*Where am I? Why is it so dark?*

  Nael floated in absolute nothingness. He felt nothing anymore. No pain, no heat, no cold. Just... the void.

  *I can't see anything...*

  Fear crept into him, slow and icy, wrapping its frozen fingers around his consciousness.

  Was this the end?

  Am I dead?

  No. Impossible.

  He refused to believe it. They had succeeded. They had defeated the criminal. Noelle was alive. People were saved.

  But...

  *But no! Seriously, what am I thinking?!*

  His voice broke, echoing in the void.

  *I saw my guts spilling out of my body! I saw the hole in my stomach! No one can survive that!*

  The words faded into the silence, swallowed by the darkness.

  A laugh rose from somewhere deep within him. Hollow. Joyless. Heavy with despair and sadness. A laugh that should have been accompanied by tears, but no tears came. He no longer had a body to cry with.

  Then, suddenly, something changed.

  A strange sensation overwhelmed him. As if he were falling. Or rather... as if he were sinking.

  He felt incredibly light, as if immersed in an infinite ocean. Eyes closed, he let himself be carried by this invisible current.

  When he reopened them, the world had transformed.

  Around him, a soft light filtered through deep blue water, almost unreal. The color was both melancholic and mesmerizing, like a twilight captured in liquid form.

  Thousands of life forms drifted with him in the blue immensity.

  Human silhouettes—men, women, children—all floating in silence, eyes closed, faces peaceful. Mixed among them, creatures of all kinds drifted too: birds with folded wings, dogs, cats, beings he didn't even recognize.

  All dead. All finally freed from the weight of life and its injustices.

  The water was neither hot nor cold. It simply existed, cradling them in an endless embrace.

  Nael understood then, with chilling clarity.

  This was the afterlife.

  He had finally accepted his fate. For him, it was too late. He had had his chance. He had been a hero, if only once.

  But suddenly, a presence disturbed the peaceful drift.

  Something immense. Indescribable. A phenomenal power plunging through the water, cleaving it like a fire comet.

  Nael cautiously opened one eye, trying to distinguish this mysterious force.

  The being had no face. Or rather, its face was hidden behind an inextinguishable fire that burned even underwater. Dancing flames—white and gold—undulated around its head like a living crown. The fire cast moving shadows through the water, making the blue depths shimmer and pulse.

  Its body was humanoid but... abnormal. Too tall. Too graceful. As if it existed outside the normal rules of form and substance.

  The being advanced toward Nael, sometimes slowing, sometimes accelerating, moving with supernatural grace. Then it stopped just a few centimeters away, the heat of its flames creating ripples in the water.

  "I have something for you," the being said.

  Its voice was impossible to describe. Both soft and deep, like an echo from the abyss. Multiple overlapping tones, harmonizing in ways that shouldn't exist.

  From nowhere, it produced a chocolate—a simple chocolate wrapped in golden paper—and held it out to Nael.

  Nael, surprised, tried to take it. His hand reached out. But it passed through the object as if he were no longer of this world. As if he himself were nothing more than a ghost.

  "You're dead, aren't you, Nael?"

  The question resonated in his mind, cold and direct.

  Nael's throat tightened—or at least gave him the impression of doing so.

  "Yes," he murmured.

  The being placed its luminous hand under Nael's chin, raising his head. The flames crackled softly, like a distant fireplace.

  "Do you know where you're going now?"

  Nael couldn't hold the being's burning gaze. He looked away, ashamed.

  "To hell, probably," he murmured bitterly.

  A crystalline laugh burst out, resonating throughout the oceanic immensity. The sound made the water vibrate, sending ripples through the floating forms around them.

  "At least you're honest!" The being's voice carried a hint of amusement. "You weren't a very good boy during your life, were you, Nael?"

  Nael remained speechless. What could he say? It was the truth.

  The being considered him for a long time, the flames dancing and swirling. Then it continued, more serious:

  "A test. If you succeed, I'll grant you a second chance."

