The camera flicked on, the ring light blasting into my eyes as usual. I leaned forward, grinning like a madman, hands already sweaty with anticipation.

  “Yo! What’s up, my beautiful degenerates?” I said, throwing finger-guns at the lens. “It’s your boy, HACKIMI206, your favorite unboxing streamer, back again with the content no one asked for but everyone secretly loves. You already know today’s Tuesday, which means a new chapter for our Capote Chronicles Series: Special Condom unboxing edition. Let’s get into it.”

  ...

  I reached down and lifted the box like it was some sacred relic. The packaging gleamed under the lights, still perfectly sealed.

  “This one’s big, literally. We’re unboxing the Rex Fading XL. That’s right, XL, as in please consult your physician before use. This bad boy’s from the original base set, vintage as hell. Still sealed. Still sexy.”

  Chat was already lighting up with eggplants and fire emojis. I laughed.

  “Picked up a couple side pieces too, Virtuous Cat and Eternal Seductress displays, but nah, today is all about the Charlotte Nutbuster. Yeah. You heard me.”

  I broke the seal and peeled open the first pack with the reverence of a man disarming a bomb. The satisfying hiss of air slipping out made my spine tingle.

  “Word is, this box has four potential holograbite pulls,” I explained. “They’re rare, fully textured, and even glow under blacklight. My goal? Just one. If I can get a reverse Virtuous Cat too, that’s bonus points. Let’s crack this baby open.”

  First pack, nothing special. Basic clear latex, probably the kind they handed out in health class.

  Second, jackpot. My grin widened.

  “Oooh, yes. Intimate Series. Thin. Ribbed. Coated with that classy cross-hatch texture. This is peak finesse. Very Virtuous Cat vibes.”

  Then came a Charlotte Nutbuster. Then another. My heart was pounding with the rush of the hunt.

  But then, I froze.

  “No. No way.”

  My hand was shaking as I held the foil closer to the light. I couldn’t stop grinning.

  “This is the Magnix Endurance. Dual ribbing. Extra thickness. Full-Sex Compatibility. This condom’s legendary. I didn’t think it actually existed.”

  I let out a nervous laugh, hands trembling just slightly. Maybe it was adrenaline. Maybe the third energy drink of the last twenty minutes. I kept tearing through the packs, gasping, laughing with chat. Their comments were flying past, cheering me on, asking for closeups.

  Then I saw the last pull.

  I nearly screamed.

  “Stop. Stop everything. Is this—IS THIS THE KING SIZE GOLD?!”

  It shimmered. Literally shimmered under the light.

  “Full cam shot edition. Gold foil. XL fit. This thing’s the white whale, chat, I’ve been hunting it since the very first video. Look at her. Look at this masterpiece. Word is, it tastes like the discontinued Salto 2144n in other words, it’s got that sea flavor. I cannot wait to try this. Oh, and for anyone new here: this is a condom unboxing stream. I do these every Thursday. Then on Saturday, I do a taste reaction stream, so make sure you subscribe so you don’t miss anything”

  I slipped it into a protective sleeve, hands still jittering. I couldn’t tell if it was excitement or something else. My chest was getting tight, but I figured that was normal. It's normal to feel like this after such a discovery, right?

  I leaned closer to the camera.

  “This one’s going… into the hall of… huh, fame. Erm chat I think—”

  A deep, sharp pressure under my ribs. Like something heavy had just dropped right onto my heart. I blinked. My voice caught.

  “I... I don’t feel right,” I noted standing up. A big mistake in retrospect.

  My grin faded. My mouth went dry.

  “I—chat—something’s not... Can someone call... call 991... I—”

  My vision swam. My hand knocked over the box. I saw one of the unpacked condom boxes fall beside me, and then I couldn’t see much at all. My chest was burning now. My breath wasn’t coming up. Something was wrong. Very.

