I was just a writer. An engineering student who found solace in the worlds I built with words, more so than the equations I struggled to solve. My greatest creation—a fantasy novel—was a sanctuary, a place where gods ruled and demons lurked, where elves whispered to the winds and humans fought to survive.

It was supposed to be just a story. A tale of escapism.

But something went wrong.

I died. Not in a glorious battle or a tragic accident. No, I died in a quiet, unremarkable way. A sudden illness that I never saw coming. The kind of death that most people brush aside in their minds as they live their busy lives.

Except... the gods of my world didn’t brush it aside. They mourned. They wept for me, for a life snuffed out before it could bloom.

They didn’t understand. They couldn’t comprehend that I was nothing more than a man—a human who created them for my own amusement. I never asked for their intervention. I never sought to become part of their world. Yet, despite my death, they yearned for my return. They couldn’t let go.

This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

So they did what any divine beings would do. They tried to fix it. They tried to revive me.

But in their haste, in their desperate attempt to pull me back, something went wrong. A glitch. A failure in the very fabric of reality they controlled.

Instead of returning me to my world, they did something far stranger. They reincarnated me into the very world I had created, as if my own story had become my prison.

At first, I didn’t realize what had happened. I didn’t understand why I was here, why I remembered things that didn’t belong to me. The world felt familiar but distant, like a dream I could never fully wake from.

I didn’t even know I was in my own creation, walking among characters I had crafted, living out events I had written down, unaware that I was Haider, the man who had created it all.

But the gods knew.

They knew who I was. They knew what I had done, and they did not treat me as a mere mortal. To them, I was still something more—a creator, a force that should not exist in this world.

But I wasn’t a god. I wasn’t even a hero. I was just... another person, caught in the middle of their mistake.

And now, as I walk through the lands I once imagined, I can feel it—the pressure, the weight of my own story pushing against me. The rules of the world are no longer just words on a page. They are the laws that bind me, that define me.

I know the secrets of this world. I know its history, its dangers, its people. And yet, knowing doesn’t mean surviving.

I am not the hero of this story.

I am not the savior, nor am I its destroyer.

I am simply a person trying to understand why I was brought here... and whether I can survive long enough to uncover the truth of what the gods did to me.

Because if I don’t, I might never escape this world.

And if they succeed in their plans, the very system they created—the one that keeps everything in balance—might unravel, and with it, everything I know.

I don’t know what’s coming next. But I

do know this: my story has only just begun.