Michael soared, the wind brushing past his face in exhilarating sweeps. The sun warmed his back, a gentle contrast to the cool air of high altitude. Below him, a vast sea of green stretched across the plains, a mosaic of life under the bright sky.
He glided over the landscape, each beat of his heart in sync with the pulse of the world below. The fields and distant mountains existed in harmony, a natural rhythm that enveloped him in its embrace.
Suddenly, the tranquil flight was shattered. The sky swiftly darkened, transforming the once-lively earth below into a realm of shadows and mystery. A deep, ominous rumble echoed, intruding upon the serenity of his aerial sanctuary.
“No! Please! No!” Michael's cry was a stark intrusion in the tranquility, a futile protest against the encroaching darkness.
“BEEEP BEEEP BEEEP”
“God, I need a new alarm,” Michael mumbled to himself as he switched it off angrily and checked the notifications on his phone—nothing but a TikTok from his sister, Cindy, doing some dance challenge. He rolled his eyes but saved it to watch later; Cindy's antics were a guilty pleasure, watching your sibling make a fool of themselves was always fun. "Who the hell decided work should start at 8 a.m.? I think I’d be much more productive coming in at noon.” He chuckled at the thought, still groggy but energized by his fantasy of a four-hour workday, or maybe his fantasy of telling off his boss.
With a heavy sigh, Michael rolled out of bed and shuffled into the bathroom. The mirror greeted him with a reflection of disheveled hair and sleep-creased skin. He turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on his face, trying to wash away the remnants of sleep and the lingering images from his dream. "Flying over plains, huh?" he mused to himself, staring at his reflection. "Beats spreadsheets and mortality rates."
After a quick shower, where he let the warm water try to soothe his restless spirit, he went through the motions of brushing his teeth, his mind drifting to his high school days when he used to play guitar in a band. 'The Actuarial Tables' they called themselves, a joke that only he seemed to find funny now. He hadn't touched a guitar in years, the instrument gathering dust in a corner of his apartment. The reminiscing did little to improve his mood which had quickly settled to its morning default of miserable.
Dressing for work was an automatic process—gray slacks, a crisply ironed shirt, and a tie he chose without looking. His wardrobe was as predictable as his life: safe, unassuming, and utterly devoid of excitement. He glanced at the guitar again, feeling a twinge of something like regret. "Maybe this weekend," he lied to himself, knowing full well the weekend would be spent catching up on sleep and maybe a few hours of mindless scrolling through social media.
Michael grabbed a granola bar for breakfast, not because he liked them, but because they were quick and didn’t make a mess. His apartment was small, a one-bedroom affair that was more a place to sleep than to live. The walls were sparsely decorated; a few framed certificates boasting his academic achievement, a picture of him with his parents at graduation, and a poster of a mountain range he always told himself he'd visit.
As he locked his apartment and made his way to the car, his neighbor, Mrs. Henderson, greeted him with a cheery wave. “Good morning, Michael! Beautiful day, isn't it?”
“Sure is, Mrs. Henderson,” he replied, forcing a smile. He liked Mrs. Henderson, an elderly lady who reminded him a bit of his own grandmother. She always had a kind word and a smile for him, no matter how gray his mood.
Sliding into his modest sedan, Michael turned on the radio, the morning show hosts chattering about the latest celebrity gossip. He half-listened as he pulled out of the parking lot, his mind already on the day ahead, the endless data and numbers waiting for him. The car ride to work was the only time he had to himself, a brief respite before the monotony of his day began.
As he merged onto the freeway, his phone buzzed with a message from Cindy: "Watched that TikTok yet?" He couldn’t help but smile slightly. Cindy, with her relentless energy and zest for life, was like an alien creature to him. He made a mental note to call her later; maybe her infectious enthusiasm could brighten his day a little.
Michael had never really wanted to be an actuary but with the potent combination of a very aggressive advisor, a good head for numbers, and the “Best Actuarial Science Program” in the Southwest, he was living the dream making 6 figures with good growth opportunities and excellent job security.
Unfortunately, despite this cushy life, Michael was profoundly disatisfied, and on his 45 minute commute to work he mostly considered how sad it was that his chance of dying was so low. Considering his good health and age of 26 his company modeled it out to precisely a .0134% chance of him dying in a given year.
The day-to-day of his job as an actuary wasn't necessarily dreadful. He spent hours analyzing statistical models, calculating life expectancies and assessing risk factors for insurance policies. Occasionally, he'd dive into complex algorithms to forecast financial outcomes, a task that required meticulous precision. But outside of work, his life mirrored the monotony of his spreadsheets. Despite the job's clear-cut nature, the relentless pursuit of accuracy and the hefty workload left him feeling perpetually burned out, secretly wishing for a dramatic turn of events just to break the tedium. He often questioned if any career path would have been more fulfilling. Michael had always craved a life filled with adventure—dreaming of soaring through skies, casting enchantments, and traversing the stars. Instead, he found himself confined to an office, sifting through data about mortality, his own fantasies of demise becoming a peculiar form of escapism. In his quieter moments, Michael felt a pang of guilt, as if he had betrayed his younger, starry-eyed self, who had dreamed of exploring distant galaxies rather than spreadsheets.
