Everything was black.
Not night. Not closed eyes. Deeper than that—a place where even time and sound disappeared. A void so complete that even breathing felt too loud, too alive.
Indra opened his eyes.
He wasn't on solid ground. He hovered in space, but something held him steady, as if the universe itself was cradling him. Beneath his feet, an endless glowing floor stretched in every direction. Just ahead, a soft golden light shone in the darkness.
There were no shadows. Just calm radiance.
He looked down.
A massive white handprint glowed on the floor, each line pulsing with gentle, living energy. The markings looked sacred—ancient and powerful, as if they'd been etched there before time began.
"What… is this place?" Indra whispered, barely more than a breath.
He turned.
A colossal figure rose in the void. Its body shone with blinding white and gold, towering like a mountain made of pure light. Only the upper half was visible, the rest lost in glowing mist. Its face was impossible to read—shaped by secrets only the heavens knew.
But from it came no fear.
Only warmth. Calm. Power.
Then it spoke.
"Indra. It's very nice to meet you."
The voice wasn't loud. It seemed to speak straight into Indra's soul—gentle, rich, and deep, like a song that carried the memory of distant stars.
Indra blinked, his breath catching. Somehow, he felt safe.
"Woah… how did you know my name?" he asked, steadying himself.
"I know a lot about you," the being said, kindly. "I've been watching for some time. I suppose I should introduce myself. I'm called The Selector."
"The Selector?"
"Yes. The Creator appointed me to this role. I oversee souls as they enter the heavens. Those who are worthy are given a choice, they can walk amongst The Velari."
"The Velari? And what do you mean, 'worthy'?"
The being nodded, patient and steady.
"That's right. You grew up in a place where few know this. The Velari are chosen to protect the world from demons. To become one, you need a pure heart. You, Indra… you threw yourself at a demon to save your friends, even though you knew you'd die."
Indra looked down, voice softer. "I remember that. Did they make it out?"
"I can't say," The Selector replied, and though its tone stayed gentle, there was a hint of sadness in it. "But… you can find out for yourself."
Indra's eyes lifted. "What do you mean?"
"Your heart was so pure, your soul destroyed the demon that attacked you. Because of this, you've been chosen to walk among the gods—if you accept."
"If I accept?" Indra hesitated. "Um, can I ask something?"
"Of course," The Selector replied. "And you don't need to be formal."
"Okay… so what happens if I say no?"
"Nothing bad," the being assured him. "Not everyone wants to fight demons, not everyone is made for war. If you decline, you join the rest of the souls in the heavens."
"So… the choice is really mine," Indra said, lowering his eyes.
"That's right."
Silence lingered. Indra's shoulders sagged.
"I just… I wish I could have done more. I'm not strong, or talented. Wouldn't I just… let everyone down?"
The Selector lifted one radiant hand.
Above its palm appeared a Divine Crest. Golden script circled the symbol, glowing with a power that felt both strange and familiar. It shimmered like sunlight on water, but its presence was deep, ancient, and enormous.
"This is a Divine Crest. It gives abilities that reflect your true self. Some people already have powers—but this will give you the strength of gods. With it, you'll be able to protect others."
"Really?"
"Yes."
Indra's eyes filled with cautious hope. "Okay… but one more question?"
"Go ahead."
"These demons… where do they come from?"
"They're people."
"People?!" Indra's eyes went wide.
"Yes."
"How?"
"Demons are created by The Zehirah," The Selector answered. "Souls twisted by that group. That's all I can say."
Indra's voice fell. "That's so sad…"
"Sad? Most want to destroy them."
"If they're people, there should be a way to save them. To bring them back."
The Selector paused. Its ancient eyes studied Indra.
"No. Not right now."
Indra's face darkened—not with anger, but sorrow.
"Then I want to find a way. They deserve better."
For a long moment, The Selector was silent.
Then it spoke, voice touched with pride.
"I'm glad you said that."
"Huh?"
A smile lived in the words now—warm and proud.
"I thought you'd be the perfect Velarian. Now I know for sure. So… what's your decision?"
Indra stood tall. He looked the being in the eye, steady and sure.
"Yes. I accept. I'll save everyone. No matter how long it takes."
"Perfect."
The Selector reached down and touched Indra's forehead with a single glowing finger.
A surge of golden light filled Indra's body. Warmth and power wrapped around him as the Divine Crest merged with his soul.
The floor beneath him began to melt into blinding light. A great white portal opened, swirling and bright, pulling him downward.
Indra gasped as the light swept him away.
"Good luck," The Selector called, its eyes never leaving him.
As the portal closed, the chamber grew quiet. The Selector looked up into the endless dark, voice full of hope.
"Indra… So this is who the prophecy spoke of. I can't wait to see what you become."