Joel opened his eyes—or believed he did.
Time had folded in on itself. What felt like days stretched thin as seconds, yet the memories remained razor-sharp: the searing bloom of pain in his abdomen, the warm rush of blood soaking through his shirt, the way his father's voice had cracked on the other end of the line, holding back sobs he couldn't quite hide. Those moments didn't recede like a dream fading at dawn. They sat heavy in his chest, as real as the heartbeat he could no longer feel.
But this place—this now—didn't feel real at all.
Pitch black. No sliver of light, no whisper of air, no echo of his own breathing. He tried to speak, to shout his name, anything. Nothing emerged. The silence wasn't mere absence; it swallowed sound before it could form. Sound doesn't exist here, he thought, the words drifting in his mind like smoke without wind.
He floated—or stood, or simply was—in the void. His long sleeves hung loose against arms that felt both weightless and anchored. The denim of his jeans shifted faintly when he tried to move, a ghost of friction in a place without texture. Eternity stretched, patient and indifferent, while his thoughts circled the same questions: Am I gone? Is this the end?
Then, without warning, light.
A single point ignited far off, brilliant and sudden, cutting through the black like a blade. Unease rippled through him, sharp and instinctive, but beneath it came a strange calm. Anything was better than nothing.
The light expanded, not blinding but steady, revealing shapes in the darkness. First one form, then others—figures suspended in the vastness around him. He wasn't alone.
Directly before him hovered a being unlike anything he had ever imagined. Small in stature—barely the size of an average man's torso in height and breadth—yet commanding. Six wings unfurled from its form, iridescent and shifting, arranged in perfect symmetry: two folded modestly over what might have been a face, two draped lower in quiet reverence, two extended as if ready for flight. Small, bright horns curved delicately from its head, catching the light like polished obsidian. Its eyes—lotus-colored, pale and luminous, the soft pink-purple of dawn-blooming flowers—held no judgment, only a deep, sorrowful pity.
The creature gazed down at Joel, yet its attention seemed everywhere at once, as though it perceived not just him but every soul suspended in the gloom.
Its mouth moved—small, precise—and though no air stirred, the words arrived inside Joel's mind, sharp and resonant, like a bell struck in crystal.
"Welcome!" The voice carried warmth edged with solemnity. "To you all who have been chosen to liberate man. I admire you."
It bowed its head slightly, left hand placed over its chest in a gesture of respect. "My name is Tiff—short for Tiffsili. I am but a being tasked with informing you where you are going, what you may do, and what you may encounter."
The small angel-like being—neither fully beast nor fully human—held the bow, only tilting its head upward enough for those lotus eyes to meet Joel's again. The wings quivered faintly, as if stirred by an unseen breeze.
"You all may speak now."
The moment the words landed, something shifted inside Joel. A veil lifted. His vision cleared, the darkness no longer absolute but textured—alive with faint outlines of others around him. Faces emerged from the shadows: men and women of every age, every shade, suspended like him in the void. Eyes met eyes. Breaths—real breaths—began to sound, soft and ragged. Whispers rose, hesitant at first, then growing. Questions. Names. Cries of recognition.
The surrounding black remained, vast and unbroken, but now it hummed with presence. Lively. Waiting.
Joel felt the words rise in his throat, no longer trapped.
He opened his mouth.
And for the first time since the bullet found him, sound returned.