I woke up dreaming.
Which—yes, I'm aware sounds like an oxymoron—but considering my entire existence was apparently filed under "Glitch: Class 1-A (Unholy Reincarnation Error, Please Contact Management)," we passed logic at the door a long time ago.
So there I was, standing in an infinite void made entirely of filing cabinets.
Filing cabinets.
Not majestic stars. Not celestial lights. Just—bureaucracy.
"Welcome back, Kael of Earth Sector 3A. You are not authorized to be here."
A voice rang out from nowhere and everywhere at once, cold and smooth like a customer service AI that knows you're wrong but still asks "have you tried turning it off and on again?"
I turned around.
Behind me stood a glowing figure in what could only be described as a judicial robe made of stardust and bad decisions. On their chest, a blinking nameplate read:
REINCARNATION TRIBUNAL — Intern Division.
Intern. Of course. My cosmic afterlife fate is being decided by someone who probably doesn't get dental.
"Wait, am I dreaming?" I asked.
"Technically, this is a restricted metaphysical overlap between your current echo-link state and residual soul cache," said the Intern.
"...So yes."
They sighed. "You weren't supposed to come back."
Oh.
Right.
Here it is. The part where the fantasy protagonist finds out they were never chosen, they were just a paperwork error held together by plot glue and spoon-based delusion.
"According to this," the Intern muttered, dragging open a file thicker than my self-loathing during midterms, "you signed a No-Return Reincarnation waiver."
"I did?"
"Right here. 'I, [REDACTED], agree to relinquish all rights to further incarnations due to gross misuse of life opportunities, emotional fraud against multiple romantic partners, and one (1) incident involving a cursed chicken."*
"...That was one time!"
"You also checked the 'Do Not Reboot' box."
*"Well obviously I didn't read it, I was dead."
The Intern blinked. Then did something deeply bureaucratic: They pulled out a pen. A celestial one, glowing with incomprehensible ink and probably forged from recycled regrets. They wrote something into the margins:
"Reincarnated anyway. Cause: Echo Surge. Glitch Status: Active. Tribunal Pending."
Then underlined it.
Twice.
"You were pulled through by an Echo ripple. Some idiot with too much magic and not enough supervision tampered with the Mask of Echo, caused a multi-dimensional loop fracture, and—bing bang boom—you got yanked through the reincarnation firewall."
"So I was never supposed to be a fantasy protagonist?"
"No."
"Then what was I supposed to be?"
"Dead."
And just like that, I woke up.
Sweaty. Disoriented. Questioning the metaphysical ethics of being a walking bug report in a world governed by a sentient gamified afterlife system.
Which, by the way, is exactly the sort of thing a normal sixteen-year-old boy is equipped to handle emotionally. Along with puberty, potential fiancées, and a talking Spoon that's currently—
"Chewing on your blanket again," said Spoon. "You were whimpering in your sleep like a corrupted hamster."
"I dreamt of my death."
"You dream of your taxes too, what's your point?"
I sat up.
The Echo Shrine around me pulsed dimly in the moonlight, ancient walls covered in glyphs I could now read without understanding how. That was new. And terrible. And definitely not the symptom of anything minor, like, say, total psychological collapse.
In the corner, Fluffernox the Cat-Gremlin-Soul-Eater was eating a piece of ceremonial parchment. Possibly sacred. Possibly containing my rights.
"Did I ever sign a reincarnation contract?"
"Nope," said Spoon. "Your soul got pulled in sideways. Echo field anomaly. System's still trying to decide if you're eligible for metaphysical insurance."
"So I'm just... a magical accident?"
"Weren't we all, darling."
I tried to breathe.
Which sounds simple. But when your lungs are filled with existential static, your brain is screaming "YOU SHOULD NOT EXIST," and your magical mask is currently whispering "glory is a spiral" in seventeen languages, it's a little more complicated.
Oh. Did I mention that?
The Mask of Echo was whispering again.
Words. Shapes. Memories that weren't mine flickering behind my eyelids every time I blinked. A name. My real name.
"Kyle."
Ugh.
I know. Sounds like the kind of guy who vapes in the parking lot of a suburban gym.
But that was me. Or at least, the before me. A guy who lived on Earth. Died stupidly. Probably thought pineapple pizza was brave and that crypto was a personality. And now?
Now I'm Kael. Echo-Vessel. Accidental glitch-born magical mistake, unwanted by the afterlife and begrudgingly tolerated by a fantasy System that really wishes it had a Return-to-Sender policy.
"You okay?" asked Spoon.
"Define okay."
"Functional enough to walk, lie attractively in dramatic lighting, or give an emotionally vulnerable monologue?"
"...No."
"Then you're probably fine."
I stood up anyway. Because if I laid in bed too long, the intrusive thoughts would start designing villain arcs and trying to kiss Belladonna again. (Not necessarily in that order.)
As I walked outside, the stars overhead shimmered in glitchy constellations. One of them actually flickered into a middle finger. I chose to take it personally.
The Echo Shrine was quiet. Too quiet.
Like the world itself was holding its breath.
And I couldn't help thinking—
What if I was never meant to be here?
What if this is all just someone else's story I tripped into by mistake?
What if I'm the side character who didn't get the memo to stay dead?
But then—
Then I heard it.
A ping.
[System Notice: Soul Integrity at 72%. Reboot Optional.]
Optional.
Optional.
I laughed.
Because if there's one thing I definitely shouldn't have?
Options.
But I do.
Because I'm here. Glitched. Broken. Dream-logged and Tribunal-warned.
But still. Freaking. Here.
And if I wasn't supposed to come back?
Too bad.
I'm already ruining the plot.
Next Time on Kaelverse:
Kael starts glitching while awake. Memories misfire. Names vanish. Spells go sideways. Also, Spoon slaps him. Emotionally, of course. Belladonna offers a spell to anchor him—but it requires something horrifying: feelings.
Tune in for Chapter 62 – "The Memory Loop Fractures."
It only gets weirder from here.