Darkness consumed him—unlike the end Silver had imagined. It wasn't the chill of a tomb or the serenity of eternal sleep. It was a structured chaos, alive.
Without a body, he still felt—vertigo, a pressure that should've destroyed him, but instead molded him. A deep hum, as if the universe itself were breathing, vibrated in his essence. Was he floating? Frozen? Space was paradoxical: a tiny dot, an infinite abyss. Impossible colors pulsed, intertwining in geometric forms; nebulas collapsed into grains, stars died in an instant. Time dissolved—past, present, future melding together, echoes of a fever dream.
The irony of his death struck hard. Betrayed by Julie, destroyed by Daniel, escaping to the island only to be pierced by scrap metal? The pain still burned, along with the word he whispered before blacking out: chance. Why? Was it the scientist in him, craving one more experiment? Or rage, defying the end? He didn't know. Only that fury burned hot as lava, and a void mocked him, like the moon that watched him fall.
The void trembled. A cutting cold sliced through his awareness, as if gaining teeth. Distant stars flickered—not with light, but something alive. A voice echoed, calm, precise, sharp as an obsidian blade.
"Chance. A bold word for someone who ended so... abruptly."
Silver tried to move—no body, no direction. A figure hovered before him, tall—about 6'1"—cloaked in a mantle that looked woven from darkness and galaxies. Long black hair shimmered like a living constellation, speckled with stars. Crimson eyes stared at him with a timeless intensity, not mocking—just cold curiosity.
"Who are you?" Silver asked, rage sparking without lungs. "Is this hell? Because I've been through worse."
The figure answered, voice steady, unwavering:
"I am Fate, God of Destiny, the one who weaves the threads of cycles. You, Silver, are an anomaly. You died off-schedule—Russian plane, treacherous shrub, sharp scrap metal. An... inconvenient end."
"Inconvenient?" Silver nearly screamed—if souls could scream. "I got skewered like a kebab and you call that inconvenient?"
"A minor event, on the scale of the cosmos," Fate said, crimson eyes unblinking. "Stars collapse, worlds unravel. Your death, however, brought something unique: your rage, your refusal to vanish. That intrigues me."
Silver wanted to argue, but curiosity—the same that led him to that damned shrub—spoke louder.
'Seriously, universe? Another trap?'
"What do you want from me?" he asked, voice thick with distrust. "Some experiment for your amusement?"
Fate moved a hand, and the void bent. A ring of stars formed, sustaining a glowing interface: Samsara System. It resembled an advanced OS, data pulsing like living circuits, a weight that made Silver's soul tremble.
'A cosmic computer?' he thought, the scientist in him already analyzing.
"You asked for a chance," Fate said, voice firm. "I shall grant it—under my conditions. The Samsara System will guide your soul through cycles of reincarnation, each with a purpose. Choose a path. Three options, each with a price."
Silver stared at the interface, his instincts sharp.
'A computer system governing my soul? That's tech, not destiny.'
"First option," Fate began, tone neutral. "Your soul reincarnates into a new body but remains dormant until adolescence or equivalent. You awaken with memories, but as an observer—unable to act, watching the life unfold like a ghost. You may take control, but only if your soul overpowers the host's and an extreme event—trauma or revelation—breaks the mind. The Samsara System activates upon awakening."
"Watching like a passenger?" Silver scoffed. "Stuck in a loop till life crushes me? Hard pass."
"Second option: your soul awakens at birth, fully conscious—sight, touch, pain, everything. But the body obeys worldly laws. You feel every second without control. The Samsara System is present, but dormant, until balance is disrupted."
"Feel everything and do nothing?" Silver retorted. "That's a cage, not a chance. Next."
"Third option: full reincarnation, no memories. You're born a blank slate, with the Samsara System active from the start. Your body will be marked by destiny—an arduous beginning, but no guarantees. No Julie, no Daniel, no island. Just you and the system, starting from zero."
