Ravan died at the age of eighteen.
It wasn't a long death, nor a painful one. At least not physically. He had been sick for two weeks, tested positive for a new variant of COVID, and despite medications, his oxygen dropped. The hospital had no ICU bed available, and his mother had cried silently in the hallway while nurses tried to stabilize him. But he never woke up after that last breath.
There was no bright light, no tunnel, and no flash of memories. It just… ended.
At first, it felt like sleep. Cold, floating sleep. Then, nothingness. Not darkness, not silence, but a strange, empty space where even thoughts felt disconnected. He didn't feel fear or sadness. He didn't feel anything.
And yet, Ravan existed.
He wasn't the only one.
In that same endless space, seven other souls drifted quietly. They were not visible to each other at first, but one by one, like candles in a dark room, awareness began to return. No words were exchanged. No names. Just presence. They were all dead. That much they somehow understood.
Then something changed.
It wasn't light or sound. It was more like recognition — a shift, like something or someone had just turned attention toward them.
And then the space twisted.
Not violently. It bent. As if the rules of gravity and shape didn't matter anymore. A pull stronger than thought itself dragged them all toward something that wasn't there before. Like being sucked into a vortex that had no color, no voice, but had will.
A voice entered their minds.
> "You died. But your story isn't over."
There was no sound, yet they all heard it. No source, yet they all knew who spoke. Not a god from any religion they knew. Not a holy voice. Just a being far beyond them. A god — but not their god.
> "You don't need to understand everything. I will make it simple."
Images formed in their minds. Not visions, but thoughts. A world — foreign and unstable. Mountains suspended mid-air. Cities cracked like broken glass. Oceans turned purple and still. A sky stitched with torn clouds and ash. Beasts made of metal and bone roamed freely, and twisted creatures slept beneath the roots of a dying tree that seemed to hold the sky.
> "This is Actroisis. My world. My story. But I am powerless here. The rules I wrote once bind me now. I created this world through a novel. And now, it is falling apart."
They saw flashes of pages, of stories once written — magical wars, hero myths, divine rebellions — now collapsing.
> "I can only intervene once. At the beginning. That time is now."
Ravan understood something then. This god had made a mistake — a mistake he could not fix. He had created something alive, but he was not part of its life. A creator locked out of his own world. A world that now needed saving, but he couldn't touch it. So he needed others.
> "You eight were chosen not for your power or virtue. But because you were drifting. Because your souls were still warm with potential."
One girl among them asked a question in her mind. Not with lips, but thought.
> "What do you want us to do?"
> "Live in this world. Learn it. Save it. If you can. You'll each be given one ability. A unique power. Not a cheat, not invincibility. Something you choose, or if you cannot, I will give you one."
Another soul asked, calmly.
> "And if we fail?"
> "You disappear. No afterlife. No second chance."
Simple.
The eight souls floated silently, thoughts heavy but wordless. Some felt fear. Some didn't know what to feel. But they all felt real — more than when they had first arrived.
> "Your new lives begin now. Choose your power. You have one minute."
A timer appeared. Not visually, but mentally. A countdown. 60… 59… 58…
Some chose quickly. Some hesitated.
The girl with white hair, who used to be a scientist in her past life, asked for a power that would help her evolve anything — to know what materials or skills are needed to upgrade anything she touched.
The boy with red hair wanted to burn things, to protect and to destroy. He chose fire weapon creation — the ability to create and control weapons made from flame.
The girl with blue hair — calm, focused — wanted to fight using water. Not magic blasts, but pure physical control. She chose water-based martial arts.
The green-haired boy had always loved machines. In life, he fixed clocks and motors. He chose mechanical mastery — the ability to understand and create functional machines from available parts.
The girl with pink hair — quiet and always observing — chose gravity manipulation, the ability to bend weight and pull, but only in limited fields around her.
The yellow-haired boy was reckless. He liked things that exploded. His power was thunder bomb creation — the ability to create explosive charges powered by electric force.
The purple-haired boy was once a chemist. He chose acid weaponry, letting him coat weapons in acidic energy that melts through surfaces.
And then there was Ravan.
He didn't speak. He didn't move. His thoughts were slow, careful.
He had been a gamer. A serious one. Played MMORPGs, action strategy, survival sims. He knew one thing — balance mattered. He didn't want overwhelming strength. He wanted a system.
> "I want to be a gamer. I want a system — stats, inventory, leveling up, currency. Just like in the games I played."
The god was silent for a moment.
Then:
> "Accepted. You will begin at Level 1. No skills. No money. You must earn everything. Just like a real game."
Ravan agreed. He wanted that.
And then — without warning — they fell.
The eight souls dropped, scattered through the sky of a foreign world. Like meteorites with no flame. The sky was dark violet, lit by two moons. Below, the land was wild — plains, mountains, shattered castles, forests where leaves glowed faint green. None of it looked stable. It looked like a dream stitched with nightmares.
Ravan landed first.
He wasn't hurt. The ground was soft grass. He stood up slowly and looked at his hands. He wore strange clothes — part leather, part cloth, like a novice adventurer. His body felt healthy. His vision was clear. His breath was steady. And then a sound echoed in his mind.
> [Welcome, Player Ravan.]
[Level: 1 | HP: 100 | MP: 30 | Inventory: Empty]
A faint transparent screen hovered in front of his eyes. Like a game HUD. He blinked — it disappeared. Blinked again — it returned.
> "It's real," he said softly. His first words since death.
Not far from him, a flame erupted. The red-haired boy had landed. Then a stream of water danced in the air — the blue-haired girl arrived. One by one, the others fell near him, safe but confused, waking up to a world that wasn't theirs.
None of them spoke much.
They didn't know where they were on the map. They didn't know what quest awaited them. No enemies appeared. No tutorial.
Just silence. A new dawn.
And then, across the horizon, the sky cracked.
A line of white light stretched like a wound in the sky. The earth trembled slightly. Birds with crystal wings flew away from the forest in swarms.
The world was breaking.
And now, it was their responsibility.