To him, the world had changed. He called it the Earthen Realm, once connected, now very distant.

As the winds blew, his face experienced a refreshing cold. It tickled his skin – rough, and with a red stubble. From the neck down, he wore what could only be described as armour, a heavy set; it reflected little light from the surface – a dull, red colour, matted with scratches and kinks. When the clouds parted, the moonlight allowed for more information – a symbol, engraved delicately onto the centre of his armour. It represented an erupting sun, with a sword cutting across it diagonally.

The man stuck to his position, his eyes glued to the landscape of tall buildings and flying objects. In time, he recommitted to the task at hand. He took in a deep breath and continued at a slow pace to the entrance of a park. It hit him then – an aura of peace and tranquillity, an unknown; it bothered him a little even. The concept of war existed merely in patches within the Earthen Realm; it had raged for centuries in the past, but had since calmed to non-existence almost. The man breathed in the air once more, but frowned with envy. His nose, it couldn’t catch a trace of it – of blood or decay.

“I’m starting to doubt the relevance of our contractual procedures,” whispered the man, under his breath. With a sigh, he added, “This is rather tiring.”

Immersed in thought, he reached his destination without a hint of impatience, and stared at the body on the ground. His eyes shifted to the Contractor, a sickly existence that inhabited the world in between; the latter bowed and shattered the Earthen fabric once more, reaching into the red light and back – with a shard, infused with powerful magic. The body on the ground resonated with the object and summoned it closer. The shard obliged, fusing with flesh, and without a trace.

“The quality of aeter isn’t half-bad,” the man thought, in reference to the magic on display. “What remains to be seen is the result of his Awakening.”

The two visitors of the Earthen Realm waited with patience, and then they heard it – a heartbeat.

***

The ticking continued, incessantly; he heard it from inside his head – louder, louder, bubbling into intolerable pain and frustration. It was hard to describe, a state that amalgamated every emotion imaginable. Daiden felt it crumble and restore in rapid succession, in a relentless pursuit for stability. He clenched himself, his fingers digging into flesh and bone. It needed to stop.

With the passage of time, a memory flickered to life – offering mere moments of information. Daiden furthered his concentration, but tightened instead. He remembered, everything. His hands reached for his face, meeting nothing but air. It triggered greater pain, more so around his neck.

Daiden begged for it to stop, but eased at the touch of more skin – bone, tissue, and muscle, it had started a process of reconstruction. He pressed for courage and tolerated the formation of his lips – it was proof of restoration. In time, his senses numbed to the pain, and as minutes turned to hours, Daiden felt the entirety of his face once more. He adjusted his eyes, but the darkness remained. His voice struggled with words, but his ears heard something – faint, almost too soft. It marked the start of a second transformation.

At first, Daiden noticed his bones crack, then his muscles – contorting, and then lacerating at every twist and turn. In the end, his blood boiled to dryness; the pain culminated into multiple deaths and reincarnations – it was a form of torture. Now hours turned to days, and days to months, and at the mark of a year, Daiden awakened.

The year allowed for cognitive recalibration; Daiden noticed it first upon clearing his third month in darkness, the existence of words – a contract. It was thick, and in a strange language, but with a portion of his soul on the bottom right of each page. He wondered if it meant acceptance. It was enough to realize that he had passed from the Earthen Realm, or more accurately – he had died. It bothered him less than he had imagined.

“Shackled by the weight of my past, unable to move forward even,” thought Daiden. “But this, this isn’t as bad as I had imagined it.”

Daiden was allowed a year to come to terms with his situation. The pain accelerated the passing of his denial, the passing of his rage; it offered him an outlet. He lowered his head and wriggled his toes; there was motion in his legs once more. His lips trembled, more upon closer observation – it was his body, not atrophied, but the body his old world had once fallen in love with.

As Daiden fell into deeper thought, a light emerged, and then one more. The first held onto an aura of stillness and calm; it shone with a touch of yellow, with an impossible brilliance. It reflected enough clarity for Daiden to witness his current appearance – older, but with a fuller, more flexible body. His hair had paled from stress, but his skin glistened with a strong shade of brown. Daiden then frowned, his eyes resting on what appeared to be a thin mark – a tattoo that circled around his neck, a reminder of his past.

Slowly, Daiden turned to observe the second light. It held an aura comparable to the first, but with pride; the various shades of green offered the light vibrance, comparable to something godly even. It was powerful, yes, but no more than the first.

Both sources resonated with power and conviction; they spoke the same message – in music, in whispers. And as hard as he tried, Daiden failed to uncover a difference.

“The colour?” thought Daiden, before shaking his head. “That can’t be it.”

With a tremor, the two sources parted with a portion of their existence – a version several times smaller, the size of a pea. For a time, the two smaller existences hovered; they entered Daiden one after the other, passing through skin and flesh, without a trace, without a wound. He breathed without effort now, embracing an understanding that transcended a human sense of logic. There were no words, no stories, merely emotion – a difference in ideology and opinion.

“I’m sorry,” said Daiden, sincerely, looking at the source to his right. “But this is my decision.”

Daiden slowly raised an arm, taking a step towards his left. His eyes fixated on the white, almost yellow light; his arm burned from repulsion. It was a test. He watched his skin bubble and peel, from the wrist first, and then his forearm. But having endured a year of torment, the pain failed to trigger a response. Daiden felt his resistance heighten and pushed further still, finding what could only be described as a handle on the other end. Fingers first, he grabbed the warm bar and pulled with all his might, finding the light veil him in a gentle embrace. It wasn’t over yet; Daiden cursed at the sight, the encroachment of light that spread as a disease would, disintegrating him entirely.

A voice followed.

[Welcome to the Domain of the Gods.]