  I tried to say something, but no sound came out. It was like I was stripped of that energy just like I was stripped of the energy to stand up as I did. I collapsed forward, head hitting the desk with a dull thud.

  Everything instantly faded to black.

  In that moment, all the memories rushed back to Hackimi. Memories of how he lived his life, memories of how he died, and, ultimately, memories of what happened after his death. Memories so painful they seemed to collapse in on themselves.

  He remembered the searing light that burned his skin, the heat corroding his soul, making him scream until no voice was left in him, making him regret the life he had lived, until his mind frayed from the weight of it.

  He remembered the eternity of torment he endured in that hellish place, and the moment that torment ended. Clutching a body he could no longer feel, one that felt like it had endlessly melted under that radiance above, he raised his head to find the light gone.

  Instead, he stood in a vast, bright space with no harmful glow. Just him… and a figure standing a dozen meters away. It was that of a man. At least it looked like it were that of one.

  "Hello there," the man greeted in a warm voice, slowly approaching.

  "Hello… sir," he found himself replying, wiping away a tear.

  "Do you feel better, Hackimi?"

  "If I feel… better?" he stammered hearing him say his name.

  "Yes. Do you?"

  "Yes, thanks to—" Hackimi looked around. The place was strange yet comforting, and as a believer-but-non-worshiper in life, the only word he could find for it was holy. "What is this place, sir? And, if it’s not impolite of me to ask, who are you?"

  The man smiled and asked, "Who do you think I am?"

  From the moment they met, this person had spoken his name as if they were lifelong friends—no, as a parent might, with care, a certain level of authority and concern. Hackimi didn’t find it strange; it only warmed him.

  "You are… are you God?"

  The man’s expression darkened unexpectedly. "Assuming that I am, do you think I’m the same god who sent you to that scorching place at your death?"

  Memories of that place rushed back, and for a moment Hackimi felt himself dragged there again. It took a moment to realize he was still safe. From his hunched position, he looked up to see a very humane emotion in the man’s eyes: Pity.

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  "I’m not God," the man said. "If I were, I wouldn’t have made you suffer what you went through." He extended a hand. "Nor would I have let anyone endure that."

  Hackimi took the offered hand, letting the man pull him to his feet.

  "You asked me who I am? I have a name, but those close to me say it doesn’t suit me. Instead, they call me the Messiah."

  "The Messiah? As in… the one who leads the world to the promised paradise?"

  "Promised paradise…" The man—the Messiah tilted his head, then asked, "Is that what you think this is?"

  He looked around and said, "it does look like it is. Especially compared to that place."

  He chuckled. "Sorry to disappoint you. This is not. Think of this place as an in-between between that terrible place and our paradise."

  "Oh." Relief flooded Hackimi’s chest. The way he put it pointed toward him being taken somewhere better. He couldn’t ask for more. In fact even this would have been an alright place for him. Just so long as he wasn’t taken to that place again.

  "Are you going to take me there, sir… Messiah?"

  At that, the man smiled warmly but shook his head. "Truth be told, I might be called Messiah, but not because I lead people to paradise. I am called Messiah because I intend to build it."

  "Build… a paradise?"

  "Yes." He clasped his hands together, and a magical projection appeared, of a world that at first looked like Tany, Hackimi’s home planet. But as the image shifted, as he saw people flying through the air, creatures of every variety, scaled, winged, long-eared, furred, feathered, oddly proportioned beings, animal-eared folk, and skies with multiple moons, he immediately understood. This was not his world.

  "Beyond this place, beyond this plane of existence, there lies a realm called Fiendfell," the Messiah said. The image changed again, showing Fiendfell as it truly was, violent and harsh, far from the paradise he envisioned. "It is a world still far from what I want it to be… but I promise you, Hackimi, it can be a haven for souls like us."

  "Souls like us," Hackimi echoed, then realized. "You too?"

  "Yes," the man confirmed. "I too was sent to that place, like many souls undeserving of such fate."

