In the dark nights of the city of Arcel, a 19-year-old boy sat alone in his dimly lit room. The walls were cracked, the ceiling stained with the remnants of water damage, and the only light came from a tired bulb that flickered more often than it shone.
He sat on the edge of his mattress—no frame, no sheets—staring at the floor as if it might offer answers to the questions that haunted him.
"What a boring life," he mumbled.
No family.No purpose.Not even a name that meant anything.
He had named himself Miz—a word he heard on a hospital screen the day he first woke up, alone. An orphan of unknown origin, he had nothing to hold onto. Not even dreams.
Then, without warning, the bulb above him flickered violently. Shadows stretched unnaturally across the walls, and the air grew still—heavier, colder.
And then, it appeared.
A tall figure materialized in the corner of the room, draped in a heavy black cloak that seemed to swallow light itself. Its face and form were hidden entirely in its shadows, yet its presence radiated something ancient and undeniable.
Miz blinked slowly, his expression unmoved. Another hallucination? A dream? It didn't matter.
Then, the figure spoke.
"Worry not, Miz. I am not a threat... but a warning."
Its voice was layered—like several voices speaking at once. Calm, yet carrying the weight of something unworldly.
"You live in a realm where only science is worshipped, where logic reigns and myths are dismissed. But the truth is deeper. Older. Deities exist—cold, powerful Judges who govern the balance of elements and fate. I am one of the three."
"I am the Judge of Death."
Miz narrowed his eyes slightly, unsure whether to scoff or run. But something told him to stay still.
"Each Judge, when the time comes, passes their power to a vessel. One soul, chosen not for their strength... but for their emptiness. For their pain. For their capacity to carry what others cannot."
"You are that vessel, Miz. My vessel."
The words hit like stones. Miz didn't react—his face stayed blank—but something inside him twitched. Vessel? Power? Death?
"I do not come to offer you a choice. This is fate, woven before your birth. My time is ending—soon, I will die. Not from time or decay, but by force."
A pause. Even the shadows seemed to listen.
"The other two Judges have fallen. Corrupted by the madness that follows immortality. They will come for me... and they will succeed."
The light flickered again. Miz felt his throat tighten.
"When I die, my essence—my memories, my power, and the pain of my eternal judgment—will fall upon you. You will carry my burden. You will become death."
Miz looked away, eyes falling to the floor. He didn't want this. He didn't want anything.
"I know you feel nothing. You think yourself broken. But in that void is space for something greater. This world will burn if left unchecked. You must rise—not as a hero, but as a vessel for what must be done."
A burning mark began to glow faintly on Miz's chest beneath his shirt. It stung like ice and fire at once.
"From this moment, your dreams will no longer be your own. My memories will come in fragments—visions, screams, blood. The agony of the vessel is not in the power gained, but in the suffering inherited."
Miz finally stood, knees shaking. He didn't understand all of it, but the weight was settling in.
"Prepare yourself, Miz. The first memory comes tonight."
And with that, the Judge vanished, as if swallowed by his own cloak. The shadows receded. The light bulb hummed quietly.
Miz stood alone in the room again. But everything had changed.
No longer nameless. No longer aimless.
Now… he had a fate.