The night enveloped Aion's apartment, shadows stretching across the minimalist space. He sat in silence, the stranger's proposition echoing in his mind. Five hundred years... The concept was as alluring as it was implausible. He gazed at the blank wall ahead, its emptiness mirroring the void of answers he sought.

Restlessness overtook him. Rising from his chair, Aion paced the length of his small living area. The usual solace he found in solitude was absent tonight, replaced by a disquiet he couldn't shake. He considered turning on some music but dismissed the idea; he needed clarity, not distraction.

He paused by the window, looking out at the cityscape bathed in the glow of streetlights and neon signs. The urban sprawl pulsed with life even at this hour, unaware of the upheaval within him. A bicyclist sped down the street below, a fleeting blur against the static backdrop. The world moved on, oblivious.

Returning to his desk, Aion powered on his computer. The hum of the machine filled the silence as the screen illuminated. He began typing, searching for any mention of mysterious offers of extended life, time manipulation, or encounters similar to his own.

Forums and articles surfaced, filled with myths of immortality, urban legends, and conspiracy theories. Stories of deals with otherworldly beings, time travelers, and secret societies. Nothing concrete, yet threads of similarity weaved through some accounts—enigmatic figures offering impossible things.

He leaned back, rubbing his temples. This is ridiculous, he thought. Yet, he couldn't dismiss the unsettling feeling that there was more to this than mere fantasy. The stranger had known things about him, personal things—his restlessness, his yearning for something beyond the mundane.

Aion's gaze drifted to his phone lying beside the keyboard. He contemplated calling someone, perhaps to gain a semblance of normalcy or to hear another voice besides his own. The names in his contact list blurred as he scrolled through. He halted at Peach's name.

What would she think if I told her about this? he wondered. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he imagined her reaction—probably a mix of skepticism and excitement, maybe even amusement at his expense. The thought was oddly comforting.

But they weren't close enough for such confessions. Their interactions were limited to group gatherings, polite conversations, and the occasional shared smile. Sharing something this bizarre would likely raise concerns about his sanity.

Setting the phone aside, Aion stood and moved to his modest workout area. Perhaps physical exertion would alleviate the tension coiling within him. He began a routine of push-ups, pull-ups, and stretches, each movement precise and controlled. Sweat formed on his brow, but his mind remained cluttered with unanswered questions.

Finishing his set, he sat on the floor, back against the wall. His breathing slowed as he stared at the ceiling. Is this what my life has become? he mused. Endless routines in an endless cycle.

The proposition, outrageous as it was, hinted at change—a break from the monotony that had long since numbed him. But at what cost? The stranger hadn't mentioned any terms, and that ambiguity gnawed at him.

Unable to rest, Aion showered and changed into fresh clothes. Sleep wouldn't come easily tonight. He made himself a cup of tea and settled back at his computer. This time, he searched for scientific explanations—advancements in life extension, experimental technologies, anything that could ground the offer in reality.

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Articles on gene therapy, cryonics, and mind uploading appeared. Fascinating, yet none promised anything close to five centuries of life. Frustrated, he closed the browser.

Aion glanced at the clock. It was past midnight, yet the city outside showed no signs of sleeping. He felt a kinship with its sleeplessness tonight.

He opened a blank document and began typing, allowing his thoughts to flow freely:

"If given the chance, what would I do with five hundred years?"

He paused, fingers hovering over the keys. Travel? Learn every language? Master countless skills? The possibilities were vast, yet the question remained—Why me?

Was it his discontent that marked him as a candidate? The stranger had implied as much. "You want more, even if you haven't admitted it yet." The words resonated deeply.

He thought back to earlier that evening at the café. The laughter of his friends, the warmth of their company. Peach's vibrant presence. He realized how distant he often was, even in the midst of social settings. An observer rather than a participant.

Perhaps this offer was an opportunity—not just for longevity but for transformation.

But could he trust it?

Aion saved the document and shut down his computer. Standing up, he decided to step outside. Maybe fresh air would clear his mind.

He grabbed his coat from the solitary hook and left the apartment. The hallway was quiet, his footsteps echoing softly against the walls. As he exited the building, the cool night air embraced him.

The streets were less crowded but still alive with nocturnal activity. He walked aimlessly, hands tucked into his pockets, eyes observing the world around him. A couple laughed together as they exited a late-night diner. A street performer packed up his guitar, humming a tune. Life continued in its myriad forms.

Aion found himself drawn to a small park tucked between high-rise buildings. He sat on a bench, the city's skyline stretching before him. The stars were faint, outshone by the artificial lights, but he could make out a few if he looked hard enough.

He considered the stranger's proposition once more. If this is real, can I afford to walk away from it? The rational part of his mind warned him of potential dangers—scams, traps, unforeseen consequences. Yet another part, the one tired of mere existence without purpose, tempted him to take the risk.

Lost in thought, he almost didn't notice the figure approaching until they sat down at the other end of the bench. Startled, Aion glanced over to see an elderly man feeding pigeons with crumbs from a paper bag.

"Quiet night," the man remarked without looking up.

"Yeah," Aion replied softly.

They sat in silence for a moment. The man's presence was oddly soothing.

"You look like you've got the weight of the world on your shoulders," the man said, tossing another handful of crumbs.

Aion hesitated before responding. "Just restless, I guess."

The old man nodded knowingly. "Restlessness can be a sign. Means you're alive, seeking something."

Aion studied the man. "Have you ever been offered something that seemed too good to be true?"

The man chuckled. "Life's full of offers, son. It's the choices we make that define us."

"How do you know which choices are the right ones?"

"You don't," the man admitted. "But sometimes, not choosing is the worst choice of all."

Aion absorbed the words, considering their implications. When he turned to ask another question, he found the bench beside him empty. The man had vanished as quietly as he'd arrived.

Perplexed, Aion stood up and looked around but saw no sign of the stranger. The park was nearly deserted.

Deciding it was time to head back, he made his way home, the encounter adding another layer to his contemplations.

Back in his apartment, fatigue finally began to overtake him. He changed into more comfortable clothes and settled into bed. Sleep came in fragments, dreams filled with shifting faces and endless corridors.