  For the first time since his death, something stirred in Nael's chest. Hope. Fragile. Almost painful in its intensity.

  A second chance?

  He nodded, unable to speak, his throat tight with emotion.

  "Yes... I'll do my best."

  The being extended its hand toward him.

  The world exploded in white light.

  ---

  Nael blinked.

  He found himself in a crowded, overheated train. Heavy air weighed on everyone. The smell of sweat and cheap perfume floated, thick. Many passengers were standing, packed like sardines, clinging to metal bars.

  Nael looked around, disoriented. *What am I doing here?* It was real, but something was slightly off. Like a dream that imitates reality too well.

  Suddenly, an argument broke out nearby.

  An old woman of about eighty, back bent, leaning on a trembling cane, was begging a seated young man to give up his seat.

  The guy looked like a delinquent—tattoos covering his arms, hard eyes, piercings gleaming in his ears. He wore a leather jacket despite the heat.

  "Get lost, old hag!" he spat with contempt. "I was here first!"

  "Please, young man," the lady pleaded, her voice trembling. "My legs... I can't stand anymore..."

  "Not my problem! If you're too weak, stay home!"

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  He even raised his hand, threatening to hit her.

  The old woman stepped back, terror in her eyes.

  Nael scanned the crowd. No one moved. Everyone stared at their phones, eyes down, avoiding the scene. Maybe out of fear. Maybe out of cowardice.

  The delinquent might have a weapon, right? Better not to get involved.

  Nael hesitated.

  Then something awakened in him. The same determination that had pushed him to grab the criminal's legs, even knowing it could kill him.

  *No. Not this time.*

  He got up from his own seat and gestured to the old lady.

  "Ma'am, take my seat."

  The lady looked at him, eyes brimming with tears, and murmured a barely audible "thank you."

  The delinquent sneered but said nothing.

  Barely had the old lady sat down when the world shimmered and dissolved.

  ---

  Light blazed around him, brilliant and disorienting.

  When his vision returned, Nael was no longer in the train.

  He stood in his parents' house.

  No—not his real parents' house. He knew it instinctively. This was a test. A vision. But it seemed terribly real.

  Everything looked like a house should be. An old worn sofa. A television. Family photos hanging on the wall.

  A small boy—maybe six years old, full of overflowing energy—was running everywhere screaming with joy, playing an imaginary game.

  Nael watched him, feeling a strange mixture of detachment and connection.

  But suddenly, in his wild running, the boy tripped.

  He crashed violently against the furniture where the television rested.

  The screen wavered.

  Then fell.

  **CRACK.**

  The sound of breaking glass resonated throughout the house like a thunderclap.

  A brand new television. Bought just a few days ago, probably. A significant expense for any family.

  Silence fell, heavy and oppressive.

  Then rushed footsteps thundered down the stairs.

  Two adults rushed from their rooms, faces already red with anger.

  Seeing the broken screen on the floor, they exploded.

  "NAEL! WHAT DID YOU DO?!"

  "IT WASN'T ME!" Nael shouted desperately. "It was him! I didn't do anything!"

  But they didn't want to listen.

  "Stop lying! You're the oldest, you have to be careful!"

  "It's always you making mistakes!"

  "You're irresponsible!"

  Rage rose in Nael. Burning. Unfair. Unbearable.

  He wanted to scream. Shout that they were wrong. That it wasn't his fault. That they always accused the wrong child.

  But he bit his lip until he tasted blood.

  And swallowed his anger.

  He lowered his head, fists clenched, trembling with contained fury.

  "Sorry," he murmured.

  The father stared at him harshly.

  "That's not enough. Lie face down. You're going to be punished."

  Nael's heart sank. He knew what was coming. The belt. The blows. The humiliation.

  Without understanding why—perhaps because part of him knew this was a test—he obeyed. He lay on the cold floor, face against the tiles, paralyzed by the injustice of it all.

  He closed his eyes, waiting.

  The world dissolved again.

  ---

  Brightness flooded his senses.

  Nael opened his eyes.

  He found himself in a hospital.

