It was night. The first night since the miracle.
Jim Slevann lay in bed beside Matt, who was pretending to scroll through his phone but kept glancing over every thirty seconds. He was happy, sure his brother was alive.. but also weirdly anxious. That "two weeks left to live" clock was still ticking in the back of his mind, and he didn't quite know how to believe in miracles yet. Maybe after fifteen days, he'd let his guard down.
Jim, on the other hand, was just thrilled to feel tired in a normal way. He hadn't gone to bed feeling like a regular person in years. He climbed under the covers, breathing in the soft air of a night that wasn't spent in a hospital room. He was ready for the best sleep of his life.
And then—gong.
A deep, echoing sound rang out, like someone had smacked the universe with a giant church bell.
Jim's eyes snapped open.
He felt it immediately, something pulling at him, yanking his very soul out like it owed rent. He tried to resist, grabbing at consciousness like a kid refusing to wake up for school, but the force was too strong.
In a blink, he was gone.
Flung across space, or maybe something deeper than space—he landed hard in a place that didn't make sense. The air was thick, the ground shimmered like obsidian glass, and the sky pulsed like a dying star.
"Where am I?!" Jim shouted, his voice cracking with both fear and puberty.
It was real. Too real. This wasn't a dream. Dreams didn't come with gravity and anxiety and slightly damp socks.
Then came the voice.
"Hearken," it said, deep and commanding.
"You're here to fulfill your pledge, Jim."
Jim's heart skipped. The deal.
Day was his. But night?
That belonged to something else.
"You chose life. You really chose good, James Slevann," the voice said, now closer, clearer, almost proud.
"And here it is. A few years ago, I lost my night rider. A vacancy opened up, and… well, we agreed you'd make a perfect replacement."
Jim blinked, trying to make sense of that sentence.
"Wait, why me?" he asked, part confused, part offended. "I've been alive again for one day and I'm already working night shifts for the afterlife?"
Then, the voice stepped forward... no longer just a sound in the ether, but a presence. A figure began to form, shaped like a man but shimmering, almost liquid. His robe flowed from his neck down to his feet like a river made of starlight. He didn't walk so much as glide, each step leaving a ripple of light behind.
"I am the Setrum of Peace," he said, his voice echoing like it was being spoken through time itself.
The name hit like a forgotten dream, familiar in a way Jim couldn't explain.
"People of the old world called me The Great Dais," he continued.
Setrums. Jim had never heard the word before, but somehow, in this place, he understood. They were spirits, ancient and powerful, running the unseen systems of the universe, like cosmic engineers keeping the lights on in creation. But they couldn't work alone. They needed bodies. Human bodies.
Vessels.
They needed riders.
"You're not dying, Jim," the Great Dais said, reading his thoughts. "You're now learning how to live. The day is yours to learn. The night? That's when we ride."
Jim just stared at him.
"Cool," he muttered. "I basically signed up to be a celestial Uber driver."
And just like that, Jim Slevann was chosen.
Chosen to travel beyond time. To clock in every night as an employee of the Setrum of Peace. To fight the Ozeleans—cosmic chaos gremlins responsible for everything from wars to diseases to your phone dying at 1%.
The night wasn't for rest anymore.
It was his time to fly. It was his to conquer.
That was the deal. Him during the day. From the very minute he came back to life, he belonged to them. Celestial shift hours, apparently.
And tonight was his first test. The Great Dais was watching, arms metaphorically crossed. Jim had to stop an Ozelean.
Ozeleans weren't just random monsters. They were the anti-Setrums, the peace takers. The instigators of war, architects of misery, literal agents of chaos.
And Jim?
Jim had thirteen years of suffering on his résumé. He was basically overqualified.
Decked out in glowing armor, holding a sword of light in one hand and a shimmering ancient shield in the other, Jim was ready for battle. He imagined something big. Something nasty. Fangs. Wings. Maybe an evil laugh.
Nope.
It was a little girl.
Eight years old. Adorable. Floating mid-air like a creepy angel in a horror movie.
Jim blinked. "You're kidding me, Voice. Ain't no way I'm gonna fight a kid."
"If you don't," the Great Dais replied smoothly, "she's going to kill you."
"Wait—hold up. We can die?!"
Before he could get an answer, the girl lunged.
Jim barely had time to think. One moment he was floating on what felt like an invisible bike, the next he was weaving through the night sky with the pint-sized assassin right on his tail. She was fast. Too fast. And she was aiming to kill, sending blasts of pure chaos his way.
Jim, bless him, was just trying not to die. His whole focus was on defense—blocking, dodging, panicking. Then something clicked.
His vision shifted. That 360° sight returned. And in it, he saw everything, the destruction this Ozelean had caused on Earth. The chaos. The pain. The senseless tragedies. And now, she had him in her sights.
"You have got to be kidding me," Jim muttered. But now he wasn't laughing.
Rage bubbled up. Not fear—anger. Deep, holy, tired-of-suffering anger.
He stopped the bike. Turned. Faced her.
In slow motion, even as she charged with all her speed and power, Jim was calm. He raised the sword. Took a breath. And with a single, clean slice...
Gone.
Just like that.
And back in the Celestial Realm, The Great Dais turned to the other Setrums and nodded.
That was the part they hadn't understood.
They didn't need just a warrior.
They needed someone who knew pain. Someone with fire. Someone hungry.
And back in bed, Jim gasped awake, heart pounding. His armor gone. His body exhausted. But he was alive.
He stared at the ceiling.
"Okay. That was insane."
Then he rolled over.
"God!, I really like what I do."