Rain poured in thick, silver sheets, blurring the neon lights of the city into smeared, bleeding colors. Moda staggered through the alley, clutching his chest, his breath sharp and ragged. The pain wasn't from the knife wound—at least not entirely. It was the betrayal that burned hotter.
He'd trusted them.
They'd left him to die.
The world tilted as his knees gave way, and the taste of iron filled his mouth. In the haze, the cold fingers of death crept closer, and a strange calm settled over him. His thoughts were scattered, like shattered glass.
But then—
Everything stopped.
No rain. No sound.
The world froze in mid-motion, each droplet hanging in the air like a jewel. A deep, resonant voice vibrated through the stillness.
> "Your story is not over, Moda."
A blinding white pulled him upward. He felt no weight, no body—only awareness. A thousand streaks of light rushed past him, each carrying whispers in languages he somehow understood yet couldn't place. They spoke of worlds, of power, of balance… and of choice.
He didn't remember making a choice, yet the voice continued:
> "In your next life, you will bear a gift. It will be your burden and your salvation. Guard it well."
The light cracked like shattering glass, and Moda fell.
---
He woke to the warmth of sunlight on his face, the rustle of leaves overhead. He wasn't in the city. He wasn't even in his world. The air smelled different—cleaner, richer. Looking down, he realized his hands were smaller, his skin younger. His reflection in a nearby stream showed a face he didn't recognize.
Before panic could take hold, something impossible happened. A loose pebble near his foot trembled… then lifted into the air, spinning lazily. His breath caught.
The pebble dissolved into sand, then into dust, as though it was obeying his unspoken command. His heart pounded—not from fear, but from the rush of possibility.
> What… am I?
Somewhere deep inside, he felt it—a hidden well of energy, waiting to be shaped.
And he knew, instinctively, that if anyone discovered this, his new life could be even shorter than his last.
From the treeline, a shadow moved. Someone was watching.
TBC.....