  The atmosphere was heavy, suffocating. The smell of disinfectant mixed with the subtler scent of illness and approaching death. Muffled sobs echoed somewhere in the corridors.

  Nael wandered without direction, observing the rooms one after another.

  Then he stopped in front of one of them.

  Through the window, he saw a boy about ten years old, lying on a hospital bed. His face was pale, almost translucent. Tubes connected him everywhere on his frail body. An IV dripped regularly. Monitors beeped with quiet regularity.

  A medical file hung at the foot of the bed: **Liver cancer. Terminal stage. Awaiting transplant.**

  Nael entered the room.

  The boy slept peacefully, or perhaps was too weak to open his eyes. His breathing was weak, labored, each breath a visible struggle.

  A nurse entered and deposited a file on the nightstand.

  "Still nothing?" she asked softly to a passing doctor.

  "No compatible donor," the doctor replied, shaking his head. "Without a transplant in the coming weeks, he has no chance."

  The nurse sighed and left the room.

  Nael remained alone with the dying boy.

  He watched him for a long time.

  Then, driven by something deeper than thought, Nael murmured:

  "If I could... if I were alive... I would give my liver without hesitation. So you could live."

  He extended his hand, placing it on the boy's, even though he knew he was probably invisible, intangible in this vision.

  "You deserve to live."

  The moment the words left his lips, reality fractured.

  ---

  White light consumed everything.

  When Nael's vision returned, he was struck by suffocating heat.

  He stood in the middle of an infinite desert. Sand stretched as far as the eye could see, white and burning under a merciless sun. The air trembled with heat waves.

  And before him, a few dozen meters away, rose a gigantic blaze.

  Flames climbed toward the sky, several meters high, swirling, roaring. Even at this distance, the heat was so intense that Nael's skin began to redden and tighten.

  The mysterious being appeared at his side, flames dancing around its head.

  "Last test, Nael." Its voice carried weight now, heavy with meaning. "Walk to the blaze. Plunge your hands into the flames. Remove what you find there."

  Nael stared at it, incredulous.

  "But... I'll die!"

  "You're already dead." The being's tone contained something that might have been a smile. "The question is: how far are you willing to go to live again?"

  Nael swallowed hard. Then he moved forward.

  Each step was agony.

  At ten meters from the blaze, his skin began to redden and crack.

  At five meters, it split and peeled, exposing raw flesh beneath.

  At three meters, the exposed flesh began to boil and char.

  At one meter, everything liquefied, sliding off his bones like melted wax dripping from a candle.

  Nael screamed. The sound tore from what remained of his throat—inhuman, raw, primitive.

  But he didn't stop.

  When he reached the blaze, he was nothing more than a smoking skeleton held together by will alone.

  He plunged his skeletal hands into the flames.

  Pain beyond all comprehension exploded through him. Worse than the explosion that had killed him. Worse than anything he had ever known or could have imagined.

  But he didn't pull back.

  His bony fingers closed on something hard and metallic buried in the heart of the fire.

  A sword.

  An incandescent blade, forged in fire itself, glowing with blinding white light.

  He tore it from the flames and collapsed onto the burning sand.

  The next instant, coolness enveloped him.

  ---

  He found himself in the deep ocean.

  His body was intact. No more burns. No more pain. Just the soft embrace of water.

  The mysterious being watched him. Though it had no visible face behind those flames, Nael would have sworn it was smiling.

  It applauded slowly, the sound resonating through the water like distant thunder.

  "Well done, Nael. You passed all the tests."

  It approached and placed a luminous hand on Nael's shoulder. The flames cast warm light through the blue depths.

  "You showed courage in the face of injustice. Restraint in the face of anger. Sacrifice for the suffering. And endurance in the face of absolute pain."

  The being stepped back slightly.

  "Now, go. Return. Become what you wish to become. This is my gift to you."

  A phenomenal force seized Nael and propelled him upward, toward the surface, toward the light.

  He rose. Faster and faster. Higher and higher.

