Endless, blinding white stretched in every direction.
Wally's eyes snapped open. He lay on cold, smooth ground that felt like marble. His hands flew to his chest. No broken bones. No blood. He was whole.
But he remembered the fall. The wind. The ground rushing up.
"I should be dead," he whispered.
A groan came from his right.
Chris lay a few meters away, white hair stark against the pale floor. Eyes closed, chest rising and falling.
Rage hit Wally like a punch. He tried pushing himself up, but he couldn't. His legs felt numb, almost paralyzed.
"You bastard—" he started crawling toward the boy.
"Don't bother."
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. Wally froze.
A man appeared a few steps in front of him—tall, golden hair flowing like liquid sunlight, wearing a simple white robe. His eyes were ancient, amused. Four angelic wings stretched from his back.
Wally took a step back. "Who the hell are you? God?"
The man laughed, a sound that filled the space. "God? It's been a long time since I heard that one. No. I'm just the one assigned to this station. Call me the Arbiter if you want a title."
Wally glanced at Chris again. "So… we're dead."
"Very."
"This is—"
"The in-between," the Arbiter finished. "Not heaven, not hell. A checkpoint. From here, we decide if souls go home, to the void, or… elsewhere."
Wally's throat went dry. We? Never mind. He stayed on the floor, staring up at the figure.
"That means you can send me back home?"
"Yes. Precisely."
"Home. I want to go home."
The Arbiter tilted his head. "Possible. But the manner of your death carries consequences. Return means living without the use of your legs."
Wally froze. "Legs… I can't… no, no, no."
He looked at the Arbiter. "Is there another option?"
"Of course… another world, entirely different. Your legs work there. You start fresh."
Wally wanted to say no. He had a life—his parents, his sister, Mael. Questions he wanted to ask. But coming back meant paralysis. Forever. Because of Chris.
He looked at the white-haired boy. Memories flashed—years of torment, beatings, fear spreading like poison.
"And him?" Wally asked quietly.
The Arbiter's smile faded. "The void. Eternal isolation. His worst fears made real, regrets replayed endlessly. He earned it."
Wally's fists tightened. Part of him wanted exactly that. But another part—the one every human carried—hesitated. Chris was ruthless, yes, but still just a kid.
Pity.
Yes. The hatred was there, but it wasn't enough to strip him of humanity. Even a cruel human shouldn't face total suffering.
"What if…" Wally began, then stopped.
"Speak," the Arbiter said, raising an eyebrow.
"What if he got a real chance to change?"
"Redemption is rare. Not my department."
Wally met his gaze. "Send us together. Another world. If he's beyond saving, let that world prove it. If not… maybe he becomes something else."
The Arbiter studied him. Silence stretched, heavy as stone.
"You would share your second chance with the one who killed you?"
Wally's chest tightened. Memories of the alley, Mael's betrayal, the blood in his hands—it all pressed down. He looked at Chris, the boy who had ruined his life.
And yet… he whispered, "I would."
The word felt like a vow, heavy and binding. A responsibility he didn't want—but couldn't escape.
The Arbiter's hands lifted. A massive book materialized, ancient and glowing. Its pages flipped faster and faster, releasing sparks of light that formed a swirling portal. Colors Wally had no names for spun around him.
"Your destination is random," the Arbiter said. "No requests granted. No guarantees."
"Fine."
Chris stirred, groaning as consciousness returned. The Arbiter glanced at him, expression unreadable. "Interesting choice."
Golden light wrapped around Wally, warm and pulling. Just before the portal swallowed him, he heard the Arbiter's final words:
"I'll… consider your request."
Everything dissolved into light.
---
Light faded.
Wally hit solid ground—knees-first. The impact jarred up his spine. He gasped. Sunlight streamed through massive arched windows.
White marble veined with gold stretched in every direction. Towering pillars rose like ancient trees. The ceiling depicted winged warriors and crowned figures. The air smelled faintly of incense and polished stone.
He looked down at himself. His school uniform was gone. In its place was an elaborate white silk robe, embroidered with silver threads. It draped over his left shoulder and arm, leaving the right bare, fastened with a golden clasp at the waist. Expensive. Royal.
"What the hell am I wearing?"
"Your Grace!"
The voice echoed across the hall. A boy no older than fourteen sprinted toward him, jet-black hair, delicate features, wearing a simple gray tunic. A small silver cross was tattooed between his eyes. He skidded to a halt, dropped to his knees, forehead touching the floor.
"Your Majesty, forgive me! I failed in my duties as your personal attendant."
Before Wally could speak, the boy drew a slim dagger from his sleeve and raised it to his throat.
"I will atone with my life."
Wally lunged, grabbing the wrist. The dagger clattered.
"Are you insane? Put that away! You're literally trying to get me in trouble—I just got here!"
Tears welled in the boy's eyes—not fear, but gratitude.
"Thank you… thank you for sparing me, Your Majesty. I swear I will never fail you again."
Wally released him, mind reeling. Personal attendant… suicide over being late.
A tiny figure no bigger than his hand hovered before Wally's face, glowing faintly. Wings beat delicately. Arms crossed, expression annoyed.
"You," Wally muttered.
"Yes, me. A fragment. The real one keeps you from ruining the opportunity you were given," it said.
"Opportunity? You dumped me into some prince's body without asking."
"You are now Crown Prince Valdus of the Kingdom of Dortmund," the fragment said flatly. "Act like it. Speak like it. Or you'll be dead again by sunset."
"Why me? Why this body?"
"Questions later. Right now, go. The coronation council is waiting. Follow the boy."
The fragment vanished.
Wally looked at the young attendant. The boy extended a hand toward a massive golden door. "This way, Your Majesty."
Wally hesitated. The weight of the robe settled on his shoulders like a warning.
This has gotta be a joke. Crown prince? My best bet—this is all a dream. Whatever this grand event is, Wally has a feeling his new life—and Chris's fate—depends on surviving it.
---