Everything's quiet.
Not street quiet. Not alley quiet.
Not even the kind of quiet that comes after a beating, when your ears ring and you float somewhere above your body.
Just... nothing.
Then I blink.
Or—I think I do.
Because somehow, my eyes open.
And there's light.
Soft, white, endless light. It doesn't hurt to look at. Doesn't burn. Doesn't feel like a hospital lamp or some divine judgment. It's just… there. Gentle. Still.
I take a breath.
Nothing hurts.
I blink again and wiggle my fingers, waiting for the ache in my ribs or the burn in my joints, but it's gone. All of it. No bruises. No blood. No weight in my chest like I've been hollowed out.
What… is this?
I sit up—or maybe I'm just floating, it's hard to tell—and suddenly I'm surrounded by stars. Actual stars. Not the ones you see from a dirty rooftop through smoggy skies. These are bright, sharp, impossible. Like someone shattered a mirror and scattered the shards across a black ocean.
And I'm drifting.
Not walking. Not falling. Just… moving. Slowly, like something's pulling me forward without touching me at all.
It's peaceful. Which is weird.
I should be panicking, right? I died. I should be screaming, sobbing, begging for a redo or demanding answers or something dramatic. But all I can do is float and watch the stars blur past me like I've already let go.
Then I see him.
Someone else. Another figure drifting toward me, weightless like I am. A boy. Maybe my age. His body glows faintly, silver at the edges like the stars are bending around him. He's beautiful in a strange, sharp way. Fragile, but not weak. Haunted, but not broken.
His eyes are closed.
He looks like he's sleeping. Or—
No.
Not sleeping.
Leaving.
As we pass each other, something shifts.
The space between us cracks open, like the air itself holds its breath—and then a blinding light explodes between us, brighter than anything I've ever seen.
It swallows us whole.
My body jolts. Every cell, every breath, every memory—it all gets sucked downward.
And then I'm falling.
Fast. Spiraling. Like the sky flipped upside down and decided gravity was optional.
I try to scream, but no sound comes out. My limbs are heavy again. My chest tight. Panic claws its way up my throat.
Then—
Black iron bars.
Torchlight.
Shouting.
And pain.
Real, physical, awful pain that slices into my skull the second I open my eyes.
I groan.
The air stinks—like sweat, piss, and something sickly sweet underneath, like rotting perfume. The ground is cold beneath me, hard and uneven. Chains clink when I move.
I blink a few times, slow and disoriented, and everything comes into focus.
I'm inside a cage.
An actual cage.
Like some kind of twisted zoo.
There are voices outside. Dozens of them. Men shouting numbers. Laughter. A sharp crack of a whip.
What the hell is this?
What the hell—?
I try to sit up, but my limbs aren't listening. Everything feels wrong. Stretched. Tight. Like I've been stuffed into a body that doesn't fit right.
And then I catch my reflection.
Not in a mirror—there's a piece of polished metal nailed to one of the cage walls. I see pale skin. Silver hair. Eyes I don't recognize staring back at me.
This… isn't my face.
This isn't my body.
And someone's yelling now—louder than the rest. Something about "next lot," "unclaimed omega," "auction begins."
I press my hand against the ground to keep from passing out again.
What the hell kind of afterlife is this?