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Yes it was deeply unlucky how statistically improbable Michael’s chances of death were. But fortunately for Michael he was actually a very lucky guy. Driving down the freeway distracted by thoughts of his pleasant dream, miserable upcoming day, and unfortunate good health Michael failed to notice a Semi-Truck swerving wildly out of control barrelling down the road toward him. His first indicator was the blare of horns and screech of tires as he desperately tried to understand the situation. He clinched the steering wheel and tried to brace himself.
Before he could even blink, a jarring crash thundered, his car crumpling in an instant. It felt like time froze as the semi approached, smashing through the windshield to take off his head. He couldn't react at all, instinctively shutting his eyes in a futile attempt to block out the inevitable. His heart hammered against his chest, echoing the terror in his mind. His last panicked thought was “Damn I never really thought time would slow down before I died, too bad I can’t do anything and this is a bad last thought. Fuck I didn’t really want to die,” and then “Oh fuck, I guess I’m still alive maybe I should pray? Or think about my family? Love you Mom and Dad and Cindy I guess but she should be nicer to me.” and finally “Okay it's definitely not supposed to take this long to die shouldn’t I at least be in unbearable agony.”
But Michael felt fine, well mostly fine. His wrist still hurt from his volleyball days (Michael had once been an avid volleyball player in college, a fleeting passion that now lay dormant, much like his other dreams) but no “I Have Been Crushed By A Semi-Truck” type injuries were apparent. Unfortunately he was completely unable to move, couldn’t even open his eyes despite his best efforts. Paralyzed, Michael's mind screamed for movement, but his body wouldn't obey. 'Great, I survive a crash just to become a living statue,' he thought bitterly. He felt he was breathing, but the action was somehow completely out of his control.
Michael felt himself freaking out from the shock, the confusion of the crash only compounded by this deeply unsettling paralysis. Was he dead? Was this already heaven? Or Hell? Was he alive and in a coma sitting in a hospital while his parents considered pulling the plug? Michael let himself freak out at first before attempting to meditate and calm his thoughts.
But just as he did things somehow got even stranger. Through his closed eyelids he saw brilliant flares of light. He heard incomprehensible sounds that could have easily been a choir of angels as screeching hordes of demons. Was this the afterlife? A light show for the newly deceased? 'Hope they have popcorn,' he mused, his attempt at humor a thin veil over his growing apprehension. The lights and sounds grew in intensity, a cacophony of sensation that completely overwhelmed his thoughts. Then suddenly silence once again. He tried once more to open his eyes and found they slid open easily revealing absolutely nothing. He waved his hand in front of his face and couldn’t tell.
Before Michael could try to orient himself in the engulfing darkness, it erupted into a kaleidoscope of prismatic light. The brilliance was initially blinding, but as his eyes adapted, a figure emerged from the luminance. Undoubtedly male, a warrior with a presence too grand for any realm save for the halls of gods. His form, like a sculpture chiseled from celestial marble, exuded an aura of majesty. This was no ordinary man; this was a deity. Michael's voice caught in his throat, muted by the sheer magnitude of the divine figure's overpowering aura
“Hello, Michael. It is my honor to finally greet you," the figure spoke with a voice that resonated with the timbre of ancient authority and the warmth of a guiding light. "I am Aethelrion, God of Justice, Might, and Order, Sovereign of the Empire of Aethel. You, Michael, are chosen as my Paladin." Each word, heavy with significance, seemed to vibrate through the very core of Michael’s being.
Trying to speak, Michael found himself grappling with a mix of reverence and terror. His throat tightened as the ethereal pressure intensified, an invisible force that seemed to weigh upon his soul. The god's luminous presence pulsated, casting reflections of light that danced across Michael's mind, igniting thoughts of destiny and purpose.
Aethelrion’s appearance bore symbols of justice—a balanced scale etched into his armor, a sword at his side that shimmered with an otherworldly glow. The air around him hummed with a power that transcended the mortal plane, sending shivers down Michael's spine.
As Michael struggled to utter a word, the pressure emanating from Aethelrion's aura mounted with an unbearable intensity. It was like an invisible tempest, swirling around him, tightening its grasp on his very essence. The celestial glow that once seemed inviting now blazed with an overwhelming ferocity, piercing through his defenses and laying bare his deepest fears and insecurities.
The symbols of justice on Aethelrion’s armor appeared to pulse with a foreboding light, each beat like a hammer against Michael's psyche. The sword at the deity's side radiated a spectral flame, casting shadows that danced menacingly across Michael's vision. The air grew thick, charged with a power that was almost suffocating, as if the very fabric of his being was being tested under the scrutiny of the divine.
Michael's attempt to speak was lost in a choke of desperation. His mind reeled, unable to grasp or contend with the immensity of the god's presence. Panic clawed at his thoughts, a maelstrom of confusion and awe battling within the confines of his mortal comprehension. His heartbeat, once a frantic drum, now thundered in his ears, each bit spiking a pain into his head. As the divine force crescendoed, Michael's senses were overrun. The light from Aethelrion seemed to fracture his reality, tearing at the seams of his consciousness. It was no gentle pull into unconsciousness; it was a forceful rending of his awareness, a shattering of his mortal limits. The last vestiges of his resilience crumbled, and with a final surge of the god's overwhelming power, Michael was plunged into darkness, his consciousness extinguished under the relentless tide of the divine encounter.