The wind was warm that evening.
Not the usual sticky kind of warmth that makes you sweat and wish for rain, but a soft, slow heat that clung to the skin like a blanket. The streetlights blinked on, casting white halos onto the damp pavement. The hum of the city was gentle, almost sleepy.
It's very comfortable. Ayuna liked it that way.
He stood just outside the grocery store for a moment, letting the wind run across his face. His hoodie was too thick for the weather, but he liked how it felt. Safe. Familiar.
The kind of warmth that reminded him of sleepless nights and hot drinks and long hours typing away in front of his laptop.
The glass doors of the store slid open as he stepped inside. Cool air wrapped around him, making him shiver from the cold. The fluorescent lights above buzzed quietly, and the floor tiles were still a little damp from a recent mopping.
A gentle instrumental tune played through the ceiling speakers.
Ayuna walked in with no particular plan. He wasn't really hungry. He's just in need of something. Something warm. Something comforting. Maybe something nostalgic.
His footsteps echoed softly as he passed the fruit stand, ignored the fresh bread, and made a slow turn toward the instant noodles section. He ran his fingers lightly over the rows of brightly colored packets—cheese ramen, spicy beef, creamy carbonara, shrimp flavor, all proudly claiming they'd changed lives with just three minutes of boiling water. Funny to be honest.
He squatted, reaching for one with an old-school packaging—no brand collabs, no fancy colors. Just a red print on a plain yellow wrapper. His dead mother often cook it for him after school when he's out of energy and is too tired to talk. 'This one,' he thought. 'Simple. Reliable.'
Still crouched, he grabbed a second packet. Then hesitated and put it back. One was enough. Ayuna is sure that he can't finish the second pack.
He stood up, stretching a little and walked a few more aisles. He arrived in front of see through refrigerator filled with all kinds of drinks. Ayuna opened it and picked up a can of soda from his favourite brand.
A small voice in his head joked, 'This is what freedom looks like. Buying junk food at 10 PM without anyone telling you no.'
He smiled faintly to himself.
At the counter, there was no line. Just a tired cashier half-watching a drama on the screen of her phone, barely glancing up as he placed the items down.
"One twenty-five," she said lazily.
Ayuna tapped his card and the terminal beeped. Approved.
He thanked her out of habit, took his plastic bag, and headed out. As the doors slid shut behind him, he took the ramen out of the bag, holding it in one hand like it was something fragile. A small comfort in a big, unpredictable world.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, but he ignored it. Probably just a reader comment, or a system notification about his earnings.
'They can wait,' he thought. 'I just want to enjoy this one second longer.'
He took a breath. In. Out.
The past year has been kind to him.
After years of grinding out stories in dark corners of internet forums, Ayuna had finally made it. One of his old webnovels—originally a messy jumble of ideas and overpowered main characters—had gone viral. It started with fan art. Then Tiktok edits. Suddenly, his story had a life of its own.
Now? He lived off his royalties. Not rich, but free. He didn't need to clock in, no boss to please and he didn't need to impress anyone. Just write. Eat. Sleep. Wake up. Write again.
In his own words, it was "the dream."
He smiled to himself, shifting the bag in his hand and placing back the pack of noodles.
'Maybe I'll rest tonight,' he thought. 'Watch a movie, answer comments, fix that messy chapter ending from yesterday. Or maybe—'
Bang!
A sharp sound. Not from the sky, not a firecracker. Something closer. Louder. Closer.
Ayuna blinked.
People screamed.
He turned his head just in time to see someone running—no, sprinting—away from the entrance of the grocery. Then someone else ducked down. A woman cried out. Something wet splattered the ground.
He looked down.
Red.
A sudden, searing pain bloomed in his chest, like someone had taken a hammer and smashed it through his bone, skin and lungs all at once. The bag slipped from his fingers and his knees buckled.
He didn't even hear himself hit the pavement. His senses are clouded by the pain in his chest.
The sky above him seemed so far away. 'No… this doesn't… this isn't real, right?'
He tried to breathe but he failed. His vision swam. People were still shouting. Someone ran past him. Someone else called for help.
But their voices sounded like they were behind a wall. Distant. Muted. Fading.
'This can't be it.'
Ayuna wasn't ready. He still had a hundred unwritten chapters. Countless ideas in his notes app. Outlines he'd been saving for when inspiration struck. He still hadn't finished the story where the villain became a god. He still hadn't—
Suddenly, the light changed. The street, the sky, the pain—all of it fell away. It was then replaced by darkness.
And then a voice echoed. Cold. Flat. Like it wasn't meant for human ears.
"The world is facing calamity. The gods have fallen. Destruction is at its wake. Play the role of the divine. Inspire the faith. Save what remains. Bring salvation."
And just like that, Ayuna's last chapter on Earth ended… and something else began.