The old man raised an eyebrow. “You’ve come to terms with your situation and have accepted it?”

  Peregrine's eyes landed on the grave he had clawed his way out of mere minutes earlier. He shuddered as a coldness squeezed his body. “Yeah, I guess. Not much I can do about it, I assume. Give me some instructions and guide me to where I need to be, then I’ll figure out the rest. Is there some sort of judging life review, or something? Do I reincarnate back on Earth in a new body?”

  “I’m afraid your time on Earth has passed,” the old man said, floating closer to Peregrine. “Allow me to start from the beginning.”

  The old man started spinning in a circle, picking up speed until his robe became a red blur and the wind blowing from the vortex was strong enough that Peregrine had to shield his eyes from flying dirt and pebbles. Soon after, the red blur turned black and the spinning slowed until finally coming to a stop.

  Standing where the old man had been was a familiar looking woman. She had wild, black hair that fell over her shoulders. Her dress was dark as night itself and covered in symbols that Peregrine didn’t recognize, save for a couple such as a bright green trinity knot glowing across the bustline of the dress.

  “Y-you,” Peregrine stammered, pointing an accusatory finger at the woman. He knew exactly where he’d seen those piercing blue eyes before. “I saw you … at the stream. You looked at me when you were washing red out of your clothes. It really was blood. Wasn’t it?”

  A title appeared smack dab over the woman’s head. The words were big, white, and bold, the bottoms of every letter dripping with blood. He slapped at the air in front of him, like he had before when his vision went fuzzy and the jumbled words showed up but, once again, his hands brushed across the letters with no effect.

  [The Morrigan]

  [Level 100]

  The words faded and a voice took over in Peregrine’s head. But it wasn’t his internal monologue. This sounded more like a booming baritone pro wrestling announcer.

  You’ve stumbled upon The Morrigan. Lucky for you it’s the docile version. She’s at 100 and you’re at 1. If there was a fight, it would be over before you had the chance to blink. The Morrigan is what you would call a Goddess back on Earth. She is a powerful being, capable of crossing dimensions and realms at will. Much like an ex, she comes with tidings of good, neutral, and bad. This is because she has the ability to separate herself into three distinct entities, forming their own Jekyll and Hyde personality, plus one—just like that ex. If that wasn’t enough, she’s also a shapeshifter.

  You encountered the death version of her just before you died on Earth. And now you find yourself meeting the fate version, who is neutral and helpful. And since you’re standing before her, rest assured she found and brought you to the Irenic Realm for a reason. Pray her war version isn’t nearby.

  More irritated than startled, Peregrine tossed his hands on his hips and said, “Can you tell me the deal with all these words floating in my eyes? And why did that voice sound like I was about to main event a match? It seemed like it knew me.”

  “Certainly,” The Morrigan said. “You are seeing and hearing things as The All sees them. This—”

  “The All?” Peregrine interjected.

  The Morrigan looked up longingly at the purple and blue stained sky, her hand tracing it like she was painting a picture with the colors. “The All is the creator of all that is. It is the universe, and existence itself. The words you see before you in your heightened state is how The All sees everything. The words you hear inside your head is how The All hears everything. In The Irenic Realm, you are given access to this view and information, just as The All intended. This is reality beyond your Earth. This vision melds with your personality, so the nuances in speech that you’re noticing are from you and the vision becoming one.”

  I’ve gone insane, Peregrine told himself. After all these years, it's finally happened. But he knew that was a lie. What was happening now was very real. No matter how out of this world it sounded. Because it was … it was out of this world—Earth. In fact, those levitating words and descriptions reminded him of a game. The Morrigan stared at him. “So … The All, and everyone outside of Earth, see things in a video game fashion? Like a role playing game? There’s stats and all that business?”

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Of sorts, yes,” The Morrigan answered. She then rose off the ground several feet and floated further into the graveyard. Without looking back, she beckoned with her finger for Peregrine to follow.

  Peregrine didn’t hesitate to chase after her, not wanting to be left alone in the afterlife graveyard. Even if the companionship was an otherworldly emo-looking Goddess that could snuff him out of existence in an instant, if she desired. Her voice sounded so soft and comforting, it was hard to imagine her being so powerful.

  A short distance later, they arrived in a different section of the graveyard. An earthy smell drifted through the air that reminded Peregrine of rainy childhood summers. They came to a stop near two graves, the dirt on both overturned and damp, like they had been dug up recently.

