2,500 feet above the rolling fields of nowhere, the Cessna Skyhawk coughed once then went dead quiet.
The engine sputtered, hiccupped, and died. The propeller slowed to a windmill, slicing the air in useless circles.
Noah Vale's heart froze for a fraction of a second, then training took over.
"Shit… this is happening."
Airspeed — 65 knots.
Pitch for best glide. Keep the nose steady. Don't panic.
The cockpit was eerily still without the engine's roar. Only the sound of air whispering against the fuselage filled the silence. Noah's eyes darted to the gauges — oil pressure dropping, fuel still reading half-full, mixture rich, mags both. No warning lights.
He switched tanks. Nothing.
Carb heat on. Nothing.
Primer in and locked. Still nothing.
"Come on, you bastard," he muttered, trying to coax life from a dead engine.
He gave the starter one last desperate crank the prop twitched, but it was over.The engine had quit for good. Noah exhaled through his teeth. "Alright, fine. Glide it in."
He scanned the horizon. Woods to the east. Power lines to the south. A stretch of uneven terrain behind him. Then there. A medium-sized flat field, maybe a thousand feet long, freshly harvested. It wasn't perfect, but it was the best he'd get.
He set up his glide. Trimmed for 65 knots. Checked the wind direction from the west, lightly.
Good enough. He ran through the mental checklist again the one every student drilled into their skull:
Airspeed 65 knots.
Best place to land — the field.
Checklist.
Fuel selector — off.
Mixture — idle cutoff.
Carb heat — on.
Primer — locked.
Magnetos — off.
Mayday call — no time. Instead I can activate the ELT and squawk 7700.
Seatbelts — secure.
He looked down. The field grew larger, clearer. His shadow skimmed across it like a ghost.
Noah felt the calm that sometimes comes right before impact a focused, almost mechanical clarity. He'd done everything right. Every decision perfect.
He was going to make it.
He cleared a line of trees at the edge, dropped flaps to 30°, and aimed for the center of the field. The Skyhawk floated down, graceful despite its helplessness.
Then he saw it a wire fence running across the middle, half-buried in the grass.
"Shit"
The left main gear hit first. The impact jarred his spine. Then the left wing clipped the fence post. The plane yawed violently, the right wing catching dirt, flipping the aircraft onto its back.
The windshield shattered. The world became a blur of sky, earth, and fire.
Noah's last thought wasn't fear it was disbelief.
For a moment, he thought of nothing. Then the weight of everything he'd just lost crashed through him harder than the impact.
His sister's graduation he promised he'd make. His father's old logbook sitting on the dresser, full of signatures from a lifetime of flights. The late night calls with Mia, who always told him to be careful, always teased that he was married to the sky. His friends, the laughter, the plans, the easy certainty that tomorrow was guaranteed.
All of it gone. Just like that.
His goals, his career, the future he was building piece by piece. He'd done everything right, followed the checklist, trusted the training… and still, the world took it all.
As the fire spread through the wreckage, the last thing that passed through his fading consciousness wasn't fear it was regret. Not for dying, but for leaving everything unfinished.
He'd done everything right.
And still, he lost.
When he opened his eyes, there was no wreckage. No burning fuel. No field.
Just silence.
He stood or maybe floated in an endless white expanse. The light had no source. The air had no temperature. His flight uniform was spotless, and his body felt… light.
He turned around slowly. The Cessna was gone.
Then, a voice:
"Hell of a landing, pilot."
Noah spun around.
Someone something sat cross-legged before him. A man with silver eyes and a half-smile that never reached them. His presence radiated calm amusement, like a cat toying with its prey.
He wore what looked like a mix of a robe and a suit, ink-black fabric that shimmered faintly, as if space itself had been stitched into it.
Noah blinked. "Where… where am I?"
"Between," the man said simply. "I'm Elaris. You died."
The words hit harder than the crash. "No. No, I… I almost landed"
"Almost," Elaris interrupted, his tone light, almost teasing. "That fence post didn't like you much." Noah swallowed hard. "You're telling me I'm dead?"
"Yes." Elaris gestured lazily, and suddenly, behind him, a massive golden wheel appeared floating, slowly spinning. Its outer rim glowed with countless names, symbols, and runes, none of which Noah could read.
"This," Elaris said, "is the Wheel of Continuance. Everyone gets one spin. Where it stops determines your next life."
Noah stared at it. "So this is… reincarnation?"
"More or less." Elaris's smile widened. "It's usually random, but I admit" he tilted his head, "your death amused me. So I'll let you spin it yourself."
Noah hesitated. "You're serious?"
"Completely."
Elaris gestured toward the wheel. The air hummed faintly as Noah approached. His hand trembled not from fear, but from the weight of it all.
He grabbed one of the handles and gave it a spin.
The wheel roared to life. Colors bled and shifted. Symbols flashed past worlds, universes, realms until finally, it slowed, clacking like a dying clock.
It stopped on a symbol shaped like a fractured sun.
Elaris's smirk faded slightly.
"Oh."
Noah frowned. "Oh? What's 'oh'?"
Elaris clasped his hands behind his back. "You, my friend, just landed Thanis Prime a rather… unforgiving universe. High mortality rate. Constant warfare. The things there make your last crash look merciful."
Noah's stomach dropped. "You're kidding."
"Do I look like I'm kidding?" Elaris sighed. "Still, rules are rules. You spun it. You go."
A silence hung between them. Then, Elaris's expression softened just a little.
"You know what? You made me laugh. I haven't laughed in decades." He snapped his fingers, and a faint, electric pulse shot through Noah's chest.
"Consider it a gift," Elaris said. "A second chance of sorts. The ability to clone yourself. One becomes two. Two becomes many. Let's see what you do with that."
Noah blinked, gripping his chest as the light faded. "Clone myself? What the hell am I supposed to"
Elaris waved dismissively. "You'll figure it out. They always do."
The white world began to crumble into motes of light. The floor if there ever was one vanished beneath his feet.
"Good luck, pilot," Elaris said, voice echoing faintly. "Try not to crash this time."
The light swallowed Noah whole.
And then
He awoke.