For a moment, I saw the face of God.

  And to be with God means to burn in hell.

  To look upon its face is to uncover the truth—mesmerizing yet maddening. Like drowning in eternal fmes, the fire searing deep into the soul, consuming the very essence of consciousness. It was hell. Hellish. And yet, heavenly.

  Yet, for some strange reason, our mortal flesh could not bear the weight of God.

  The st thing I remember is falling. And when I nded, my blood spttered across the cold floor. I felt the momentary heat of death... the fleeting seven minutes of bliss before the brain surrenders to oblivion.

  And then, nothing.

  Nothingness—the end, I suppose. The afterlife is void. My existence fades. Freedom. I am free.

  Then, suddenly, my body jerked upward.

  “What?” My voice trembled as sweat drenched my skin, soaking me in my own filth. “What is this?” I muttered, staring at my hands—small, weak, unfamiliar.

  A crushing weight settled upon me. Despair. An unbearable pain. A loneliness so profound that tears spilled from my eyes, flowing uncontrolbly like a flood no mortal could halt. Yet, as I wept, the overwhelming sorrow began to dissipate, like mist retreating before the sun.

  The door burst open.

  “Arsta!?”

  Their faces were etched with worry. Their presence weighed heavy on my mind. Who were they? Who was Arsta? Their tears fell freely, yet theirs were different from mine. Theirs were tears of hope. Mine—tears of suffering.

  A bearded man seized my shoulders.

  “You’re alive… My son is alive! Thank you! Thank you!” His embrace was suffocating, his scent thick with sweat and desperation.

  A woman clutched my hands. “I can’t believe this... I thought I’d lost you forever.”

  And yet, I still wondered—who were they? Who was I? Where was I? My mind spiraled, unable to grasp the truth. But then, pain—deep, aching, and raw—pierced through my heart. Old emotions bled from my soul, the echoes of a familial love I no longer recognized.

  I understood nothing.

  Nothing at all.

  But one thing was certain: I had returned to flesh.

  Yet, this was not my body. It was too young. And I—before this—had no legs to stand upon.

  Despite my newfound youth, despite the vitality I had regained, I felt nothing but emptiness. It was as if I had been thrust into a dream—or a nightmare. Everything around me was unfamiliar. Foreign. Suffocating.

  I despised it.

  I despised it so much that I longed for death.

  I would rather embrace oblivion than be reincarnated into this wretched life.