Darkness. Infinite darkness.
That’s what Davy thought as he floated through an empty, dark space that stretched on endlessly. He didn’t know where he was. He couldn’t move his body at all. He could think, yes, and Davy even suspected he was merely a soul now. But it was hard to accept that when he still felt his body somewhere, still attached to him somehow—though there was no actual way to know.
Davy “stared” off into the distance, but there was nothing at all. Nothing noteworthy, nothing to hold his gaze—only an endless void. It was like when a person sleeps and sees nothing but darkness for hours, except this time, he was aware. Fully conscious. In sleep, you aren’t aware of the darkness; you drift without knowing it. But here, he was painfully, completely aware, trapped in this emptiness that filled him with both despair and fear.
I don’t like this.
As a highly skilled and elite butler—the greatest to ever exist, some would say—Davy despised being out of control. His way of life, his way of butlery, was built on perfect order, on an unbreakable chain of control. The tragic explosion and now this empty void were Davy’s ultimate nemesis, the embodiment of chaos he could not command.
Davy recalled the light he’d seen earlier. It was beautiful—a glimmer of hope, a promise of life returning. But it had vanished, and now he was here, drifting in this unending dark. As he pondered it, Davy’s conviction grew that when an organism dies—especially a human—there really is nothing beyond. That last closing of the eyes is final.
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Yet something bothered him. Why was he still aware? Why was his consciousness lingering here, able to think, to question? Were the dead meant to “live” on like this, floating in some forsaken void? Davy would have welcomed the concept of heaven, though he’d never actually believed in it, if only to escape this endless despair of darkness.
As he kept pondering, Davy’s thoughts drifted to his life—how he’d just turned 24 this year and, tragically, had already died. It was truly a brief, unlucky life. He’d even died a virgin, having never held a girl’s hand in a personal way. Sure, he’d touched the hands of many female masters and mistresses professionally, but personal and professional lives were entirely different.
Yet Davy never regretted it—just mused on it, out of sheer boredom. He deeply believed in his way of butlery. Serving people, changing their lives even for a brief period, gave him purpose, happiness, and most importantly, satisfaction. Being a butler allowed him to demonstrate his knowledge and skills, an amazing job where he could achieve the perfection of form and the elegance of service to his masters and mistresses. Those things made Davy proud and reaffirmed his commitment to his chosen path. This, he believed, had been his destiny since the day he was born.
As he contemplated these thoughts, it happened again—a tiny ball of light flickered in the distance, catching Davy’s attention. There it was again, brighter this time, brimming with hope. He wanted to reach for it, but nothing would move. He was fixed in place.
Watching, Davy noticed that the ball of light seemed to be growing larger, and he felt a surge of happiness. But then he realized—the light wasn’t getting closer; it was expanding, spreading its glow and overtaking the dark void.
It was here, finally. Davy heaved a sigh of relief as the entire space grew overwhelmingly bright. The light was overpowering, flooding every corner of the void until something strange happened.
The world around him began to distort, though he couldn’t really see any tangible shapes or structures—just blurs moving in strange ways. And before he had a chance to process this fascinating phenomenon, everything vanished, replaced by a new scene before him.
No, not just a scene—it felt as though he was truly there.
“Are you okay, Davy Fashur?”
A sudden voice snapped Davy out of his dazed state. He looked toward the source and saw an old man dressed in attire that was unmistakable to him: a butler’s suit, just like the one he’d worn on Earth. There was a worn, old-fashioned quality to the fabric, perhaps due to the man’s age, or maybe it was simply the style of this particular suit.
But then it dawned on him. Davy Fashur?