Was it worth it?
That single question echoed in the void, where no ground anchored his feet and no sky loomed above. Only darkness. Endless, unyielding, and quiet.
Shan Abhay had died—a sacrifice made in the heartbeats before a plane met the earth. A meaningless end, some would say. But not to him. Not if it meant another lived.
In that vast, hollow silence, a voice answered his unspoken thought.
"Though one speaks the question on yours, child. It was your decision to make."
The darkness shifted. From it emerged a figure cloaked in midnight, skeletal fingers curled around a towering scythe. Its empty eyes stared into Shan's soul.
"So you're Death," Shan said, lips curling into a tired smirk. "What now? Do I owe you my soul?"
Death's voice was like a funeral bell—slow, deep, final. "I can have your soul when I earn it, child. You died meaninglessly… and yet, you died to save another."
Shan scoffed. "Cryptic. I thought you types liked Gregorian chants and Latin warnings."
A cold chuckle followed. "Hehehe… thy thee true young soul, thy thee true."
He crossed his arms—or felt as if he did—and met Death's gaze. "So what happens now? Heaven? Hell? Purgatory?"
Death twirled a coin between two bony fingers. "For thy bravery and chivalric motive, thou art given two choices. One: rebirth. The second: eternal peace in the heavens."
The coin glinted as it spun. One side shimmered gold, the other a shadow that swallowed light.
Rebirth. Or peace.
Shan's past rose unbidden—mockery in school halls, fists in dark alleyways, endless days as a faceless employee beneath blinking fluorescent lights. He had never lived for himself. Never tasted freedom. Never felt love that stayed.
The choice came easily.
"I choose to be reborn," he said.
"So be it."
Death tapped the void with his scythe—and the darkness surged.
---
The first sound of his new life was crying.
His own.
Awareness seeped in slowly, raw and confusing. The world came in hazy shapes, the air sharp and cold. Above him, a woman's face—bloodied and bruised—stared down with exhausted eyes.
"I'm sorry, my little miracle," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I've failed you… I couldn't protect you from this cruel world."
Her words stirred something deep within him.
Was this his mother?
Before he could process the thought, a harsh voice shattered the moment. "There she is, brother!"
A man on horseback approached. He was broad-shouldered and grim, eyes alight with fury. A stern woman rode beside him. They stopped before the bleeding mother.
"You thought you could escape after trying to take my child?" the man snarled.
The woman—Blake—held the infant tighter, shielding him with her body. "You would kill him simply because of your kind's decree, Will Ruthwiller!"
The man dismounted with contempt. "My kind? You know nothing, you arrogant bitch."
His eyes fell to the baby in her arms. "A wasted piece of flesh. No talent. No worth."
Blake clung to her son, defiant and trembling.
Will Ruthwiller stepped back. "Enough," he said coldly. "Finish this."
And once more, the shadows came. But this time, they were not empty.
This time, they belonged to a cruel, violent world—and the boy reborn into it.
Chapter 1 (Prologue) — End