Somewhere between life and death. Somewhere between stories and silence.
He stood in the dark, trembling fingers outstretched, reaching for something that wasn't there.
Not anymore.
Before him, the circle was complete etched in silver ash, drawn in symbols no one alive should have remembered. The ritual glowed softly, pulsing like a heartbeat, hungry and ancient.
He was alone.
Behind him, a dorm room sat quiet. Books neatly stacked. A jacket draped over the back of a chair. The smell of chalk dust and old ink. A world still turning, unaware that its thread was about to snap.
His name was Michael Mores.
Top student of Arkenridge Academy. Firstborn of the Mores family. Older brother to two. A quiet soul in a busy world.
And he was tired.
Tired of waking up with questions.
Tired of smiling like nothing cracked beneath the surface.
Tired of pretending that he mattered enough to keep going.
So he had called something older than the world.
Not a god. Not a devil. Just something that answered.
And now it stood across the circle from him, stand tall, cloaked in parchment and dusk, with no face beneath its hood. Only a mouth carved from bone and silence.
The Reaper did not move. It did not say anything.
It only waited.
Michael stepped forward.
"I'm ready."
"State your terms" the Reaper said. Its voice echoed like turning pages.
Michael's voice shook, but he did not falter.
"I offer… my soul. My name. My place in this world."
"In exchange?" the Reaper asked.
Michael swallowed. Then continue
"Summon someone else to take it. Someone who can finish what I couldn't."
"A replacement."
"A second chance."
The circle flared.
The world cracked.
And somewhere — somehow — a soul answered.
Elsewhere…
A boy sat in a dim apartment on Earth, a fantasy novel half open on his lap. The streetlights outside flickered. The hum of reality faltered.
And in that moment, he vanished.
Back in the circle, the Reaper bowed its head.
"The exchange is made."
Michael smiled just once.
And then he was gone.
All that remained was a body. Still warm. Still breathing.
And a soul that did not belong.
Not yet.