  Hackimi thought back to his life. He wasn’t a saint, but he wasn’t cruel either. He didn’t hurt animals. He tipped his delivery drivers, even when the food was cold. He had prayed, once in a while. And yet he had been condemned to that place.

  He had not lived a glorious life, nor prayed as much as he should have. But was that enough to justify such agony? Absolutely not. He even found himself abhorring the idea that such harsh god existing.

  "Are you trying to save everyone from that place?"

  A brief image of it flashed in the projection, it was a projection of that place, just seeing it made Hackimi shudder, but the Messiah quickly dispelled it. "I know it’s not realistic to save them all. But I will do everything I can to rescue as many as possible from what we endured." He looked Hackimi in the eyes. "I am also realistic enough to know that what I can do alone is limited. But with allies, allies like you, I can achieve so much more."

  In that moment, he extended his hand. "So, Hackimi, will you help us create this paradise?"

  Hackimi didn’t need to think twice. This man had pulled him out of “hell,” how could he refuse that same hand now?

  ***

  Somewhere in Fiendfell, beneath an atypically bright sky veiled by a white shimmering black curtain, they gathered. The sanctuary stood open to the wind, its blackstone arches like the ribs of some long-dead god, its banners rippling against silence.

  Before the crowd, thousands kneeling, standing, weeping, stood the Messiah.

  Behind him, upon twin altars of obsidian and alabaster, lay sixteen infants, wrapped in silken cloths: five on the left, eleven on the right. They did not cry. They did not stir. But without a doubt they were alive.

  The Messiah stepped forward, arms wide, gold-lined robes billowing behind him. His voice rang out, calm and certain, yet filled with power. It struck not the ears, but the soul.

  “My children, you who remember seering light and scream… you who know the taste of ash and injustice, bear witness.”

  He turned first toward the left altar, the five newborns each marked on the brow with the runes of return.

  “Isaac. Chessbelle. Vanya. Ling Xiao. Theon. These are not babes born of chance, but heroes, returned to us once more.”

  “They lived among us. They walked beside me. They gave their lives for the Dream. And now, look upon them! They return!”

  The crowd murmured, reverent, awestruck.

  “This is not a miracle. This is not defiance of death. This is the end of death's tyranny. Let all of you hear this: if you fall, I will find you. If you are lost, I will call you. If you are taken, I will tear down the veil itself to return you to us.”

  He turned fully now, voice growing stronger, richer, crackling like fire over dry wood.

  “Do not fear death! It is no longer your enemy, it is merely a door. A moment of darkness before the light returns.”

  “These five, reborn, rebaptized have proven it. Death is no punishment for the faithful. It is merely a passage.”

  He turned then toward the right altar, where eleven infants slept peacefully in soft white.

  “And here… here are the first of the newly saved. Souls that knew only torment, souls that screamed alone in the pit, unseen, unloved, unremembered… until I found them.”

  He gestured gently toward the tiny forms.

  “Orielle. Bran. Silvayn. Miko. Renneth. Hackimi. Ayun. Iskriel. Lumi. Tavven. Risa. Children of Grace. Those are your name. Those are your birthright.”

  His voice softened, then swelled again, each word ringing with righteous fire.

  “And to you I say the same: fear not death. For you were already lost once. And still, you stand here again, in new flesh, in a world where you will not be forgotten.”

  “This world… our world… will not ruled by fear of death, nor the torment. But by grace and mercy.”

  He raised both arms high, face turned to the sky, robes glowing in the artificial light like armor woven from gold.

  “This is our covenant: No child of hell shall be left behind. No soul of flame shall be lost to shadow. We will build a paradise not by praying for it, but by creating it. Together.”

  The crowd stirred, overcome, some collapsed in worship, others raised voices in song or devotion.

  “Some of you will fall in this question, but when you will I will come for you again, for I am your Messiah. And so long as I am Death shall never have the final word over us.”

