When I looked back, the guide was no longer there. I felt a twinge of disappointment that her saintly presence was gone. And yet, I felt at peace. I could feel the fear, the excitement coursing within myself, but I felt in control. How confusing.

It was a hard feeling to describe. On Earth, I had made decisions - I had worked - for the sake of others. To feed my mother. To make my friends happy. To attract girls. I had lived a hard life; an unhappy one.

Worst of all, I hadn't controlled my fate. From my job to my lackluster friendships, I had fallen prey to the vices of life. Indeed, destiny had forcefully dragged me along, bruised and bleeding all life long, keeping me in the office, away from my dreams.

But here, when I took a step on these stairs, I felt in control. I could feel the weight of my sole squarely pushing on the marble stairs. And, I could feel that marble pushing back on me. With every step, I was pushing the world, moving it. Causing it to rotate just a little faster. In return, it was pushing me. Propelling me forward towards a new future. One of my choosing. It was an oddly comforting feeling.

Questions churned in my mind – about the angel, my deaths, the memories I had retained. Pausing, I sorted through the chaos. I had no answers. Yet, this position seemed far better than the alternative – to exist as a mindless shadows bound for hell. Or worse yet, to trip on these cold stairs yet again. I briefly glanced down at my feet, pausing to ensure I was stable as a shiver raced through me, the pain rekindling.

With a resigned shudder, I acknowledged that trusting the angel was my only option for now. I had no other choice. I needed to figure out why I had been revived; to figure out how to escape the endless cycle of death and life that I had become tangled in. To escape that unimaginable pain. There was only one way to do that. And so, I stepped forward.

Archways loomed before me, each a portal to a distinct world, a new life awaiting my choice. I walked closer, overwhelmed.

The words on the archways shimmered, their meanings swirling within my mind like distant echoes. Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, Earth – they were just the beginning. Other gates beckoned with labels belonging to the confides of novels; names like "Martial Realm," "Warrior's Path," "Mystic Realms," and "Forgotten Lands" spun within my mind. Each held its own allure, its own set of experiences to shape my destiny. No. I corrected myself; these arches held the opportunity to allow *me* to shape *my* destiny.

As I stood before the gates, the Guide's words echoed in my mind. "Listen to your heart, Alex. Feel the resonance of each gate."

I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath, and allowed my instincts to guide me. Slowly, I reached out a hand and allowed my fingers to gently run against the rough surface of one of the most colorful archways. The label read, "Artisan's Haven."

The first thing which I noticed was it was warm to the touch. Like a mother's hug, or a lovers embrace, the gate felt welcoming. Then, images pulsed before my closed eyelids – vibrant colors, intricate designs, hands molding clay and brushing paint onto canvases. A world where creativity flowed freely, painting every edge, was before me. In every corner a masterpiece lay, waiting to be discovered, to be exposed. A world of artists, for artists, by artists. I felt a pull, a connection that resonated deep within me.

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But as quickly as the images came, a sense of hesitation followed. The weight of responsibility bore down on me – was I really going to choose this world without checking any others? Was I prepared to live a life constantly surrounded by art - without a break? Hold up. No - I didn't even like art. I wanted to explore. To adventure. What was wrong with me?

I stepped back, doubting myself. The Guide's presence seemed to linger, her wisdom a silent guidance. I slapped myself on the cheeks, then looked around with determination, cheeks red. I was going to explore more gates.

Days blurred before a modest gate caught my eye. Its label glowing softly – "Wanderer's Path." It was a poorly built rock gate, with grass growing above its towering arch in unassuming clumps. Much less assuming than the golden, lavish "Heaven's Gate" or the brightly colored and woven "Artisan's Haven," it was still magnitudes larger than me.

I stretched out my fingers and brushed the gate's rough, cold surface gently. This time, the images were different. Vast landscapes stretched before my mind's eye – towering mountains, endless deserts, lush forests. It reminded me of Earth. But not our modern, suffering, bleak Earth. It was a brighter Earth; one with joy and energy.

I saw many happy people; a little, warm village in the midst of a celebration. A life of exploration and discovery, one I had dreamed of. It was a world where I could forge connections with people from all walks of life, unbound by the constraints of modern drudgery. The pull was undeniable, a sense of freedom that tugged at the core of my being.

Yet, a shadow of doubt remained. Why was this gate called "the Wanderer's Path?" What did that mean? Would I be forced to bear the weight of constant movement, of never truly settling down? What did it mean to wander - would my family die when I was young, leaving me bereft and homeless? Was I ready to face that kind of a world?

And, despite the happiness I could see in the world, challenges coexisted - I could see monsters, death, war, famine. The future was uncertain, a maze of possibilities and challenges. The decision felt like a leap into the unknown.

And so, I found myself back where I started, with a constellation of choices awaiting my touch. I nervously wiped my sweaty hands together and eyed all the numerous archways; if I viewed all of them, I would never be able to find the perfect choice. It would just take too long. After all, every gate had its own set of challenges, its own rewards, and its own story.

What a nerve-racking, life-changing choice to make, I thought to myself. I needed to find the world which was going to make me happy - and which would keep me from dying again.

Indeed, I was sure that within one of these gates, I would find my personal utopia. A place of amazing sights and experiences, which also satiated my questions. In these worlds I was sure that a magic of some kind would exist, granting me immortality, saving me from this cycle and yet another painful death. That I would find an answer to the memories which I retained. That a good, peaceful life existed somewhere for me within these foreboding arches.

With a deep breath, I sighed and made my choice. The Guide's words echoed once more, encouraging me to embrace the journey that was unfurling before me.

Only one gate seemed to match my strange fate, my pure desires. The fate of a lost soul, an adventurous soul, unable to be cleansed of its past memories. Of its death. I strode past the shadows which I had previously ignored. As I walked through the archway that bore the label "Wanderer's Path," a surge of energy coursed through me. The mist around me swirled, and the archway became a doorway, a threshold to a new life.

I stepped forward, ready to embrace the unknown, to weave my own threads into the tapestry of existence. The mist reached out as if to hug me, and as I passed through the threshold, the world quickly shifted around me.

The pull of destiny was guiding me forward.