "The Void is where souls accept the truth of their death. Those who don't accept it remain there. Trapped. Forever."
Kylexsis swallowed.
She glanced skyward. "But you, child… you accepted your truth. And so, you arrived here. Between life and eternity."
He followed her gaze—and gasped.
Far above, resting atop an impossible cluster of clouds, sat a castle. White. Ethereal. Glowing like a star.
"That," she said softly, "is the gate to the Afterlife."
It was beautiful. Too beautiful. And too far away.
Kylexsis tore his gaze away, suddenly hyper-aware of the woman standing beside him. Everything about her screamed otherworldly. Her skin, her aura, her elegance.
He stared. And stared some more.
She turned and gave a playful smile. "You wouldn't be the first to get lost staring. I've been at this job for millennia."
Kylexsis chuckled nervously. "Yeah… sorry. I forgot staring was rude."
"Please," she said with a wink, "use the eyes the Creator gave you. I don't mind."
Kylexsis smiled, heart thudding like a traitor. "So... are you the angel judging me?"
She stepped forward, rising gently off the ground as wind encircled her.
"I am no angel," she said. "I am a goddess. A creation of the Holy Hand."
Wings—transparent and shimmering—unfolded behind her like stained glass. Light poured from her skin in golden motes.
"I am Ekhanto. Goddess of Enchantment and Charm."
Kylexsis blinked. Well... no wonder I was staring. I'm gay, not blind.
Ekhanto's smile softened. Her voice dropped into something more solemn.
"Kylexsis River Dakota. Born September 20th, 2002. Age twenty. Child of Miriam Angela and Jason River Dakota. Am I correct?"
He nodded slowly. "Y–yes, that is correct."
Kylexsis had to clear his throat—dry, hoarse, like dust had settled inside him. His voice sounded foreign to his own ears, as though even speech had abandoned him in this strange, impossible place.
"November 18th, 2022, at 12:39 p.m.—you made a successful attempt to part from your world by provoking your killer. Am I correct?"
She asked it like a secretary confirming a hotel reservation, not like someone recounting the exact moment a boy was murdered.
"Um… yeah… about that—" he stammered, scrambling to find words that wouldn't make him sound insane. Dead or not, dignity had apparently followed him into the afterlife.
"Congratulations."
The word hit harder than any bullet. A radiant smile bloomed on her lips—effortless, blinding. Her teeth gleamed like pearls dipped in moonlight, and for a fleeting moment, Kylexsis felt self-conscious. Was his own smile ever that bright?
"You are the one-in-a-millionth at the one-in-a-million chance to be granted a choice: Reincarnation or Afterlife."
"Eh?"
He choked—on air, on shock, on the absurdity of what he was hearing. He blinked at her, head cocked, expression twisted in disbelief.
"Reincarnation?"
"Yes. Reincarnation."
She nodded with alarming enthusiasm, palms pressed together in something between prayer and sales pitch.
"Reincarnation?" he repeated, tone edging toward scandalized. His brain buffered like a frozen phone screen.
"Yes, reincarnation," she said again, eyes glinting gold and full of something dangerous: hope.
It didn't compute. Not immediately. He echoed the word again, like repeating it might unlock some secret door.
She giggled. Not mockingly—just amused. Her laugh sparkled in the air like windchimes catching sunbeams.
Kylexsis looked away, flustered. Warmth crept up his neck, embarrassed by how easily this goddess unsettled him. His soul may have been bruised, but his cheeks still knew how to blush.
"I understand your confusion, dear—as cute as it is—but this is serious. You've been given a rare chance, love."
He didn't want it.
And yet… some small part of him clung to disbelief. Reincarnation? It sounded like the kind of bedtime story parents told their kids to stop them from fearing death. Something spiritual influencers sold on livestreams in poorly lit rooms.
And yet, here he was. No pulse. No blood. Just him… and her.
"Wait," he asked again, more grounded now. "So… reincarnation? That shit is actually real?"
"Yes, I assure you. It's real. But please—refrain from swearing. You tread upon holy ground."
"Oh! Oh—I'm sorry!"
He dipped his head in apology, his voice stumbling like a guilty schoolboy caught with contraband.
"Apology accepted."
Her tone was light again, forgiving. That radiant smile returned like it had never left.
"Okay… thanks… um… continue?"
She took a slow breath. This was the delicate part. The truth was always delicate.
"Let us begin properly, then."