He was thirty-two years old and felt as if his life had already reached its end.
Every morning, he woke up at the same time, put on the same gray shirt, and left his apartment without even knowing why he still bothered. He was an employee—replaceable, unremarkable, invisible. In his boss's eyes, he was a mistake that should have never been hired. Every workday was a sequence of condescending looks, passive-aggressive remarks, and the constant fear of being replaced.
At home, it wasn't any better.
His family laughed at him.
"You haven't achieved anything in life," they said—half joking, half serious.
Sometimes he laughed along—not because it was funny, but because it was easier to pretend it didn't hurt.
He had no friends.
No one he could explain his emptiness to.
No one who would listen.
No one who would stay.
And then there was his wife.
Or at least the woman he believed he knew.
After an especially exhausting shift—overtime, accusations, and yet another public humiliation from his boss—he walked through the city, lost in thought. It had started to rain, but he barely noticed. His shoulders were heavy, his gaze empty.
He just wanted to go home.
Sleep.
Forget.
As he passed by a restaurant, he suddenly stopped.
Inside, behind the glass window, sat two people he recognized instantly.
His wife.
And his boss.
She laughed. A real laugh. One he hadn't heard from her in months. Then she leaned forward—
and kissed him.
The world around him fell silent.
His heart began to race, his hands trembling. Without really thinking, he took a step forward.
Then another.
He wanted to go inside.
He wanted answers.
He wanted to scream.
He wanted to end everything.
---
He stopped.
His foot refused to take the next step.
His hand never reached the door.
Something inside him… simply broke.
Not with a loud crack.
Not with anger.
Not with tears.
But with a quiet, exhausted realization.
He couldn't do it.
Not today.
Not like this.
The voices inside the restaurant blurred behind the glass. His wife's laughter, the clinking of glasses, his boss's muffled voice—it all felt distant, as if he were watching a scene from a stranger's life.
Slowly, he turned around.
The rain had grown heavier, but he barely noticed. His steps felt heavy, mechanical, as if his body were simply following a routine it had repeated a thousand times before.
Go home.
Take off his shoes.
Sleep.
Life had never asked more of him anyway.
---
The apartment was silent.
Too silent.
He placed his wet shoes in the hallway, threw his jacket carelessly over a chair, and walked into the living room. He didn't even bother turning on the light. The gray twilight of the city seeped through the windows, casting the room in a cold, bluish glow.
He let himself fall onto the couch.
For a long time, he said nothing.
Then he rubbed his face with both hands and let out a bitter laugh.
"What a shitty life…"
His voice was rough.
"My boss hates me… my family thinks I'm a joke… I have no friends… and my own wife…"
He swallowed.
"…is cheating on me with my boss."
He leaned his head back against the couch and stared at the ceiling.
"Seriously… universe…"
He laughed again, even emptier than before.
"If you want to break me, just say it."
His fist clenched.
"What did I even do wrong, huh?"
No answer came.
Of course not.
There never was one.
After a while, he stood up. The apartment suddenly felt smaller, as if the air itself was pressing down on his shoulders.
He walked to the balcony.
Cold night air hit him as he opened the door.
The rain had eased, but dark clouds still hung over the city. Cars passed by, their headlights reflecting off the wet streets.
He stepped up to the railing.
"Thirty-two years…"
he muttered.
"And that's it?"
He looked down. People walked by without ever looking up. Everyone was living their own life.
No one knew he was standing there.
No one would have noticed.
A tired sigh escaped his lips.
"Maybe… everything would've been easier if I'd never been born."
And then—
CRACK.
A dry, ominous sound.
He frowned.
"…what was—"
KRRRRAAACK.
The balcony beneath his feet suddenly gave way.
His eyes widened.
"W—"
The concrete shattered.
The ground disappeared beneath him.
For a brief moment, he felt weightless as the world spun and the cold wind rushed past him.
The city rushed toward him.
One final thought crossed his mind.
…Of course.
Then—
Darkness.
---
…Silence.
No pain.
No impact.
Just… emptiness.
Then—
Light.
Faint at first.
Warm.
Unnaturally calm.
His fingers twitched.
He inhaled.
Sharp.
Too sharp.
As if his lungs were tasting air for the very first time.
Slowly, he opened his eyes.
A balcony.
Not his.
He was sitting.
Upright.
His gaze was empty as he tried to comprehend what he was seeing—or whether he could understand anything at all.
The sky… was wrong.
The air… too still.
His heart beat.
Once.
Slow.
Heavy.
He blinked.
"…am I… dead…?"
