In a bustling market, a small pharmacy stood tucked between stalls and chatter. From its doors, a black-haired boy walked out, a paper bag of supplies in his hand.
"Why do prices keep rising practically every day?" he muttered, sighing as he looked at the receipt.
As he turned the corner, something caught his eye—a child suddenly startled by a hissing stray cat. The kid stumbled backward... straight onto the road.
The sharp blast of a car horn shattered the air. Tires screeched.
The car was too fast.
Without thinking, the boy sprang forward. He grabbed the child with all his strength and yanked him away from the road. The kid landed safely on the curb.
But the boy—just a moment too late—stumbled.
The car hit him.
. . .
He opened his eyes.
He was now standing in a vast, majestic hall. At the far end sat an old man on a throne. In front of him stood the same black-haired boy, unharmed—yet the memory of the car’s impact lingered.
He could still feel it.
The deceleration.
The pain.
It hadn’t been instant. It had taken a few long, terrifying seconds for life to slip away.
The old man watched him patiently, sympathy in his gaze. After a pause, he spoke.
"You died."
The blunt words pulled the boy out of his daze. Crude as they were, there was something comforting about the tone. The boy let out a sigh and nodded slightly.
"May I ask what happens next?"
The old man leaned in, curious. "No crying? No bargaining? No threats?"
He already knew the answer but asked anyway.
The boy frowned, thoughtful. "Why would I? My life was short, yes, but... fulfilling. I don’t have any family left. I’ll miss my friends... but what is friendship in front of death?"
The old man chuckled. "Just fourteen, and already thinking like that."
He let out a sigh. "Well, it was my daughter—Fate—who shaped the life you lived. She gave you a path that forced early maturity. I’m sorry your life was hard... and so short."
The boy looked up at the man, a little surprised. He wasn’t foolish—he could sense this man was no ordinary being. Perhaps a god. Or something even higher.
And yet... he seemed so human.
"So... heaven or hell?" the boy asked.
"Neither," the old man replied. "Though they exist, I brought you here to offer an opportunity. You’ll be reincarnated into another world—with some gifts. Are you willing?"
The boy paused. "Why?"
The god simply smiled. "Why not?"
The boy blinked, taken aback by the simplicity of the answer. Then he smirked, amused.
"Will I get wishes of my choosing? Can I pick the world?"
The old man shook his head. "The Wheel of Fate will decide. Don’t worry—she was unkind to you in life, but she won’t be in death."
At that, a woman entered the room. Her skin was pale like candle wax, her limbs adorned with soft, shimmering scales. She carried three wheels and gently set them down before stepping aside with a kind smile.
"These wheels," the old man explained, "will determine your reincarnation."
He pointed to each one.
"The first chooses the world. The second grants a talent or bloodline. The third gives a gift—an item, a weapon, or even a celestial artifact."
The woman, silent and graceful, spun the first wheel.
Names blurred past—fictional worlds from books and movies the boy had read, strange Earth variants labeled with numbers like Earth-21.
The wheel stopped on Harry Potter.
The second wheel spun. It clicked into place on Ritual Talent.
The third came to a halt on an item called the Celestial Gourd.
"See?" the god said with a grin. "I told you—she wouldn’t be unkind to you in death."
The boy nodded, satisfied—even if he didn’t quite know what the Celestial Gourd was. The old man’s reaction told him it was something powerful.
"So what now?" he asked. "Will I be born holding a giant gourd? Poor future mother..."
The god burst out laughing. "No. You won’t regain your memories until you turn eight. The gourd will appear to you then. Reincarnation will begin in three hours—ideal conditions must be prepared."
The boy gave a small nod, then looked around.
"Would you both... like to spend time with me until then? And... what should I call you?"
He asked the second question sheepishly, realizing he hadn’t introduced himself or asked theirs.
The old man chuckled. "Call me God. And this is Vasuki."
He smiled warmly. "And yes—let’s have a little picnic."
Three hours later, the three of them sat in a beautiful garden. God and Vasuki sat on a mat surrounded by incredible food, while the boy ran around, playing with exotic creatures that seemed pulled from myths and dreams.
Laughter filled the air—carefree and light.
Eventually, the old man stood. "Time’s up," he said, his voice tinged with reluctance.
The boy returned to them, bowing his head. He thanked them both—God, for giving him another chance at life, and Vasuki, for her warmth and the wonderful food.
Both smiled.
As the final moment approached, Vasuki stepped forward. She pulled a shimmering scale from her arm and placed it in his hand.
"Here," she said gently. "A small gift. It may influence your fate... and might even alter the world you’re going to."
A warm light enveloped him.
The boy smiled one last time.
And then, with a soft flash—he was gone.