Life and death were two sides of the same coin.
You could not possess one without eventually paying the price with the other.
Yesterday, Karl's heart finally submitted its resignation.
It was not something sudden. It was not an accident or a cruel twist of fate that arrived without warning. It was something decided the moment he was born. From his very first breath, his life had been placed on borrowed time.
He was born with a curse—legs that would never carry him, and a heart that weakened a little more with each passing day. A disease that did not kill swiftly, but slowly, patiently, as if savoring every moment of suffering it caused.
Karl never ran.
He did not even know what walking felt like.
Once, when he was younger, curiosity overcame resignation. He had tried to crawl across the floor, dragging his useless legs behind him. His mother had seen him by accident. She had cried so hard that day that he remembered it more vividly than the pain in his limbs.
After that, he never tried again.
He was forbidden from doing anything that might strain his fragile heart. No traveling. No sitting upright for too long. Not even wandering aimlessly. The world existed beyond closed gates and hospital windows, but it was never meant for him.
So instead of a son, he became a responsibility.
Instead of a child, he became a burden.
Outside the closed door of his hospital room, muffled voices reached his ears. His parents were crying—far more than usual this time. There was no need for a doctor to explain anything.
This was the end.
Is this really how I die? Karl wondered.
He had not lived recklessly. He had not chased dreams or committed sins worth remembering. Most of his memories were of white walls, antiseptic smells, and needles piercing his skin one after another.
If there was one person he worried about, it was his sister.
The door opened softly.
Alina walked in and immediately took his hand. Her fingers were cold, trembling just like her breath. She struggled to speak, her lips quivering as if words themselves were too heavy.
"K–Karl…" she forced out, her voice breaking. "You… you must not leave me. What would I do without you?"
Karl knew no words could soothe her. After all, he was about to abandon her.
With what little strength he had, he lifted her hand and pressed it against his cheek. Their foreheads touched gently.
"Hey," he whispered, smiling faintly. "I'm not leaving you alone."
His voice was calm—far calmer than it should have been.
"I'll always watch you from up there."
The life he had lived was worthless trash, he thought bitterly. He had accomplished nothing. He had been a child no one should have. Not a good son. Not a good brother.
Alina finally broke.
This was the first time Karl had ever seen her cry openly in front of him. She was always the strong one, always hiding her tears, always smiling so he wouldn't feel guilty.
All of it—for him.
The numb pain in his chest worsened, spreading like a slow poison, but he did not let it show. Not even now. He did not want her last memory of him to be one of weakness.
At the doorway, his parents stood frozen. His mother clutched his father's arm, sobbing silently. Neither of them could bring themselves to step inside.
Everything was falling apart.
Karl hugged Alina one last time.
It was a farewell no one should ever have to face.
His breathing became uneven. Each inhale felt incomplete, as though his lungs no longer understood their purpose.
"Don't worry," he whispered, barely audible.
"I'll come back for you. I love you… a lot, sis."
Alina said something—he was sure of it—but her voice faded into nothing. His vision blurred, her face dissolving into shadows.
Then, there was nothing.
When consciousness returned, Karl no longer had a body.
He existed as a small sphere of light, drifting in absolute nothingness. Countless other lights surrounded him—endless, silent, all moving along the same invisible path.
He followed them.
Perhaps this was the afterlife. Perhaps heaven. Or perhaps something else entirely.
At least this time, he thought faintly, I'll be able to walk. To run. To live.
Suddenly, a powerful force tore him away.
In an instant, he found himself floating before an enormous golden throne. A woman sat upon it—vast, incomprehensible, her presence overwhelming. Around her, countless human-shaped souls worked in perfect silence.
Is she a goddess?
Should I bow?
He had no body. No mouth.
Her voice echoed directly within his existence.
[You do not need to speak. Listen.]
Authority crushed down upon him.
Disobedience felt impossible.
[You are a pitiful soul. The life you lived was never meant to be yours. One of the gods made a mistake and placed your soul into the wrong vessel.]
A mistake.
Wrong body.
The realization felt like a mountain collapsing onto him.
Was my entire life… just divine negligence?
The woman's eyes held no regret. No compassion. Only absolute authority—an aura beyond definition.
[Yes. It was a mistake. And I will correct it.]
[Three vessels exist whose bodies and
energy perfectly align with yours. Choose one, and you shall be reincarnated.]
Reincarnation.
Only two of the vessels were dead. An old man. And a newborn child.
Karl chose without hesitation.
The world twisted violently.
When he opened his eyes again, he stared at an unfamiliar ceiling. Cold stone pressed against his bare back. His limbs refused to obey him.
A monstrous figure loomed above—towering, red-skinned, curved horns crowning its head.
Am I going to die the moment I'm reborn?
Tears spilled freely as his newborn body cried.
The demon shifted awkwardly, muttering strange words he couldn't understand. He picked Karl up with a single hand, Karl's small body wrapped easily around his thick fingers.
The door opened.
The monster transformed into a handsome human man.
Relief washed over Karl as a woman gently took him into her arms, rocking him softly. Hunger overpowered pride.
This is humiliating, he thought as he fed.
But survival came first.
Elsewhere, the goddess watched as a portal the size of a mountain opened. A winged man descended before her, folding his wings calmly.
[Your plan is dangerous.]
She looked away.
[I am saving heaven itself.]
[Unless you have a better plan, remain silent.]
Thus, everything began.
Was reincarnation a gift—
or a curse?