I wasn't depressed. Just.... done.
Tired. Not in the physical sense—not the ache-you-can-sleep-off kind of tired. No, this was the kind that lived in your bones. The kind that whispered in your ear every damn day: What's the point?
My sneakers dragged against the pavement, each step echoing through the empty street like a countdown. The sun had long dipped behind the city skyline, leaving nothing but pale streetlights flickering above like dying stars.
Another exam over. Another meaningless grade. Another step toward… what? A desk job? A cramped apartment? A life I didn't ask for?
I shoved my hands into my hoodie pocket and exhaled a bitter breath.
Study. Work. Marry. Die.
That's what they expect of us, right? Like some twisted rat experiment. A maze we didn't sign up for. A prize we never wanted.
I looked up at the sky, that blank canvas where gods were supposed to live.
"Is this really it?" I muttered. "Wake, work, sleep, repeat?"
The steps every person was expected to take, endlessly circling toward a prize that was never really there.
"Get good grades, Hades. "
"Land a stable job. "
"Find someone nice and settle down. "
And what if I didn't want any of that?
My mind drifted—longing, aching for something else.
Something wild. Magical. Real.
What if the world changed?
What if I didn't have to open a glowing screen every morning just to prove I'm worth something?
What if, instead of GPA scores and internships, we earned glory through sword fights under crimson skies?
What if Mondays didn't exist?
What if rent wasn't the scariest monster in your life?
What if we were made for more than just… surviving?
What if dragons were real? And power wasn't handed to the loudest voice in the boardroom, but to the last one standing in a battlefield?
What if fate wasn't a cubicle?
What if there was more?
Every human has thought that, right? At least once. In a lecture, on a train, lying wide awake at 2AM, staring at the ceiling, thinking—
There has to be something else. Something bigger. Something real.
Not spreadsheets. Not office politics. Not the anxiety of not being enough.
What if I could break free from it all?
Not to be rich. Not to be famous.
Just to feel like I mattered. Like I was chosen. Like I was alive.
I let out a soft laugh—half-bitter, half-dreaming.
What if.... What if I didn't have to be mediocre?
And just as the thought passed…
That's when I heard it.
The horn.
Too close.
Too loud.
Too late.
Screech.
Everything slowed down.
I didn't move.
I couldn't.
My heart leapt into my throat, pounding against bone like it could escape.
I don't want to die.
Not like this.
Not before I've actually lived—
I barely turned my head.
Headlights.
Bright. Blinding. Screaming toward me like judgment day.
Then—
Impact.
Not a gentle push.
Not even violence.
It was obliteration.
My body folded around the metal like paper in a storm. Bones snapped—loud, raw, personal. My spine jolted with the sickening crack of something vital breaking.
The air reeked of burnt rubber and blood—mine.
A scream clawed at my throat but never made it out.
My skull rang, ears filled with static. Limbs flailed. Ribs cracked. My back slammed into the ground with such force it felt like the earth punched back.
Please—
The world turned upside down.
Air rushed out of me in a choking wheeze. My legs—gone numb. My fingers—couldn't move.
My chest cracked with the force of it.
Pain bloomed through me.
Ribs shattered.
Breath stolen.
Something wet filled my mouth.
I tasted copper.
Not like this. Please... Not like this...
Images flickered in my head—mom, dad, my sister's laugh, the cat we buried last summer. Things I never said. Smiles I never gave.
Mom... Dad... I'm sorry....
I'm sorry.
I didn't do anything special. I didn't even get the chance.
Regret dug its claws in deeper than the pain ever could.
And then—
Silence.
Like the world had inhaled and forgotten to exhale.
The world faded in pulses. My vision narrowed to pinpricks.
Then, nothing.
---
But it didn't end.
There was sound.
Faint. Echoed. Like voices speaking underwater.
"What....is that thing? "
"I read about them in the old texts.. . Could it be... a man?
" But how? I thought they were extinct. "
"It has no scales. "
What the hell?
My eyes fluttered open.
The pain was gone, replaced by something softer—like laying on moss under the sun. But the air smelled different. Too rich, too alive. Like honey and ash.
And then I saw them.
Three women. No—queens.Ethereal. Dangerous. Beautiful in a way that made your breath stop.
One with hair the color of burning embers, fire dancing behind her red eyes.
One cloaked in silken black, her stare like midnight swallowing stars.
And one with golden hair, radiant as the sun but cold as winter snow.
They were staring at me like I was a fossil. A mystery. A threat.
I shifted.
There was something clenched in my hand.
It was wet. Crumpled. I slowly opened my palm.
A letter. Bloodstained. Ancient.
The words burned into me, written in a language I shouldn't have known—but somehow understood.
"To survive, you must win their hearts. Fail, and you will die again. "
What kind of hell starts with a love letter?
My stomach twisted. My blood turned to ice.
What the hell is this?
Where am I?
Who are they?
And why… why am I still alive?