Darkness pressed in from all sides—thick, suffocating. No air. No horizon. Only a crushing silence that felt like it could swallow me whole.
'…?'
The faintest vibration trembled in my chest. My lips moved. My throat worked. A voice—not mine —echoed back at me, muffled and new.
I had a mouth. A body. Fingers that twitched and flexed. Yet there was nothing to see, only a void so complete it felt like my own eyes were missing.
"Is this… the afterlife?" My words drifted away, absorbed by the dark. "Just endless emptiness? A void swallowing everything?"
Then—a flicker. A tremor of awareness like the first spark of a dying flame. Light slashed through the black as my eyelids fluttered open. The world swam back into focus in dim, sterile hues.
I wasn't floating in some cosmic abyss after all. I was sitting upright, strapped to a chair—cold leather pressing into my back, firm and unyielding. The soft hum of engines filled my ears, low and steady, like a heartbeat. Faint cabin lights glowed along curved walls.
A private plane.
My gaze drifted to the window, above the clouds. The sun was rising, spilling its golden hue across the horizon, and there they were—three colossal rings encircling the Earth, each one dwarfing anything humanity had ever built.
They drifted and rotated in silence, vast and deliberate, as if the planet itself were trapped within a set of titanic, orbiting gears. Their scale defied comprehension—spanning continents and oceans, moving with a slow, eternal rhythm that made the world below seem small and fragile. I knew instantly what they were: the three mega-rings.
"What…?" My throat tightened. My fingers dug into the armrest as fragmented memories stabbed through my skull—wet asphalt, a streetlamp flickering in the rain, a sudden flash of red.
The red.
My stomach lurched. "This isn't a dream…?"
I forced myself to stand. My legs wobbled as if I'd been asleep for days. Each step toward the back of the cabin felt like walking through someone else's body, yet it wasn't too unfamiliar.
'Whoosh.'
The automatic door slid open with a hiss, revealing a narrow corridor that led to a sectioned-off space. A small bathroom—sleek, sterile, washed in dim white light—waited at the end, its chrome edges gleaming faintly.
I stepped inside and caught sight of a stranger in the mirror. My breath hitched. A boy stared back—sharp eyes, pale skin, hair slightly disheveled. His expression was mine, but his face wasn't. Not mine. Not the one I remembered.
And across his mouth… a smear of red, trailing down his neck like a grotesque ribbon.
My fingers brushed the stain. It was sticky, dried. Blood. Not paint.
A bitter laugh escaped my throat before I could stop it. "I guess red really is my favorite color."
A folded towel sat neatly on the counter. I grabbed it and began scrubbing at the crimson streak, watching dark flakes crumble onto the pristine fabric. The white linen shirt beneath me bore its own constellation of blood drops—tiny, rust-colored stars across the pale fabric.
The stranger in the mirror sighed as I did. He mimicked my every move, every tremor of uncertainty. Water pooled in the sink as I continued to rinse away the dried stains, but the feeling of them clung stubbornly to my skin.
Rubbing my chin, with a smile, I addressed him, the reflection, the vessel I now occupied. "I guess you're dead, huh?"
His eyes didn't answer.
I had his memories—enough to know this wasn't my world. Enough to know this wasn't my body. If what I remembered was true, and I wasn't simply lying in some hospital bed hallucinating, then…
I let out a brittle chuckle, one that sounded far too old for the boy's throat. "Transmigration… huh. Guess it's real after all."
The thought crawled under my skin like a whisper.
That author… I should've known something was off from the moment he sent me that email. Of all people—me? Why would he want me as his editor?
I turned again to the mirror.
A flicker of surprise pulled at the corners of my mouth.
"Who are you? I don't believe I've ever described a character as handsome as you," I said, feeling the words strange as they slipped from my lips. Realizing how absurd the question sounded, I pressed my palm against my cheek, frustration bubbling up.
"Of course, I don't remember. You were already dead by then—you are just a side character."
The face staring back was unjustly perfect—messy black hair falling just so, sharp, defined features, and eyes that danced between green and gold. I tilted my head, examining every detail. Great. Even K-pop idols would envy this face.
I settled into the chair opposite the one from before, faint smudges of the kid's blood staining the seat in scattered patches.
My gaze drifted to the window, where my reflection stared back at me in the dim light. "We both had rough lives," I murmured, my voice steady, almost casual. "If this goes wrong, I might be dying twice and joining you soon."