  He stepped down between the altars, placing a hand on each.

  “To the returned, welcome home. You are proof of our triumph.”

  “To the newly reborn, welcome to the light. You are the seed of our future.”

  “To all of you, fear no longer, he said, then, eyes closed, voice low but unshakable, he whispered as if to the wind itself: “For you who’ve been freed from that place, have met true redemption. Grace is yours now and forever.”

  “It is now and forever!” They, the babies in low coo included, echoed.

  As the ceremony came to a close, attendants moved solemnly across the sanctuary, gently lifting the swaddled infants from the twin altars. Each child was handed into the arms of those chosen to raise them, fellow graced who received them with careful reverence.

  To each Graced One, raising these children would be a great honor, for most of them, like these babes, were once cradled in the care of a Graced One themselves.

  Soft chants echoed beneath the arches, but the Messiah no longer stood at the podium.

  He had stepped down.

  His pace was calm, deliberate, as he approached a trio waiting in the shadows near the far colonnade. One was an elf. The other two were human—Verdenkind to be exact.

  He came to a stop before them.

  “These were the last, right?” he asked, eyes steady.

  “Yes, Messiah, they were the last,” answered Claudiu, voice crisp.

  “We’ve also told all the cells to halt their operations, as you’d requested,” added Aurel.

  “Good,” the Messiah nodded. “From now on, we should dedicate all our efforts to recovering that vessel.”

  “Yes, Messiah,” the two replied in unison.

  But the third, the elf, remained silent.

  The Messiah turned slightly toward him.

  “Akira?”

  The elf straightened. “Yes, Messiah?”

  “Got anything to say?”

  There was a pause. Akira’s gaze dropped briefly. He seemed hesitant, caught between loyalty and unease. But eventually, he spoke.

  “About this whole operation… I’m not sure. I know I’m uncomfortably placed to say this, but I have a bad feeling about this.”

  The Messiah’s expression did not change.

  “Does this bad feeling have to do with what happened last time?”

  Akira looked away, ashamed. Then nodded.

  “But not just that. From what we know… the vessel might be protected by two Monarchs.”

  Aurel cut in immediately. “One with limited resources as a Monarch. Same for the other, except that she is litterally a child."

  "Our source was clear. They have elven subjects under them but there's a very limited number of them."

  "You, an elf monarch, more than anyone, should know what that means.”

  “Yes, I do. But—”

  “I understand your concern,” the Messiah interrupted gently. “Last time, we stumbled upon our greatest setback. It forced us into hiding for over a hundred years. But we’ve recovered. Better yet we're stronger than we've ever been before.”

  He looked between the three of them.

  “Now it’s time for us to take a step forward.”

  The two Verdenkind nodded. Their voices overlapped in solemn affirmation.

  “We must secure that vessel.”

  The Messiah continued.

  “I know this was a deviation from our original plan. But this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. One that will guarantee us the means to stand on equal ground with the Angelic Monarchs…”

  He paused.

  Aurel spoke up again, with a fervor that drew sudden stillness: “And stand up to those two tyrants.”

  That line made all three turn sharply toward him.

  The Messiah stepped in, correcting with calm authority. “The addition of her to our ranks might not help us do much against the Tyrant Monarchs... but it is bound to help our case against the Angelic Monarchs. Or at the very least, with all the material aid provided to us by the tyrants, it will help us against the new Monarch of the Land of Men.”

  He looked at them one by one.

  “So I repeat: we must secure that vessel.”

  “Understood, Messiah,” Akira said, bowing slightly. “I apologize for that.”

  “It’s nothing,” the Messiah replied, placing a firm hand on the elf’s shoulder. “That was an understandable concern, old friend.”

  Aurel stepped in again, tone lighter. “With enough luck, we might actually return not just with a vessel, but something a Patriarch like you might have use for.”

  He patted Akira’s back with a half-smile.

  “So sit tight… and have faith.”