"Where am I? Why is it so dark?"
Nael floated in absolute nothingness. He felt nothing anymore. No pain, no heat, no cold. Just... emptiness.
"I can't see anything..."
A deep fear crept over him, rising slowly like an icy tide.
Was this the end?
Am I dead?
No. Impossible.
He refused to believe it. They had succeeded. They had defeated the villain. Noël was alive. People were saved.
But...
"But no! Seriously, what am I thinking?!"
"I saw my guts spill out of my body!" he screamed into the void. "I saw the hole in my stomach! No one can survive that!"
His voice echoed in the darkness, then faded into silence.
A bitter laugh rose from his throat. Although... in novels, heroes always survive this kind of stuff, right?
Nael burst into hollow laughter, joyless, a laugh heavy with despair and sadness. A laugh that should have been accompanied by tears, but no tears came. He no longer had a body to cry with.
Then, suddenly, he felt something change.
A strange sensation. Like he was falling. Or rather... like he was sinking.
He felt incredibly light, as if submerged in an infinite ocean. Eyes closed, he let himself be carried by this invisible current.
Then he opened them.
Around him, soft light filtered through the water. Water of a deep blue, almost unreal. It was both sad and fascinating.
Thousands of life forms drifted with him through the blue immensity.
Human silhouettes—men, women, children—all floating in silence, eyes closed, peaceful. Mixed among them, all kinds of animals also drifted: birds, dogs, cats, creatures he didn't even recognize.
All dead. All finally freed from the weight of life and its injustices.
Nael understood then with chilling clarity.
This was the afterlife.
He had finally accepted his fate. For him, it was too late. He'd had his chance. He had been a hero, if only once.
But suddenly, a strange sensation ran through his entire body.
A presence.
Immense. Indescribable. A phenomenal power diving with them, cutting through the water like a comet of fire.
Nael slowly opened one eye to try to make out this mysterious force.
The being had no face. Or rather, its face was hidden behind an inextinguishable fire that burned even underwater. Dancing flames, white and golden, undulated around its head like a living crown.
The being advanced toward Nael, sometimes slowing, sometimes accelerating, moving with supernatural grace. Then it came to stand very close to him, floating just inches away.
"Ta-da! I have a gift for you," said the being in a mysterious voice, both soft and deep, like an echo from the abyss.
From nowhere, it produced a chocolate—a simple chocolate wrapped in golden paper—and held it out to Nael.
Nael, surprised, tried to take it. His hand reached out. But it passed through the object as if he were no longer of this world. As if he himself were nothing but a ghost.
"You're dead, aren't you, Nael?"
The question resonated in his mind, cold and direct.
Nael swallowed—or at least had the impression of doing so.
"Yes," he whispered.
The being placed its luminous hand on Nael's chin, feigning reflection, like a teacher evaluating a student.
"Do you know where you're going now?"
Nael lowered his eyes, unable to meet the being's burning gaze.
"To hell, probably," he murmured bitterly.
Crystalline laughter erupted then, resonating throughout the oceanic immensity.
"At least you're honest!" the being exclaimed with a hint of amusement. "You weren't a very good boy in life, were you, Nael?"
Nael remained speechless, unable to respond. What could he say? It was the truth.
The being looked at him intensely, its flames crackling softly. Then it continued, more serious:
"We're going to do a test. If you succeed, I'll give you a second chance. Does that work for you?"
For the first time since his death, Nael felt something stir within him. A fragile hope, almost painful.
A second chance?
He nodded, unable to speak, his throat tight with emotion.
"Yes... I'll do my best."
The being extended its hand toward him.
And in an instant, the world exploded in white light.
Nael blinked.
He found himself in a crowded, overheated, suffocating train. Heavy heat weighed on everyone. The air smelled of sweat and cheap perfume. Many passengers were standing, packed like sardines, clinging to metal bars.
Nael looked around, disoriented. What am I doing here?
Suddenly, an argument broke out nearby.
He turned his head.
An old woman of about eighty, back bent, leaning on a trembling cane, was begging a seated young man to give her his seat.
The guy had the look of a delinquent—tattoos on his arms, hard eyes, piercings in his ears. He wore a leather jacket despite the heat.
"Get lost, old hag!" he spat with contempt. "I was here first!"
"Please, young man," the lady pleaded, her voice trembling. "My legs... I can't stand anymore..."
"Not my problem! If you're too weak, stay home!"
He even raised his hand, threatening to hit her.
The old woman backed away, terrified.
