There was no light.
There was no sound.
There was no sensation of a body.
Duong Minh did not know whether he was "existing" or "not existing."
The first thing he felt upon realizing that was absolute fear — a fear so total it couldn't even be named, for there was nothing to grasp onto, not even a body with which to tremble.
He tried to open his eyes, but there were no eyelids to open. He tried to scream, but there was no throat, no air to vibrate. Even the notion of "movement" became a luxury.
There was only a tiny point within immeasurable vastness — himself — "thinking that he was thinking."
Time had passed for who knew how long. It might have been a single breath. It might have been a hundred years.
"Am I... dead?"
A faint strand of thought escaped him, only to dissolve instantly into the dense black void.
No one answered. No echo returned. No response proved that he still existed.
Then, within that measureless dark, something strange occurred. Not light. Not sound. Only the slightest vibration — like the surface of water rippling from a grain of dust falling upon it.
That vibration carried intention.
A voice not made of sound resonated, distant and impossible to measure:
"Can you hear me?"
Duong Minh could not respond, but unconsciously, his thoughts flickered.
And in that very instant, for the first time after endless darkness, he felt the sensation of "hearing," though not with ears.
"Good. There is a response."
The voice was soft, gentle as falling mist, carrying within it a strange rhythm that calmed his mind for reasons he couldn't explain.
"Who are you?"
He couldn't speak — only think — yet the thought traveled outward.
"Lyra."
"My name is Lyra. You don't need a mouth here. Just 'think,' and I will hear you."
Each word seemed to touch the surface of his soul. Duong Minh didn't know where "she" was, yet the outline of a female figure gradually formed within his awareness — indistinct, blurred, yet radiating a warm light.
He asked again, trembling through thought:
"Where am I? Is this hell?"
"No."
"You are in the 'intermediate zone,' where souls linger temporarily after departing matter."
"Then... I truly am dead."
A terrifying emptiness flooded him. Images of his former world — the small apartment, the yellow lamplight, the computer screen, the cup of coffee still warm — flashed briefly, then dissolved like smoke.
Lyra didn't offer comfort. Her voice flowed like still water:
"Yes. But death is not the end. It is merely another beginning."
Duong Minh would have laughed, had he still possessed lips.
"A beginning? What kind of 'beginning' starts by being swallowed whole by nothingness?"
"Focus," Lyra said. "Don't let your thoughts scatter. Think of... a point of light."
"A point of light?"
"Yes. In this intermediate zone, thought is your only tool. If you wish to 'see,' imagine it. If you wish to 'hear,' shape it within your mind. This world responds to consciousness, not to the body."
Duong Minh tried. He concentrated on a single, simple idea: light.
At first, nothing happened.
Then — like a hairline crack splitting the darkness — a thin silver gleam flickered.
Weak, trembling, but real.
He clutched it like a man dying of thirst seizing a drop of water. He held fast to that thought, and the light grew clearer.
Within that glow, for the first time, he "saw" himself — not a body of flesh, but a faint humanoid silhouette, shimmering like vapor.
Lyra spoke gently:
"Good. You are learning to use intent. That is the first step of an awakened soul."
"Awakened..."
The word echoed strangely in the void.
Something within him — the part that had doubted, that had despaired — began to stir.
"Now try to sense your surroundings."
Duong Minh obeyed.
The invisible world shifted. It was no longer pure darkness but a vast gray sea, undulating like mist. Within it floated countless small lights — each one an intention, a fragment of memory, perhaps even another soul.
"What is this?"
"Residual thoughts. Souls that aren't strong enough dissolve here, becoming dust within the Digital Ocean."
She paused, then continued slowly:
"If you don't learn to control your intent, you will dissolve as they did."
A freezing current passed through his spiritual form. He looked — or rather, sensed — around him and saw dim streaks of light fading into the mist, like the final breaths of those who had forgotten who they once were.
"I don't want to disappear."
This time, his thought carried strength, causing the glow around him to tremble.
"Good. The desire to exist is the first step toward survival."
Lyra's voice was light as wind, yet each word held weight enough to make the space tremble.
"Now I will teach you how to 'anchor your intent.' Imagine a thread connecting your mind to that point of light. Don't let it break, no matter what happens."
Duong Minh followed her guidance. A thin silver thread appeared, trembling within the void. Invisible gusts swept through, causing it to sway, but he held it tightly, refusing to let go.
The light gradually steadied, then widened — like a window opening within the mist.
Through that window, he saw Lyra clearly for the first time.
A young girl, hair white as luminous fiber, eyes tranquil and blue. She possessed no material form — only light woven into the shape of a human figure — yet her gaze carried boundless knowledge.
"Now you can 'see.' Welcome to the Digital Ocean."
Duong Minh said nothing. He simply looked at her, then around him — the sea of mist, the drifting soul-lights, the strange stillness enveloping everything.
For a moment, he didn't know whether what he felt was fear... or reverence.
"Lyra... what must I do next?"
"Live again."
Her voice was soft as breath.
"Not through flesh. Through consciousness. You must learn how to exist here — where souls can learn, fight, and evolve."
"And if I fail?"
"Then you will return to nothingness."
There was no threat in her voice — only the statement of a natural law.
Duong Minh fell silent. At last, he nodded — a meaningless gesture in a non-material space, yet the acceptance within his thought spread outward, and the light around him brightened slightly.
Lyra smiled faintly.
"Good. First lesson: never forget that intent is existence."
Within the endless sea of mist in the Digital Ocean, a soul had just learned how to open his eyes again.
His name was Duong Minh.
And ahead of him lay countless lessons in how to survive in the world of the dead — those who had not yet found rest.