"Ethan."
A voice. Not thunder, not prophecy. Just human.
"Ethan, wake up. You'll miss your shift again."
I blinked.
The light changed.
The stairway of stars dissolved like a sugar cube in water. The pillars, the girl, the silence of a world holding its breath—it all vanished. In their place: a cracked ceiling, yellowed with age and spotted with water stains, like some forgotten god had been crying just above my room.
The ache in my bones was new. Heavier. Realer.
I lay still, watching the weak sunlight spill across the floor like something embarrassed to be here. The weight of the obsidian throne was gone, but something else pressed against my ribs.
A memory?
No.
A warning.
Auntie's footsteps approached—slippered, shuffling, and always faster than expected. The door creaked open without a knock, trailing the sour scent of half-burnt incense and old cigarette smoke.
She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, a half-lit bidi pinched between two fingers like a holy relic.
"Dreams don't pay rent," she muttered, voice dry as paper. "You want to get fired again? Go ahead—saves me laundry."
She tossed a wrinkled shirt onto my legs—polyblend, itchy, stained with oil near the collar—and left without waiting for a reply, door swinging shut behind her like it was tired too.
I sat up.
Rubbed my face.
Breathed in the stale air of someone else's home, someone else's history. The dream—if it was a dream—clung to me like fog in my lungs. Not gone. Just waiting.
A throne.
A girl.
A choice.
I couldn't recall the details, but the feeling wouldn't leave.
A low, burning ache. Not pain. Not fear. Just… weight. Like remembering something too late.
---
The mirror by my bed was cracked at the top corner. My reflection stared back, fractured slightly, eyes rimmed with sleep and something else.
I looked human.
That was the relief.
And somehow, the disappointment.
No glowing marks. No system prompts. No divine aura humming beneath my skin. Just dark hair, tired eyes, and yesterday's regret.
Good.
I stood, dressed, and left my room with the sluggish motion of someone who'd stopped expecting miracles. Auntie's hallway smelled of cheap incense and furniture polish. The world was awake, and I was just another unpaid soul walking through it.
---
The bookstore barely noticed me.
It never did.
Faded posters curled at the corners. The bell above the door chimed out of habit, though no customers ever came. Rows of paperbacks sagged on crooked shelves, like they'd been left here to die in alphabetical order.
I dropped my bag behind the counter and slid into my usual spot—between a fantasy series nobody asked for and a stack of returns nobody cared about.
I didn't even clock in.
The register blinked at me like a tired eye. I ignored it.
Instead, I cracked open a paperback I'd read at least three times already. A ridiculous story—something about a potato farmer who accidentally triggered a God-tier system by planting an enchanted yam.
Stupid. Brilliant. Addictive.
Each line was a bite of the impossible. The MC leveled up by composting regrets. He bought divine status with roots and water. Dumb stuff. I loved it.
Because in these stories, someone always noticed.
Someone always said: You're not just background. You were meant for this.
Me?
No one noticed me unless the bills were late or the floor needed mopping.
---
I closed the book. Leaned back. Let the dust settle around me.
"Just once," I whispered. "Let it be me."
The ceiling didn't answer.
But something deep inside me… twitched.
---
That night, I walked home under a sky smeared in gray. Streetlights flickered like dying fireflies. The sidewalk shimmered with the residue of rain, reflecting a world that didn't see itself clearly anymore.
A cat darted across my path. Somewhere nearby, someone shouted behind a closed window. Life churned on, unaware, uncaring.
I reached the corner by my apartment. Same concrete. Same rusted lamp. Same buzz.
And then—
Light.
Not lightning.
Not a streetlamp flare.
White. Silent. Total.
The world didn't flash.
It inhaled.
The sky folded inward. My thoughts turned to glass.
The rain stopped mid-air. A leaf hung motionless. My heartbeat echoed once, then vanished.
And then—
Everything shattered.
---
[You have been selected.]
[Welcome, Ethan Cole. ]
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