Nael looked around. No one moved. Everyone was focused on their phones, eyes down, avoiding the scene. Perhaps out of fear. Perhaps out of cowardice.
The delinquent might very well have a weapon, right? Better not to get involved.
A moment of hesitation crossed Nael's mind.
Then something inside him broke. A quiet anger, but also determination.
"No. Not this time."
With a firm gesture, he signaled to the old lady and stood up from his own seat.
"Ma'am, take my seat," he said calmly.
The lady looked at him, eyes brimming with tears, and whispered a barely audible "thank you."
The delinquent sneered but said nothing.
Barely had Nael helped the old lady sit down when the world blurred again.
A white flash blinded him.
When his vision stabilized, he was no longer on the train.
He was in his parents' house.
Nael looked around, disoriented. Everything was exactly as he remembered. The old worn couch. The television. Family photos hanging on the wall.
His little brother—a six-year-old child, full of energy—was running around screaming with joy, playing an imaginary game.
Nael smiled despite himself. He had almost forgotten how adorable his brother was at that age.
But suddenly, in his wild run, the little boy stumbled.
He crashed violently into the furniture where the television rested.
The screen wobbled.
Then fell.
CRASH.
The sound of breaking glass resonated throughout the house like thunder.
It was a brand new TV. Bought only two days ago. A significant expense for a family with modest income.
Silence fell, heavy, oppressive.
Then hurried footsteps rang out on the stairs.
His parents rushed down from their rooms, faces already red with anger.
Seeing the broken screen lying on the floor, they exploded.
"NAEL! WHAT DID YOU DO?!"
"IT WASN'T ME!" Nael cried desperately. "It was my brother! I didn't do anything!"
But they wouldn't listen.
"Stop lying! You're the oldest, you need to be careful!"
"It's always you who makes mistakes!"
"You're irresponsible!"
Nael felt rage building inside him. A burning, unjust, unbearable rage.
He wanted to scream. Shout at them that they were wrong. That it wasn't his fault. That they always blamed the wrong child.
But he bit his lip until it bled.
And swallowed his anger.
He lowered his head, fists clenched, trembling with contained rage.
"Sorry," he murmured.
His father stared at him harshly.
"That's not enough. Lie face down. You're going to be punished."
Nael's heart sank. He knew what would follow. The belt. The blows. The humiliation.
Without really understanding why, he obeyed. He lay on the cold floor, face against the tiles, paralyzed by fear and injustice.
He closed his eyes, waiting for the pain.
And at that instant, he was transported elsewhere.
A white flash.
Nael opened his eyes.
He found himself in a hospital.
The atmosphere was heavy, suffocating. The smell of disinfectant mixed with the more subtle scent of illness and death. Muffled sobs echoed somewhere in the corridors.
Nael wandered aimlessly, observing the rooms one after another.
Then he stopped in front of one of them.
Through the window, he saw a boy about ten years old, lying on a hospital bed. His face was pale, almost translucent. Tubes were connected everywhere on his frail body.
A medical chart indicated: Liver cancer. Terminal stage. Awaiting transplant.
Nael entered the room.
The boy was sleeping peacefully, or perhaps was too weak to open his eyes. His breathing was faint, labored.
A nurse entered as well and placed a file on the nightstand.
"Still nothing?" she asked quietly to a passing doctor.
"No compatible donor," the doctor replied, shaking his head. "Without a transplant in the next few weeks, he has no chance."
The nurse sighed sadly and left the room.
Nael remained alone with the dying boy.
He looked at him for a long time.
Then, driven by unexpected courage, a force coming from deeper than himself, Nael whispered:
"If I could... if I had been alive... I would have given my liver without hesitation. So you could live."
He placed his hand on the boy's, even though he knew he was probably invisible, intangible.
"You deserve to live."
Barely had he spoken these words when the world blurred again.
A white flash.
Nael opened his eyes.
This time, he was struck by suffocating heat.
He stood in the middle of an infinite desert. Sand stretched as far as the eye could see, white and burning under a merciless sun.
And before him, a few dozen meters away, stood a gigantic brazier.
Flames rose toward the sky, several meters high, swirling, roaring. The heat was so intense that even at this distance, Nael felt his skin tighten and dry out.
The mysterious being appeared at his side, flames dancing around its head.
"Last test, Nael," it said calmly. "Go ahead. Walk to the brazier. Plunge your hands into the flames. And remove what you find there."
Nael looked at it, incredulous.
"But... I'll die!"
