The beeping of the heart monitor slowed, then faded into a long, flat tone.
He was twenty-five. A nobody. No achievements, no friends who would remember him. In his final seconds, he thought of all the stories he'd loved the novels, the manwha, the epic tales. He had longed, more than anything, to be part of one.
"I don't want to die a nobody," he whispered as his vision blurred.
A voice, cold and administrative, spoke directly into his fading consciousness.
Do you seek to be part of a story?
Yes.
Acknowledged.
There was no light, no journey. His awareness simply... shifted.
The sterile white of the hospital was gone. The first thing he noticed was the sound a relentless roar of rain and the occasional crack of thunder that shook the very air. He stood in a mossy cave, its entrance a ragged curtain of water. Beyond it, a forest was being lashed by the storm, trees whipping in the wind under a bruised, purple sky.
In the center of the cavern, a warm crystal pulsed with a gentle light, a stark contrast to the chaos outside.
Before him, a translucent screen flickered to life.
[Location: Unnamed]
[Mana: 100/100]
[Minions: Lesser Green Goblins x 80]
[Facilities: None]
As he read the text, he became aware of them small, green figures huddled together in the deeper shadows of the cave, seeking comfort from the storm. Their eyes, wide and faintly luminous, were fixed on him.
He looked from the pulsing crystal to the huddled creatures, then to the tempest beyond the cave mouth. He reached a hand toward the screen. It was time to begin.
The sight of his own form a featureless silhouette of cool, blue light stole his breath, a phantom sensation in a body that no longer needed air.
What am I?
The question echoed in the silence of his mind. He held up a hand, a shapeless limb of pure energy, and watched the blue light pulse faintly in time with the crystal at the room's center. There were no eyes, yet he could see. No mouth, yet he could form thoughts. No heart, yet he could feel a cold dread settle within him.
He looked from his own impossible body to the huddled mass of green in the shadows. The eighty goblins were a single, trembling entity, their fear a tangible thing in the storm-charged air. They were pitiful. They couldn't even see in this gloom, terrified of the roaring unknown outside and the dark within.
But... so what?
The thought was quiet, but firm. He had surrendered his old life. He had been given a new one. However strange, however frightening, it was a chance. What was there to complain about? He would do his best to live it.
An idea, small and fragile, sparked to life. If their fear came from the darkness and the unknown, then light would be their comfort. A small campfire. Something to push back the shadows and give them a center, a point of safety.
He turned to the huddled goblins, his blue form casting an eerie glow on the cave walls. He willed a command, not with a voice, but with intent, pushing it toward them.
"Fire," his thought echoed in the shared space of their minds. "We need... fire."
The huddle shifted. Dozens of pairs of wide, yellow eyes turned to him. They blinked, confused. One of them, slightly bolder than the rest, tilted its head and let out a confused grunt.
"F...fy-er?" the goblin rasped, the word foreign and clumsy on its tongue.
A wave of realization washed over him, cold and daunting. They didn't know. They didn't understand the concept.
And worse as he scanned his own past knowledge he found nothing. No instinct, no hidden memories. Miguel, the young man who had died in a hospital bed, had never learned how to start a fire from scratch.
He was a being of light, commanding creatures of fear, in a dark, storm-lashed cave. And he had no idea how to make a simple flame.
He stared at his glowing blue hands.
Now what? I also don't know how to start a spark.