[Evening, 5 O'clock]
Harry adjusted his tie with a smug grin, strutting down the crowded street like he owned the city. The world buzzed around him, but none of it mattered. Not the honking cars, not the rushing pedestrians, not the coffee some poor intern spilled on his own shoes trying to get out of Harry's way.
Today, Harry was a god among insects.
"Promotion, baby," he whispered to himself, eyes gleaming. "Finally."
Of course, the promotion wasn't really his. He'd stolen it—like everything else. All it took was copying his friend Evan's late-night reports, slipping them to the boss with a few tweaks and a well-timed sob story about Evan's "burnout." Easy.
Now Evan was on stress leave, and Harry was walking the red carpet of life.
He passed a homeless man asking for change and didn't even glance. A child dropped her toy near his foot; he stepped over it. His phone buzzed with a message from a woman he'd ghosted weeks ago. Blocked.
The world revolved around Harry. Always had.
So when the blade slid into his chest, quick and clean, Harry barely understood what was happening.
"Wha...?"
Warm blood soaked his shirt. A man he'd never seen before whispered something—something Harry didn't even hear—and walked away, disappearing into the sea of faces.
Harry collapsed, the world blurring around him. His fingers twitched once, then stilled.
And then—
Light.
Pure, gentle, warm. It enveloped him like a soft blanket.
When he opened his eyes again, he was no longer in the city. He was surrounded by vast meadows, silver clouds drifting across a golden sky. The air smelled like blooming flowers and fresh rain. He blinked in confusion, his blood-soaked shirt now replaced with a simple white robe.
Before him, seated upon an elegant, towering throne, was the Goddess of Kindness. Her appearance radiated an otherworldly serenity that seemed to calm even the tumultuous thoughts in his head. Her skin was like smooth porcelain, glowing with an ethereal light. Her long, silver hair cascaded around her shoulders like a waterfall, soft waves shimmering in the light, and her eyes—oh, her eyes—were a brilliant, calming shade of emerald green, deep yet gentle, like the heart of an untouched forest.
Her clothing was flowing and elegant, made of fabrics that seemed to blend seamlessly with the surroundings. A robe of pale violet and gold wrapped around her, the edges shimmering like the soft glow of dawn. Her presence was overwhelming, yet soothing. The throne she sat upon was magnificent—crafted from gleaming white stone, adorned with delicate vines that twisted into intricate patterns, as though the very earth itself had shaped it. Flowers bloomed at the base, and a soft mist lingered around her, adding to the divine atmosphere.
Harry swallowed hard. The beauty of this place, the calmness of the goddess, almost made him forget where he was—or where he had been.
"You lived a life of cruelty, Harry," the goddess spoke, her voice as smooth as a gentle breeze but carrying the weight of truth.
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His chest tightened.
"You harmed others for your gain. You twisted love, friendship, and trust into weapons. You refused to learn, even when given chances."
"Wh—what is this? Some kind of afterlife?" His voice came out shaky, his arrogance quickly slipping away in the presence of such a being.
She nodded slowly, her eyes softening with what could almost be pity. "Of a sort. But not the end."
The goddess raised one delicate hand, and before him appeared a large mirror, its surface rippling like water. The reflection shifted, showing images of Harry's past. Harry's breath caught in his throat as he watched his life play out before his eyes, only this time it wasn't his memories—it was the damage he had caused.
Scenes flashed by: his callous manipulation of his friends, his cruel betrayals, the lies, the hurt. He saw Evan—his friend—broken, exhausted, watching Harry take the promotion he had worked so hard for. The whisper of Harry's selfish words rang in the air.
Then the image shifted again. The screen filled with faces—faces of strangers he'd used and discarded. There was a woman crying, heartbroken over Harry's cold rejection. A child, eyes wide with terror as Harry ignored her fall, too focused on his own needs to even glance back.
With each new scene, Harry's stomach twisted. He tried to look away, but the mirror held him there, showing him the weight of his actions.
And then, in the final moment, it showed him a man—a man sitting in a dark room, clutching his chest in pain, a knife wound in his own body. A scene replayed—the man, who Harry didn't even recognize, had been the one who struck the fatal blow, driven by a lifetime of wrongs. Harry's wrongs.
The goddess's voice cut through his rising panic.
"You were so focused on taking, Harry, that you never saw the damage you caused. You turned your friends into enemies, and your love into disdain."
Harry's heart pounded as he stared into the mirror, unable to escape the images that burned into his mind. This wasn't a punishment—it was the truth.
"You will be reborn into Alvara, a world of magic and harmony. There, you will live not as a warrior, nor a king, nor a mage... but as a Healer."
Harry's lips parted. He wanted to shout, to argue. To beg. But the mirror held him captive, showing him the final vision: a world that would reject him. The Healer. The weakest of them all.
The goddess tilted her head, her expression one of quiet sadness. "You will learn what it means to give, not take. To save, not destroy."
"I didn't ask for this!" His voice cracked, desperation creeping in.
She sighed. "You didn't have to. It is your punishment... and your chance."
And with that, the mirror shattered into a thousand pieces of shimmering light, each fragment a reflection of the man he had been, the choices he had made.
"Goodbye, Harry."
Before he could even react, the world around him began to dissolve into light, the goddess's throne fading into the distance, and his body seemed to be pulled downward, into an unknown fate.