Drifting. Alone. Always alone.

For what felt like centuries, I floated through the endless abyss, my body lost, my senses muted. At first, it had been terrifying—a cage of infinite emptiness. The silence gnawed at me, the stillness worse than death itself. How long had I been here? A thousand years? A million? Time had long since lost meaning.

At first, my mind replayed every fight, every kill, every moment I’d clawed my way through the world. The faces of the dead flickered in and out of view like ghostly reminders, accusations whispered on the wind that didn’t exist here. But after some time, even those faded, their voices swallowed by the void. There was nothing to hold onto, no tether to reality.

My memories turned to a different kind of suffering. I relived the moments of my childhood, the years I spent alone, fighting just to survive. The cold nights, the hunger gnawing at my insides, the silence of an empty home. I had been an orphan—never knew a family, never felt a loving touch. Those memories stung even now, sharper than any blade I had faced in life.

But as the endless drifting continued, even those memories began to blur. The days I scavenged for food, the people I met, the battles I fought—all began to blend together, losing their distinction. The more time passed, the harder it became to remember who I even was.

I could feel myself slipping. Was this what madness felt like? How long had it been since I felt something, anything? I laughed, but there was no sound. My voice lost in the emptiness. How long had it been since I last heard my own thoughts? Even they seemed to echo back, distorted and distant, like a reflection in a shattered mirror.

Was I dead?

The question lingered, haunting me in the silence. Or was this worse than death?

Maybe I had never existed. Maybe this was all just a twisted dream, some kind of eternal punishment for a man who had spent his life steeped in violence. Perhaps I had lost my mind entirely, splintered into pieces so small that nothing remained but fragments. Shadows of a man who once was.

I was losing myself. Drifting further into oblivion, piece by piece, until there was nothing left. Just echoes.

But then—something changed.

Out of the corner of my mind—something flickered. At first, it was just a speck, a distant pinprick of light, barely there at all. I blinked—had I imagined it? After so many years of nothingness, of darkness and isolation, my mind was quick to trick me. It had to be a hallucination.

But no, it was real. The light, faint as it was, persisted. And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, I felt something stir inside me. Hope.

I didn’t know why, but the light seemed to call to me, a beacon in the endless void. It was so distant, so far beyond my reach, but it was something. Something more than this vast nothingness. I didn’t care what it was—whether it was salvation or another kind of damnation. It didn’t matter. After centuries of floating in the dark, I was desperate for anything.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

I willed myself toward it, pushing through the emptiness, though I had no body to move. It felt like swimming through molasses, each moment an agonizing stretch, but I kept going. I had to reach it. I could feel my very being straining toward the light, each fragment of myself pulling together in a single, focused direction.

Excitement bubbled within me—an emotion I had long forgotten. Was it really there? Was this real, or was my mind playing tricks on me again?

The light grew stronger, flickering like a flame in the darkness. And the closer I got, the more real it felt. My heart—not that I actually had one—pounded with anticipation. I didn’t care what it was. The void could consume me again, but I would reach that light.

I had to.

//////////////////

Another eternity passed as I hauled my nonexistent ass toward the light. But this eternity felt different from the last. This time, I had direction, a purpose. I finally had a place to go, a goal to accomplish. No longer was I a blubbering idiot, adrift in the abyss, lost and broken. My consciousness had fused back together, solid and singular, focused on one thing—the light.

It pulled me forward with a silent promise, and I followed without hesitation. The closer I got, the brighter it became, until I could make out its form—a door. A simple door, glowing with an ethereal light, standing impossibly alone in the endless void.

For a moment, I hesitated, staring at it. How long had it been since I had seen something so real, so tangible? The light was warm, inviting, and yet I couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that something more was waiting beyond it.

But hesitation wasn’t in my nature. Before doubt could take root, I threw myself forward. The light enveloped me, and I was yanked through the door like a comet pulled into the heart of a sun.

Suddenly, I was hurtling forward, faster than I had ever moved. My mind could barely keep up as stars, planets, and entire galaxies flew past me, blurring into streaks of light. I was moving at a speed that defied reason, soaring through space, watching the very fabric of reality unravel before my eyes. Universes bloomed and collapsed in the distance, entire worlds appeared and vanished in a blink, and for the first time in eons, I felt like I was truly alive.

And yet, even amidst this spectacle, something stirred within me. It wasn’t the rush of movement or the endless cascade of worlds passing by. No, this was something far deeper, something I couldn’t quite name. As I sped forward, I felt a growing sensation—like the very essence of the space around me was bleeding into my being, subtly, quietly. It was as if I were drawing in something far beyond my understanding, and yet it didn’t feel foreign.

The further I went, the more intense the sensation became. It wasn’t a flood, not some overwhelming surge, but a steady, powerful hum, like the very void itself was merging with me. The weight of it was undeniable, but it wasn’t heavy. It was light, almost imperceptible, but impossible to ignore.

Stars and galaxies flashed by, and I realized it wasn’t just the journey that was changing me—I was changing. Whatever this strange force was, it clung to me, intertwined with my very essence. It wasn’t filling me up like water in a cup—it was fusing with me, becoming a part of me in ways I couldn’t fully grasp.

I wasn’t just moving through this space. I was absorbing it—taking something from the very passage of time and space itself, and with each moment, I felt more powerful, more complete. The light ahead grew brighter, the pull stronger, and with it, I realized something profound.

I wasn’t just traveling anymore. I was becoming something else.