CHAPTER 1

The mountains were quiet.

High in the frozen ranges of the Himalayas—where wind sang through ridges like an old forgotten
hymn, where valleys lay wrapped in white silence—stood a lone figure carrying a bundle of wood on his
shoulders. Snow crunched softly beneath his bare feet, each step sinking into the untouched frost. His
breath, pale and ghostly, drifted upward and vanished into the cold air.
The Wanderer moved without hurry.
His clothes were simple, torn by time, bleached by sun, and hardened by uncounted winters. His hair
fell loose around his shoulders, stirring whenever the wind climbed past the cliffs. His expression was
calm—too calm for a man alone on a deadly mountain.
He reached a flat ledge overlooking miles of icy wilderness. The wind softened here, as if the
mountains themselves paused to listen.
The Wanderer set the wood down and spoke quietly to himself, voice steady, almost gentle:
"It seems… this is where I stop."
He looked up at the sky—grey, heavy with drifting clouds—and then at the endless descent of peaks
below him.
"I walked enough. Lived enough. Felt enough."
He knelt, picking up one log at a time, arranging them with deliberate care. His fingers were steady,
though frost clung to them. He stacked the wood piece by piece until the shape of a funeral pyre was
formed—simple, humble, and built entirely by his own hands.
When it was done, he stood beside it for a long moment, saying nothing.
A stillness settled.
No bird cried. No wind moved.
At last, he whispered to the empty mountains:
"This body… I return it now."
He climbed onto the pyre with slow, graceful acceptance, laying himself down on the cold wooden
surface as though settling into a bed for the final time. His eyes closed, not in fear, but in a weary
peace.
Then—softly, with a faint exhale—his soul slipped free.
The world fell away.
He rose from his body like faint light escaping a lantern, floating above the pyre, above the cliffs, above
the sleeping mountains. The Himalayas shrank beneath him. Clouds parted around him like drifting
curtains.
Earth lay below him—vast and blue, turning slowly in the cosmic wind.
The Wanderer simply watched.
He had seen Earth many times before, but never like this—quiet, peaceful, distant. The moon hovered
nearby, serene and glowing like a calm guardian. Their silent faces comforted him.
But then—
He felt it.
A gaze.
Not from Earth, not from moon, not from any living creature. Something vast and unknown was
watching him—something beyond form, beyond face. A presence, ancient and immeasurable, brushing
against his soul like the shadow of a god.
His breath—though he had none—seemed to stop.
The presence grew stronger.
And then the universe roared.
Without warning, a colossal force wrapped around him. It wasn’t violent—but impossibly powerful, like
mountains collapsing in silence. For the first time in all his wandering, his soul was dragged.
He hurtled through the void.
Galaxies streaked past like rivers of fire. Stars twisted into spirals of light. Clusters of burning suns and
planets blurred into golden streams around him. Nebulae unfolded like titanic blooming flowers.
He felt no pain—only awe, and the overwhelming weight of the invisible hand dragging him across
existence.
The pull did not stop.
Countless galaxies passed.
Then the galaxies dissolved into something far larger: universes.
Self-contained realms—each glowing with laws, time, and realities of their own—slid past him like
shimmering bubbles. Some bright, some dark, some swirling with colors unknown to mortal eyes.
"So many realms…"
But the force still pulled.
Then he saw them—something larger still, something almost indescribable: multiverses.
Countless multiverses, each holding countless universes, stretching outward like lights scattered
across an infinite night. They hung in the void like droplets of rain, like drifting lanterns, like fragments of
creation waiting to be touched.
And then, without warning—
the pull stopped.
He hung in absolute stillness.
Before him lay the endless expanse of multiverses, each pulsing faintly, each vast beyond
comprehension. For one silent moment, the Wanderer simply watched the impossible.
Then—
the presence returned. Stronger. Deeper. Unquestionable.
And the force grabbed him once more.
He was hurled into one multiverse.
Then into a single universe within it.
Light flared around him as he crossed its boundary, entering a cosmic ocean far grander than any he
had seen. Galaxies spread like jeweled currents, immense and ancient.
He was dragged toward one in particular—massive, radiant, spiraling with a brilliance surpassing all
others.
The galaxy was alive with 14 enormous planets, each vast enough to dwarf Earth a thousand times. At
its center burned a sun—no, something greater than a sun—a colossal star whose flames danced like
eternal fire, casting a golden glow across everything it touched.
The Wanderer felt the heat from millions of miles away. A warmth not scorching—but divine.
The force dragged him closer.
One planet grew in his vision—a titan world wrapped in blue and silver, swirling with storms the size of
continents. Two moons orbited it, enormous and luminous, their surfaces carved with ancient,
mysterious scars.
He drifted downward, carried by the vanishing pull.
At the edge of the planet’s outer layer, the force finally weakened. The grip on his soul loosened. The
cosmic pressure faded.
He floated in the stratosphere of a world he had never known.
The planet stretched beneath him—endless, beautiful, alien. Its winds hummed softly. Its light
shimmered across oceans he couldn’t yet see. Its moons glowed like silent watchers.
For the first time since his journey began…
he felt weak.
The strength he had carried for ages dimmed. His vision blurred. His soul trembled as though hollowed
out.
Darkness gathered around him, not threatening, but gentle—comfortable, quiet, embracing.
His consciousness dimmed…
…until the world vanished.
Light.
Noise.
Crying.
He awoke to the wail of a newborn—his own voice. His vision was tiny, narrow, unfocused.
A woman held him in her arms—a beautiful woman with gentle eyes, hair tied back, and a face glowing
with exhaustion and joy. Behind her stood a man with a well-kept beard, proud and trembling with
emotion.
Around them, many others stood, watching him curiously, whispering in a language he could not yet
understand.
He looked down at his arm—a tiny, soft hand reached upward.
"So… I am born again…"
Warmth enveloped him. His eyes closed.
And the Wanderer fell into the first sleep of his new life.