Thomas never asked for much out of life. He showed up to work on time, smiled at his annoying-ass coworkers, and microwaved the same sad beef lasagna every lunch break. He didn’t chase dreams—just kept his head down, paid his bills, and went home to his tiny apartment that smelled faintly of instant noodles and depression.

  Then came that one shitty night.

  He was heading home, earbuds in, lost in a podcast about some fantasy bullshit he used to read as a kid—elves, dragons, magic swords, the whole deal. He never believed in any of it. Not really. Not until he got jumped in an alley three blocks from his apartment.

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  “Wallet. Now,” the guy said. Hoodie up. Shaky hands. Desperate eyes.

  Thomas didn’t argue. Gave him the wallet, phone, even offered the earbuds. Hell, he was just trying to stay alive. That’s when he saw it—a knife. Not your run-of-the-mill blade either. It shimmered with weird-ass blue runes that made his skin crawl. And before he could say another word—

  Shlunk.

  Right into his throat.

  Just like that, lights out.

  No dramatic last words. No slow fade to black with sad music in the background. Just pain, blood, and cold pavement.

  But death wasn’t the end for Thomas.

  That damn knife didn’t just kill him—it threw him headfirst into a world that didn’t give a single shit about what he was or used to be.