  The Morrigan lowered herself to the ground. She paused briefly on the two graves before turning to Peregrine. “Think of Earth’s video games as creations. Just like the creator itself created you. As above, so below. You were made in its image, and its thoughts. And thus, you do the same by creating these characters in video game worlds—or books—with your thoughts and actions. Just because they don’t exist physically, doesn’t mean they aren’t real.”

  Peregrine took a moment to think about what The Morrigan had told him. He had never considered himself a true creator—more of a creative hack, maybe. But the idea that when he wrote books and crafted characters and scenes, that he might be doing the same thing a supreme being did to him, was intriguing to imagine. But it didn’t answer everything. “What happens to me now?”

  “These two graves you see before you,” The Morrigan began, “were from people who I brought here. Just like I did for you.”

  “Does everyone have to dig out of their own grave?” Peregrine asked, holding up his fingers, caked in dirt and blood, for The Morrigan to see, hoping she’d take pity on the horrifying awakening he’d endured, and the guaranteed PTSD he’d be suffering from it.

  The Morrigan “tsk-tsked” and shook her head. Her eyes seemed to water at the sight of Peregrine’s hands. “An unfortunate repercussion due to the nature in which you crossed over. Only those who were meant for this realm arrive here peacefully. They get to choose the method of their rebirth.”

  “Why didn’t I get a choice?” Peregrine demanded. “If everyone else gets to, what happened that I didn’t get to pick a method that wouldn’t scar me for life? I almost died a second time in that damn casket.” He realized his fists had clenched and he was taking short, raspy breaths. Once he registered what he was doing, he loosened his hands and shook them out, and got his breathing under control. “Sorry. I just … I mean, it’s pretty messed up.”

  “The Irenic Realm was not meant to be the next evolution in your consciousness,” The Morrigan said. She didn’t appear concerned about Peregrine’s brief burst of anger. But she probably had no reason to be. She was level 100, and Peregrine didn’t know yet what his level 1 was capable of, but he assumed it was jack shit. “You were meant to reincarnate on Earth on a service to self path. You’ve wanted others to benefit from your writing, and they did, even if you didn’t see it firsthand due to your lack of selling books. Of the people that did read them, they were moved by your words.”

  Peregrine had a hard time believing this because he barely needed two hands to count the number of books he had sold. How many of the people that bought them had actually read them?

  The Morrigan continued telling Peregrine about himself. “The new existence you were meant to have would’ve provided you the opportunity to be selfish—to be wildly successful, but not care about others or what your work meant to them. On Earth, they say money is the root of all evil. You might have become egotistical and trampled those beneath you. Or, you might have chosen to give away your work, with the means of helping others through difficult times. The choices would’ve been yours to make. When I plucked you out, I corrupted the path. For that I am sorry … but I needed you here.”

  Peregrine paced slowly in a wide circle, taking the information in. He kicked at a small rock every time he passed by, nudging it closer and closer to the two fresh graves while keeping an eye on The Morrigan, who stood motionless, and emotionless, letting him do his thing. He wasn’t sure how to feel. All he knew was that he was pissed. Pissed that he died. Pissed that he was supposed to reincarnate back on Earth and be a successful author. Really pissed that he didn’t get to make any of the choices he was supposed to for himself. He came to a stop and glared at The Morrigan. “Why? Why did you take away my free will? What could possibly be so important that you pulled a nobody like me out of a normal life to help you?”

  Once again, The Morrigan didn’t show any concern, or sympathy. She stood stoically, hair still blowing wildly for some reason, even though there was no wind—which Peregrine had to admit was kind of cool looking. “The Irenic Realm is a dimension adjacent to Earth that separates the planet from the rest of the Astral Plane. It is just beyond human perception and is meant to be a place of peace on the higher journey.”

  “Is it Heaven?” Peregrine asked, thinking it was a logical guess.

  “One might call it that, yes. They share similarities, but are two different existences. There are an infinite number of realms in the universe, each with their own purpose. In the Irenic Realm, beings from every place imaginable come to live together in harmony, to help better one another, and put the needs of others before their own. But something happened.”

  “Like what?” Peregrine asked. “There’s not an Astral Plane government that came and ruined it, is there?”

  “I’m afraid it’s far worse than a human construct. But first, I must prepare you for your trial that will determine if you are the correct choice, or if you will die again.”