The pain faded first.
One moment Alex was drowning in it—shards of glass in his skin, ribs grinding like broken gravel, blood thick in his throat. The next, there was nothing. No rain. No sirens. No cold metal twisted around him.
Just quiet.
He opened his eyes—or thought he did. There were no eyes, not really. No body at all. He floated in a vast, weightless space, surrounded by swirling mists that brushed against him like cool silk scarves. Colors shifted slowly—deep indigo bleeding into soft gold, then silver threads weaving through. The air—if it was air—tasted clean, faintly sweet, like the moment after a storm when everything feels washed new.
He thought, *Am I dead? This... this can't be it.*
A sound rippled through the void, low and resonant, like distant thunder rolling over water. The mists parted, and something stepped forward.
Not a person. Not exactly.
It was tall, luminous, edges blurring into the haze. The shape shifted subtly—sometimes masculine, sometimes androgynous, always vast. Light pulsed from within, warm but not blinding. The scent of ozone hit him, sharp and electric, mixed with something older—incense from a temple he'd never visited, smoke curling from candles long extinguished.
The voice came not from a mouth but from everywhere, vibrating through him like bass through a subwoofer.
"You called for a second chance."
Alex tried to speak. No mouth, but the words formed anyway, raw and desperate. "Yes. God—please. I messed it all up."
The figure tilted its head, light rippling. "Many call in their final moments. Few are heard. Why you?"
He thought, *Why me? I don't deserve this. But I need it.*
"I... I wasted everything," Alex said, the confession spilling out like blood from a fresh wound. "My mom—she raised us alone after Dad walked out. Worked herself to death. Literally. I wasn't there when she died. Too busy chasing deals, pretending I had it together."
The mists swirled closer, cool tendrils brushing what should have been his skin.
"My sisters... they adored me when we were kids. Twins, three years older. Doted on me like I was something special. And I—I pushed them away. Thought it wasn't cool to be close. They ended up with the wrong guys, drugs, booze. Lost them years ago."
The voice hummed, thoughtful. "Regret is common. Redemption is not."
Alex's thoughts raced, memories flashing unbidden: Sarah's flushed face in the bedroom, Mark's guilty scramble. The crash. The wish.
"My wife—ex-wife—she cheated. With my best friend. I drove off and... here I am. But it's not just that. It's everything before. I settled. I let fear win. If I could go back to eighteen... January 2005. Right after high school started again. I know things now—stocks, events, mistakes to avoid. I could fix it. Make them happy. Give them the love they deserved."
The figure was silent for a long moment. The void pulsed, colors deepening to crimson, then easing back to calm blues.
"Butterfly effects," the voice said finally. "Changes ripple. You may save some, lose others. Knowledge is a tool, but not a guarantee. Hearts remain free."
He thought, *I know. But doing nothing got me here—dead at thirty-nine, alone.*
"I'll earn it," Alex said. "Every day. No shortcuts on what matters."
Another pause. The incense scent grew stronger, wrapping around him like a promise.
"Very well. Your wish is granted. Return to eighteen. Build what you could not before. But remember—time bends only once."
The void began to spin. Colors accelerated into a vortex—snippets of years flashing backward. 2026 billboards dissolving into 2020s smartphones, then flip phones beeping. Music reversed: modern pop warping into Usher and Green Day. Scents assaulted him—fast food grease to home-cooked pasta, rain to fresh-cut grass.
The figure's voice faded, echoing. "Prove the chance was worthy."
He thought, *I will. For them.*
The vortex tightened, pulling him down like plunging into warm ocean depths. Pressure built, then released.
Everything went black.