Silver hesitated. Erasing betrayal, the pain—it was tempting. But it felt like giving up on himself. He eyed Fate, sniffing out a trap.
"You're testing me, huh? What's the cost of all this?"
Fate replied, voice firm and emotionless:
"The cost is experience. Each cycle is an experiment, Silver. Live a life, die, return to me. Ask one question—just one—and choose: test another cycle or fix your path. The Samsara System will follow you, with my influence to... guide."
Silver tried to process it. An iterative system, like software testing? Intriguing. But the weight of the interface made him doubt.
Chance. The word still burned—a stubborn echo.
'The third option calls. No memories—I could absorb the world free of Julie, Daniel, or NASA. Pure knowledge. Later, I'll use it.'
"Alright, Fate," he said, voice defiant. "Give me a moment before I become your experiment."
The void seemed to wait.
'Three paths, each with its bugs…' Silver thought, his soul swaying between anger and caution.
'The third lets me learn from zero, no baggage. Risky—but useful next time.'
"I've decided," he announced. "Third option. I want to know the world without bias, absorb everything, and use it later."
Fate nodded, galactic hair rippling.
"So be it. May your life reveal what your soul conceals."
With a gesture, the void consumed everything—sight, sound, sensations, even memory. All that remained was instinct.
That void lasted months, an absolute silence where time didn't exist. Then, light burst forth, raw and blinding. A baby's cry shattered the stillness—in a pristine room, smelling of disinfectant and polished wood.
The house screamed wealth: white walls, expensive paintings, servants moving like shadows. No name, no past, no rage. Just instinct. And a void demanding no answers.
The Samsara System, supposedly active, was silent—as if the program never booted.
The baby was named Kenji, picked without affection by his parents. He grew up in a vibrant Japanese city, neon signs clashing with his home's emotional coldness.
The Nakajima family was wealthy: Hiroshi, a multinational executive, and Aiko, an event planner for the elite, lived between meetings and appearances. But arguments were constant.
At six, during dinner, Hiroshi pointed his chopsticks at Kenji.
"You're slow, Kenji!" he barked. "My secretary said your teacher called you average. Average! A Nakajima is not average!"
Aiko frowned, adjusting her pearl necklace.
"He's six, Hiroshi. Stop pressuring him."
"Pressuring?" Hiroshi snapped. "I'm preparing him for reality!"
Kenji stirred his rice, eyes on the plate. Why are they yelling? The question vanished, without echo.
At ten, another fight. Kenji brought home mediocre grades. Hiroshi slammed the papers on the table.
"This is unacceptable!" he roared. "We pay for the best schools and you shame us?"
"Maybe he just doesn't like studying," Aiko suggested. "We could hire a tutor."
"Tutor? He needs discipline!" Hiroshi snapped.
Kenji left the table, ignored, and locked himself in his room.
At twelve, after Hiroshi shouted that a math grade of seven "dishonored the Nakajima name", Kenji stopped going out.
"I'm sick," he lied, voice muffled behind the door.
Aiko knocked, persistent.
"Kenji, open up! Let's talk! You have to go to school!"
"Leave me alone," he replied flatly.
She tried for weeks, leaving gourmet food trays—sushi, tempura, French desserts. Hiroshi, away on business, sent messages: Be a man, Kenji. He deleted them unread.
[author] Author's Note:
Silver's death opened the gates of chaos! A cosmic void, an enigmatic system, and a life that explains nothing. What is this place? Will Silver find his "chance" or lose himself in the echoes of nothingness? Share your theories![/author]
His room became a refuge. White walls, blackout curtains, the computer screen his only sun. Online games, forums, anime—a reality that required no effort.
The Nakajima wealth kept it going: a new PC each year, fiber internet, expensive meals he barely touched. Kenji wasn't strong or weak; he was just... there. Fingers on keyboard, eyes on pixels, heart beating out of habit.
At sixteen, Aiko tried again, voice tired through the door.