  Water rushed around him. The blue deepened, then lightened. The souls of the dead faded below him.

  The light became blinding.

  Then...

  ---

  Nael opened his eyes.

  Darkness. Total darkness.

  He tried to move. Something enveloped him. A thick, plastic material that stuck to his bare skin.

  A bag.

  He was trapped in a bag.

  Panic exploded in his chest.

  *Where am I?! What's happening?!*

  The plastic pressed against his face when he tried to breathe. The smell hit him—chemical, artificial, mixed with something else. Something dead.

  He was in a body bag.

  In a morgue.

  He struggled violently, scratching, pushing, hitting. His lungs burned. Air was lacking. The plastic clung to his mouth and nose when he tried to inhale.

  Claustrophobia crashed over him like a wave. The darkness. The confined space. The cold. The smell of death.

  His fingers found a seam. He clawed at it desperately, nails tearing the plastic.

  A hole.

  He widened the opening and finally managed to get his head through, gasping desperately.

  Cold air flooded his lungs. He inhaled. Again. Again.

  His lungs burned. His heart pounded violently in his chest.

  He was alive.

  **ALIVE.**

  Nael completely freed himself from the bag and fell to his knees on the cold tiled floor.

  Then he burst into sobs.

  Hot tears rolled down his cheeks. His shoulders shook. He cried like he had never cried in his entire life—great heaving sobs that shook his whole body.

  "Thank you... thank you... thank you..."

  He didn't even know who he was addressing. The mysterious being. God. The universe.

  It didn't matter.

  He was alive.

  Trembling, Nael brought his hands to his abdomen, where the criminal had touched him, where the explosion had opened a gaping hole.

  He felt his skin.

  Nothing.

  No wound. No scar. Not even a mark.

  His skin was smooth, intact, as if the explosion had never happened.

  *How... how is this possible?*

  He barely had time to process this information when a door opened abruptly.

  A nurse entered, clipboard in hand, humming softly.

  She looked up.

  Her gaze met Nael's.

  Alive. Naked. Kneeling in the middle of the morgue, surrounded by body bags, tears streaming down his face.

  The clipboard fell to the floor with a sharp sound.

  Her eyes widened enormously.

  Her mouth opened.

  Then a piercing scream burst from her throat, echoing throughout the corridor.

  "OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!"

  Other staff members rushed over, alerted by the screams.

  The head of service—a man in his fifties with a stern face and graying hair—stopped on the threshold. He observed the scene, eyes wide: the open body bag, the naked teenager, the hysterical nurse.

  He examined Nael from head to toe, his analytical mind already working.

  A seventeen-year-old boy. Declared dead barely an hour ago. Standing. Breathing. Crying.

  The chief understood immediately.

  If he had come back to life... then he had manifested a power.

  He discreetly pulled out his phone and sent a quick message, then turned to his colleagues with forced calm.

  "Someone find him clothes. Now."

  A few minutes later, Nael sat on a chair in a small room, wrapped in a thermal blanket. Someone had found him sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt.

  He was still trembling—not from cold, but from shock. From the crushing reality of being alive when he should be dead.

  The head of service sat across from him, studying him carefully.

  "How do you feel?"

  Nael took a long time to answer. His voice came out hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

  "I... I don't know. I was dead. I'm sure of it. And now... I'm here."

  The chief nodded slowly.

  "According to our records, you were declared dead exactly one hour and fourteen minutes ago. No pulse. No brain activity. You were clinically dead."

  He paused, choosing his words carefully.

  "But apparently, you manifested... a power. It's the only explanation for your resurrection."

  Nael lowered his eyes.

  A power.

  Was it really that? Or was it the mysterious being who had brought him back? The gift he had spoken of?

  He didn't know.

  The chief stood up.

  "We're going to contact your family. They'll want to know you're alive. In the meantime, rest. You've experienced something extraordinary."

  Nael nodded weakly.

  A single thought turned in his mind, obsessive, overwhelming:

  *I want to see my family again.*

  ---

  **End of Chapter 2**