A breath fills the room — shallow, exhausted, defeated.
"Hah… I never asked for this. Why was I born if this is what life is going to be like? I wish I could get another chance."
He laughs quietly to himself.
"What am I even doing?" His voice sinks, low and empty. "January 26th… the fourth one I've seen since I was left alone."
He turns on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
"I shouldn't complain. I have food, a home, money. There are people out there suffering more than me… I should be grateful."
A small, tired smile.
"But another chance… a redo at life would be nice. I'm not going to lie."
He closes his eyes, sinking into the only place he still feels happy — his dreams.
Days bleed into weeks. Weeks into months. The seasons turn.
Wake up. Eat. Sleep. Repeat.
Until the day everything changes.
"November 3rd… nothing new. Same thing, over and over. I'm sick of it."
He rubs his forehead, squinting at the bakery ahead.
"Did I even buy bread last time…?"
Happiness is everywhere — in laughter, in sunlight — like a disease that can't infect him.
He steps inside the bakery; the warmth and scent of fresh bread wrap around him like a memory.
"Uh, hello… can I get a loaf of bread?" His voice is small, drained.
The elderly woman behind the counter frowns softly. "Oh, you're out again. You look exhausted, dear. Have you been taking care of yourself?"
"I'm fine. You don't have to worry. I've been like this for years," he says quickly, reaching for his wallet.
"You should see a doctor," she insists. "Your eyes… they look like they only see the world in black and white." She hands him the loaf, her gaze lingering with quiet worry.
He pays, mutters thanks, and steps outside.
"Black and white, huh?" he thinks, clutching the bag. "Funny way to describe my emotional compass."
Then the world tilts. His vision blurs; the sky and ground trade places.
He feels weightless — like drifting in an endless ocean.
And then… nothing.
When the people around him reach the body, he is gone.
They call it a heart attack.
But that isn't the end of his story.
It's the beginning.
A sudden gasp for air echoes through the chambers of the overgrown citadel. The air is different; it has a metallic smell to it. Through the gaps, a red glow fills the sky.
Still coughing, he mutters, "What the heck happened? For a moment I couldn't feel my body… I guess I should go home. Wait… where am I?" He notices a glow to his left and turns to it.
And notices it reads Insert Name. "Huh? Insert Name… what's that mean?" he says, sitting as he sits up. The unusual holographic screen follows suit.
"Cairo Renard… that's who I am. What does this thing want?" he thinks. As soon as it comes to his head, the name is implanted, and the holographic system updates.
It reads: Welcome, Cairo, to the citadel of the zone. Explore your domain. Then it vanishes.
"What!? What's the zone? What was that thing? How did it read my mind? So many questions… I hate it." Even though he is utterly confused, something in him says curiosity, perhaps.
"I shouldn't be listening to a flooty holographic thingy, but I'm intrigued. What do I have to lose anyway?" He gets up fully and looks ahead. A door — a huge door — made of red wood stands before him.
The walls and pillars seem to shine even though they are black; everything seems to have a glass coating over it. He turns around.
He notices a throne with two headless statues. Next, as he walks closer, the holographic system shows up once more. It reads:
The black quartz throne of the Transcender, lord of the critical, the ones who have no limitations… That's you.
All the torches in the room light up a deep blue flame as he walks closer to the throne. A fog is left where he steps.
He walks up to the throne and touches the armrests. "What does this mean? Am I dreaming? Can't be… I remember buying bread; it had a smell. I should be able to pick up smells if I am dreaming."
The system again switches and reads: Think about opening stats.
"Huh? This thing isn't helping my case either. What even is it?" he thinks to himself. Then he actually complies and thinks about opening his stats.
The menu shifts on the system. It shows all parts of his body and their injuries. It indicates his whole body is stressed.
Next to that, it shows his name and the title Transcender under it. It shows something right under level one. Then right under that, it shows abilities: Instant Healing and Eagle Eye.
"Hmm… a level and abilities. Have I been transmigrated or something? Nothing makes sense here; my head hurts," he says, sitting down — not on the throne but the floor.
The system changes once more:
Incorrect. You haven't transmigrated. You have incarnated as the Transcender — a fictional being that gives people power to love day by day. You're a god to the people of the Cryptic Zone. Their beliefs birthed your power. I am the system, your imaginary tracker. I don't exist; I exist only through your imagination. I am what you think.
"Hmm… fictional being? I've been migrated to another world where apparently I hold a title that defines me as a god. Interesting… I might embrace this world; it can be interesting… then my last world."
The crimson glow is absorbed by the black quartz that seems to shimmer under Cairo's steps. A myth, a legend, or a lost soul that happens to interchange with a mythical god.
"Now let me explore this damn place… it's huge. Was it built for a giant or what?" A low sigh escapes his lips; it is low but echoes all over the citadel. Showing how silent it is