"Kenji, we have connections. We can get you into a top university abroad! Please come out."
"I don't want to," he said, clicking a game.
"Your father thinks you're a failure," she murmured. "He wants to send you to boarding school."
"Let him," Kenji replied, emotionless.
The boarding school never came.
At twenty, Hiroshi forced the door open, face red.
"This is unacceptable!" he shouted. "You're a Nakajima! Leave this room or I'll cut you off!"
Kenji looked at him, eyes empty.
"Go ahead," he said, turning back to the game.
Hiroshi stormed out, but the money kept coming—bills paid, house pristine.
At twenty-three, Aiko slipped a note under the door:
Kenji, we have a psychologist appointment. Please go.
He threw it away.
At twenty-five, Hiroshi died—heart attack. Aiko told him over the intercom, voice broken.
"Your father is gone, Kenji. The funeral's tomorrow."
Kenji paused his game, glanced at the screen, and resumed playing.
I feel nothing, he thought, weightlessly.
At thirty, Aiko made one last attempt, knocking weakly.
"Kenji, it's just me now," she said. "We could travel, see the world. We have so much money... Why do you do this?"
"I don't know," he replied, eyes fixed on the screen.
She never came back.
Life became a loop: wake at 3 p.m., game, eat cold sushi, post on forums as ShadowKen, sleep at 6 a.m. Sometimes the internet failed—he grumbled—but apathy devoured all.
At thirty-four, the room reeked of mold, despite staff cleaning. Kenji, thinner, balding, clicked on a forum when his chest tightened. Just indigestion, he thought, ignoring the arm pain. The world spun. He fell from the chair, eyes wide, screen flickering.
A mechanical voice echoed:
Samsara System activated. Alert: Vital collapse detected. Death imminent in 12 seconds.
He didn't understand.
The pain crushed everything, and darkness returned.
Kenji's soul—or what remained—was ripped from the body, like an invisible thread tugged free. He fell into a frozen void—no light, no sound, only the weight of indifference.
Months passed—or moments—until the void opened.
Distant stars blinked. The cosmic hum returned. The Samsara System interface pulsed before him, like a computer waking from deep sleep.
Silver awoke at the threshold, star-ring pulsating like a warning.
Something was wrong.
He was Silver—the fury at Julie, Daniel, the cursed shrub still burned. But there was another: a nameless echo, an immaculate room, ignored arguments, apathy heavy as fog.
Memories collided—flame versus void. Silver fought to remain himself, while the other hovered, a weightless specter.
The Samsara System announced:
Soul consolidation initiated.
Silver's essence absorbed the other—forums, solitude, meaningless years. The echo didn't vanish; it became a shadow, clinging to his soul.
Fate was there, crimson eyes steady, galactic hair still.
"How was your life, Silver?" he asked, voice calm, without mockery. "An existence without marks or purpose?"
Silver, stunned, felt two lives entwining. The rage of betrayal now carried the other's apathy—a silence from a room that never opened.
"Why do I feel him?" he murmured, voice cracking. "This... echo's dragging me down."
Fate replied, voice sharp:
"Because you were him, Silver. Your soul lived that life, chose indifference, seclusion. The Samsara System fused your lives so you wouldn't lose yourself in a sea of memories. Otherwise, how long before you turned schizophrenic?"
Silver was silent, Fate's words a crushing weight. Carrying that echo meant bearing a void he couldn't grasp.
"One question," he recalled, voice hesitant yet firm. "Why... why did I choose that? To live like that, with nothing?"
"Because your soul sought rest," Fate said, red eyes glowing. "After betrayal, after pain, you wanted emptiness. That life was your choice—even if you didn't know it."
Silver felt rage trembling, now mixed with the other's fog.
"Choose," Fate continued, voice unwavering. "Another cycle, another path? Or will you carry this echo forever?"
The void waited, as Silver, caught between flame and mist, searched for his answer.