His own voice sounded unfamiliar.
Deeper.
Calmer.
As if it no longer belonged to him.
Then—
a voice.
Right behind him.
Soft.
Clear.
Unshakable.
"Welcome back…"
A brief pause.
As if the world itself held its breath.
Then—
"…Master Nihiluis."
---
The silence lingered.
Heavy. Unnatural.
The man—no, the one now called Nihiluis—remained seated, his mind struggling to catch up with reality.
"…Master Nihiluis."
The words echoed in his head.
Slowly… very slowly… he turned around.
Behind him stood a girl.
She couldn't have been older than twelve.
Long, pale hair flowed down her shoulders, almost glowing in the strange stillness of the air. Her eyes—deep, unsettling—watched him with a calm that didn't belong to a child.
She wore an old-fashioned dress, dark yet elegant, like something from another era.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then—
"…Yeah," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Okay. That's it."
He let out a dry laugh.
"I've finally lost it."
He stood up abruptly, stumbling a little as he looked around again—the sky, the air, the unfamiliar surroundings.
"A fake balcony, a creepy kid, weird sky—yeah. Definitely a dream."
He pointed at her.
"You're not real."
The girl didn't react.
"I get it," he continued, nodding to himself. "Stress. Trauma. Mental breakdown. Makes sense."
Still nothing.
"…Right?"
Silence.
Then—
"…you are not dreaming."
Her voice was soft.
Certain.
Unshaken.
He froze.
"…Yeah, no," he said immediately, shaking his head. "Nope. Not buying it."
He turned away, pacing.
"This is exactly what a dream would say."
A faint sound interrupted him.
"Correct."
He stopped.
Slowly… stiffly… he turned his head.
There, sitting calmly on the edge of the balcony railing—
was a cat.
Black fur. Golden eyes.
Watching him.
And then it spoke again.
"You are not dreaming."
The man stared.
Blank.
Unblinking.
"…No."
A pause.
"…No, no, no, no—"
He grabbed his head, stepping back.
"Okay—no. Talking cat? That's—no. That's too much. That's too far. My brain wouldn't go this far."
The cat tilted its head slightly.
"How disappointing."
"…IT TALKS AGAIN!"
He pointed at it, almost stumbling over his own feet.
"Cats don't talk! Cats do NOT talk!"
"Correction," the cat replied calmly. "Ordinary cats do not."
"I DON'T CARE ABOUT THE TECHNICALITIES!"
His breathing grew uneven.
"This—this is insane. I died. I fell. I remember falling—this is what happens after death, right? Some weird hallucination before the end—"
"You did die."
The girl's voice cut cleanly through his panic.
Silence.
He froze again.
"…what?"
Her gaze didn't waver.
"You died in your world."
A step closer.
"And you were summoned into this one."
He stared at her.
Then laughed.
Once.
Sharp.
"…Summoned."
Another laugh followed.
"Right. Sure. And let me guess—I'm some chosen hero?"
The cat scoffed.
"Hardly."
The girl spoke again.
"You were chosen… because of your compatibility."
"…Compatibility with what?" he snapped.
A brief pause.
Then—
"With him."
Something in the air shifted.
Subtle.
But unmistakable.
The man frowned.
"…Him?"
The girl lowered her head slightly.
"…Nihiluis."
The name felt heavy.
Ancient.
Wrong.
The cat's golden eyes narrowed slightly.
"Over two thousand years ago," it began, "Nihiluis was known across the entire European realm."
"Not as a hero."
"Not as a king."
A pause.
"But as a disgrace."
The air grew colder.
"He was a dark sorcerer," the cat continued. "A being who defied natural law, twisted life and death, and pursued knowledge that should have never been touched."
The man's expression slowly shifted.
Confusion.
Unease.
"…and you're telling me…"
His voice dropped.
"…that's me?"
The girl looked directly into his eyes.
Not at his face.
Not at his body.
But deeper.
"As of now… yes."
Silence.
His fingers twitched.
"That's ridiculous."
A step back.
"I'm nobody. I was nobody. I worked a shit job, got humiliated daily, my life fell apart and I—"
He stopped.
His breath caught.
"…died."
The word felt heavier now.
Real.
The cat spoke again.
"Your past is irrelevant."
The girl followed.
"What matters… is what you are now."
A long pause.
Then she said quietly—
"You have returned… as Nihiluis."
The wind moved for the first time.
Soft.
Cold.
Unfamiliar.
And somewhere deep inside him—
something stirred.
Not a memory.
Not a thought.
Something older.
Darker.
Waiting.
---