I exhaled slowly, stretching my arms behind my head as though the thought didn't bother me at all. "But… if I make it through, I'll keep this promise. I'll protect your siblings. I'll fulfill your wish."
Leaning back in the chair, I glanced at my wrist. A slim, metallic bracelet hugged my skin, its surface smooth and dark, faint neon lines tracing intricate patterns across it.
I exhaled softly. "Natla," I said.
The bracelet's lines flared to life, projecting a small holographic sphere above my wrist. It hovered like a miniature star, flickering gently before a soft, pleasant voice spoke.
"Hello, Ma. Did you have a nice sleep?"
"Yes, Natla. Thanks for asking."
"I was worried," the AI continued. "Your heartbeat, body temperature, and other vital signs stopped or dropped drastically. I attempted to wake you multiple times. I concluded you were dead."
I smirked faintly, leaning back even further. "It was nothing. Forget it. I was pretending to play dead."
"Understood," Natla replied after a brief pause.
I rolled my shoulders, still feeling the faint ache from before. "How much longer until we reach Denver International Airport?"
The holographic sphere flickered to life, and Natla's voice responded clearly and professionally.
"Current speed: 460 miles per hour. Estimated time to destination: 50 minutes and 24 seconds. Conditions are stable. At this velocity, we will arrive smoothly without delay."
"Wake me up 10 minutes before landing," I asked, yawning
...
"Slurp."
Inside the sleek limousine, a man in the passenger seat leaned forward slightly, steam curling from the cup in his hand. "Turn the heater up," he said, his tone calm but commanding.
The driver hesitated, irritation flickering across his face. "Yes, sir," he replied reluctantly, adjusting the controls. "Hard to believe—it's been twelve years since these damn winter storms started. Feels like the world's been frozen ever since."
The man chuckled, eyes fixed on the frosted window. "Some people would call it the most peaceful days."
The driver risked a glance his way. "Peaceful? I'd call it miserable. Though…" He paused, measuring his words. "If you don't mind me asking, sir—what's got you in such a good mood today?"
The man swirled the last of his coffee, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Let's just say… today marks the end of a very long job."
With a smile, the man pulled the handle and stepped out of the limo. The biting cold made him reluctant; his black suit offered no protection,still he pushed through anyway.
Stretching his arms, he took a deep breath of the crisp, frosty air and leaned back against the car, letting the moment settle in.
After this, I wouldn't have to deal with that pain-in-the-ass kid anymore. All that remained was to report his death—then I'd be walking away with ten million dollars.
It had been seven years since I started working for that emotionless brat.
Taking a sip of his coffee, he grimaced as he recalled those years—how much he had hated dealing with the kid's incessant indecision, the maddening struggles over trivial things like picking clothes or debating what to eat. All those damn siblings were the same—robotic, and utterly infuriating.
'...'
Sorry, kid, but this is the world. One can only look out for oneself.
It's not like I have the power to save you anyway, but… I'll enjoy the money, though.
'Screech.'
Turning around, he tapped the limousine window. The driver rolled it down just enough to keep the snow out.
"Get out. Help carry the luggage."
The driver nodded quickly and stepped out without hesitation.
For my own safety, it would be better to have an alibi, even though I wouldn't be suspected—the body had been dead for a while, and the autopsy would confirm that. I'd be clear.
After the plane came to a full stop, we both walked toward it through the swirling snow, the cold biting at our faces as the engines whispered to a halt.
Walking toward the plane, a question popped into his mind—how exactly was that door supposed to open? He shrugged lightly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
Guess I'll just break it open and come up with a good excuse later.
Just as he reached the front of the plane, the door slid open with a soft hiss, flooding the snow-covered tarmac with a warm, golden light.
A young man stepped into the doorway, his presence cutting sharply through the cold. Tousled black hair framed his pale face, and his yellow-green eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, their calm intensity both captivating and unnerving. He wore a long, thick black fur coat draped over a sleek black shirt and tailored pants, the stark white tie at his collar the only hint of contrast.
"Hmm," I murmured, my voice calm and faint, like falling snow. "It really is quite cold."
After a brief pause, my eyes shifted toward the man in the black suit.
A faint smile crept across my lips—too soft to be friendly, too precise to be natural, the kind of smile that makes the air itself feel heavier. "Hello, Bael," I said softly. "Oh? What's wrong? Why are you sweating in weather this cold?"