Light…
Not warm, not cold.
Not comforting, not scary.
Not life, not death.
It just was.
And then… it wasn't anymore.
The sound of breathing, footsteps, the world—it all faded. Even the sense of time… just stopped.
Then suddenly, something cracked. Like the sound of a giant bubble popping.
Ethan's eyes opened.
Not in the hall of truth.
Not on the golden bridge.
But on the wooden floor of the cabin.
Sunlight peeked through half-burned curtains. The air still smelled like dirt, burnt wood, and half-finished tea.
Ethan took a deep breath and sat up.
But before he could say anything, he saw his hand.
On the skin of his right hand, something was carved in.
Not ink.
Not a wound.
It looked like his skin had chosen to write it.
The shape… was weird.
Three circles, stuck together, and inside each one, a symbol:
The first looked like an upside-down drop.
The second, a straight line with two curves on each side.
The third… just an open eye.
Like a seal.