"You're already dead," the being replied with a smile in its voice. "The question is: how far are you willing to go to live again?"
Nael swallowed. Then he moved forward.
Each step was agony.
At ten meters from the brazier, his skin began to redden.
At five meters, it cracked.
At three meters, it peeled off, falling in strips.
At one meter, his flesh liquefied, sliding from his bones like melted wax.
Nael screamed in pain, but he didn't stop.
When he reached the brazier, he was nothing but a smoking skeleton.
He plunged his skeletal hands into the flames.
A tearing, inhuman scream escaped from his throat—or what remained of it.
The pain was beyond anything he had ever known. Worse than the explosion. Worse than death.
But he didn't retreat.
His bony fingers closed around something hard, metallic.
A sword.
An incandescent blade, forged in the fire itself, glowing with blinding white light.
He pulled it from the flames and fell onto the burning sand.
The next instant, he found himself back in the deep ocean.
His body was intact. No more burns. No more pain.
The mysterious being watched him, and although it had no visible face, Nael would have sworn it was smiling.
It applauded slowly.
"Bravo, Nael. You passed all the tests."
It approached and placed a luminous hand on Nael's shoulder.
"You showed courage in the face of injustice. Restraint in the face of anger. Sacrifice in the face of suffering. And endurance in the face of absolute pain."
The being stepped back slightly.
"Now go. Return there. Become what you wish to become."
A phenomenal force seized Nael and propelled him upward, toward the surface, toward the light.
He rose. Faster and faster. Higher and higher.
The light became blinding.
Then...
Nael opened his eyes.
But something was wrong.
It was dark. Completely dark.
These shadows again?
He tried to move, but something encased him. A thick, plastic material that stuck to his bare skin.
A bag.
He was trapped in a bag.
Panic.
"Where am I?! What's happening?!"
He struggled violently, scratching, pushing, hitting. His lungs were starting to run out of air.
Then, suddenly, his fingers tore through the plastic.
A hole.
He widened the opening and finally stuck his head out, gasping a large gulp of frigid air.
He inhaled. Again. Again.
His lungs burned. His heart pounded violently in his chest.
He was alive.
ALIVE.
Nael completely exited the bag and fell to his knees on the cold tiled floor.
Then he burst into sobs.
Hot tears rolled down his cheeks. His shoulders trembled. He cried like he had never cried in his entire life.
"Thank you... thank you... thank you..."
He didn't even know who he was addressing. The mysterious being. God. The universe.
It didn't matter.
He was alive.
Trembling, Nael brought his hands to his abdomen, where the villain had touched him, where the explosion had opened a gaping hole.
He felt his skin.
Nothing.
No wound. No scar. Not even a mark.
His skin was smooth, intact, as if the explosion had never happened.
"How... how is this possible?"
Barely did he try to stand when a door burst open.
A nurse entered, file in hand.
She looked up.
Her gaze met Nael's.
Alive. Naked. Standing in the middle of the morgue, surrounded by body bags.
The file fell from her hands with a sharp sound.
Her eyes widened.
Her mouth opened.
Then a piercing scream burst from her throat, echoing throughout the corridor.
Other staff members came running, alerted by the screams.
The head of service—a man in his fifties with a stern face—stopped on the threshold, observing the scene with disbelief.
He looked Nael up and down.
A seventeen-year-old boy. Declared dead an hour earlier. Standing. Breathing.
The chief understood immediately.
If he had come back to life... then he must have a power.
He discreetly pulled out his phone and sent a quick message to someone, then turned to his colleagues.
"Find him some clothes. Quickly."
A few minutes later, Nael sat on a chair in a small room, wrapped in a thermal blanket, dressed in sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt someone had found for him.
He was still trembling, not from cold, but from shock.
The head of service sat across from him.
"How do you feel?" he asked calmly.
Nael took a long time to respond.
"I... I don't know. I was dead. I'm sure of it. And now... I'm here."
The chief nodded.
"According to our records, you were declared dead exactly one hour and fourteen minutes ago. No pulse. No brain activity. You were clinically dead."
He paused.
"But apparently, you have... a power. It's the only explanation."
Nael lowered his eyes.
A power.
Was it really that? Or was it the mysterious being who had brought him back?
He didn't know.
The chief stood up.
"We're going to contact your family. In the meantime, rest. You've experienced something extraordinary."
Nael nodded weakly.
A single thought turned in his mind, obsessive, heart-wrenching:
"I want to see my family again."
End of Chapter 2