They say when you die, your life flashes before your eyes.

  Well, for me? All I remember was the taste of peanut butter and jelly I was eating.

  Just a normal Saturday, is what I thought.

  I had just crossed the street, headphones half in, half out, licking a glob of jelly off my thumb when something caught my eye. A shadow stretched unnaturally across the pavement. I blinked.

  A car, no, not just a car, an entire SUV was flying through the air in slow motion. Spinning, metal groaning, glass sparkling like confetti in the sun.

  And it was heading straight for me.

  So how did this happen exactly?

  Well... it all happened back on a Saturday. You know, the kind of day that feels like it’s going to be normal right up until it sucker-punches you in the face.

  Cue the rewind.

  The late afternoon sun cast long golden shadows across the school field, painting everything in warm, honey-colored light. The buzz of clubs, laughter, and end-of-day energy filled the air, but all eyes were on the field.

  Ezren Halewind darted between two defenders, the football clutched under his arm. His steps were quick, precise, a blur of sneakers on dry grass. He juked once, twice, then slid past a final block with a quick twist of his hips and vaulted across the goal line just as the final whistle blew.

  Cheers exploded around him.

  "Let’s gooo!" someone from the sidelines shouted.

  Ezren pumped his fist in the air and grinned wide, panting, flushed from exertion but glowing with the thrill of the win. His dark ash-brown hair was a windswept mess, half from the game, half just his default state, and his storm-gray eyes shimmered with adrenaline and pride. A streak of dirt cut across his cheek, but he couldn’t have cared less. At 5'7" and lean-built, he looked more like the kid who outran trouble than the one who started it. Right now? He was electric, alive in every sense of the word. His teammates charged in, whooping, tackling him in celebration.

  He laughed, wrapping an arm around two of them as they walked off the field.

  "That’s teamwork, you dumbass!" he shouted gleefully, giving one a noogie.

  The crowd from various clubs had gathered nearby to watch, and Ezren soaked in the attention with ease. High-fives flew in every direction, someone yelled his name, and a girl from the photography club even snapped a candid.

  He was energetic, radiant, and completely alive—

  and completely unaware it would be the last perfect afternoon of his life.

  The celebration slowly faded as the team made their way into the locker room, their laughter still echoing through the corridors. The scent of sweat, grass, and cheap soap filled the air as Ezren peeled off his jersey and tossed it into his duffel bag. He ruffled his already wild hair and pulled on a hoodie and jeans, the post-game energy still buzzing under his skin.

  Next to him, one of his teammates was stuffing his cleats into a plastic bag when Ezren grinned and said, "One day, they’ll name a trophy after me. The ‘Ezren Halewind Definitely Didn’t Just Trip Over His Own Feet Award.’"

  His friend snorted. "You did trip, dude. Right before the touchdown."

  "Tactical fall," Ezren replied, pointing a finger like a professor. "Totally intentional. Looked great on camera."

  They both laughed, the kind that lingered long after the joke. For Ezren, it was one of those moments that felt too good to notice slipping away.

  After changing, the team began parting ways. Ezren slung his bag over his shoulder and waved off his friends as they split off toward their own routes home. He popped in one earbud and strolled through the dusky streets, the warm light of early evening spilling across the sidewalk.

  When he stepped through the front door of his apartment, the familiar scent of home met him instantly, fabric softener, a hint of fried garlic, and something citrusy from the air freshener his mom always kept by the shoe rack.

  "Ezren!" his mom called from the laundry room. "Put your dirty clothes in the wash! I’ll clean them later."

  "Got it!" he shouted back, tossing his bag in the hallway and pulling out the sweat-soaked jersey.

  His dad, sprawled comfortably on the living room couch with the TV playing a sports recap in the background, looked over and grinned. "So, how’d the game go, champ?"

  Ezren plopped down into a chair nearby, grinning wide. "We crushed it. I mean, I crushed it. Slid through two defenders, faked out their captain, and scored the final point. Crowd went nuts."

  His dad chuckled. "Didn’t you trip during that?"

  Ezren pointed with both hands. "Tactical fall. Totally intentional. You should’ve seen their faces."

  Laughter echoed through the room.

  "Where are your sisters?" he asked after a moment.

  "Band practice," his dad replied. "They’ll be back late."

  "I see," Ezren said casually, standing and heading toward the kitchen.

  He opened the pantry, grabbed the peanut butter, then reached for the jelly in the fridge. A familiar rhythm settled in as he built his sandwich with precision, like he’d done a hundred times before. Thick layer of peanut butter, generous jelly, the crusty ends of the loaf still warm.

  Just as he took a bite, his phone buzzed.

  [Group Chat - Idiots Assemble ??] Yo! Internet café? 6PM. Bring snacks. Or your soul. Or both.

  Ezren grinned and typed back: On my way.

  He poked his head out of the kitchen and called, "I’m heading out! Gonna meet the guys at the café!"

  "Be careful!" his mom called back.

  "Accidents have been popping up all over lately," his dad added, still watching the TV.

  "Yeah yeah, I’ll dodge fate on the way," Ezren said through another bite of sandwich.

  He grabbed his hoodie, stuffed the rest of the sandwich into his mouth, and stepped outside.

  It was just a normal Saturday.

  Ezren walked down the street, earphones in, hoodie tugged over his head, music flooding his thoughts with chill beats and soft vocals. The golden hour cast a warm glow on everything, cars gleamed like polished coins, tree shadows stretched long across the sidewalks, and even the air felt calm.

  He hummed along under his breath, lightly tapping his fingers against his thigh to the rhythm. The world felt peaceful. Familiar.

  Too peaceful to notice the faint thud in the far-off distance.

  Another thud followed, louder this time, like a muffled explosion.

  Ezren didn’t hear it. The music was too loud.

  He stepped onto the crosswalk, halfway through the road when the third thud crashed in close, a thunderous, gut-punching sound that shattered the stillness.

  Ezren looked up.

  Time slowed.

  An SUV, twisted mid-air, metal screaming, glass scattering like stars, hurtled straight toward him.

  He didn’t scream. Didn’t run. He just blinked.

  And then, all he could register was one final, simple thought:

  “Huh. Still tastes like peanut butter and jelly.”

  Then everything went black.

  Something soft pressed against Ezren’s cheek.

  Warm. Squishy. Slightly... wet?

  A high-pitched squealing sound followed, not quite an animal, but not mechanical either. Like a water balloon trying to talk.

  Ezren stirred.

  A ripple passed through him, like he was rising with a wave. The ground below him rocked gently, uneven and unstable. He opened his eyes, and immediately sat up.

  He was on a boat.

  The small wooden vessel floated across a river of brilliant blue water, shimmering as if lit from beneath. Ethereal, peaceful. The sky was dusky with pale stars just beginning to peek through, and across the banks he saw towering trees draped in violet-tinted, glowing moss, gently swaying in the breeze.

  Spirit-like animals darted between the trees, rabbits with wisps for ears, deer made of light, fish that swam above the water rather than in it. Everything felt... serene. Too serene.

  Beside him, floating cyan-blue spirit orbs bobbed in the air, each with tiny faces and varying expressions, joy, curiosity, one that looked slightly cross-eyed.

  The boat rowed forward on its own, no oars in sight. The only sounds were the gentle splash of water, soft winds through glowing leaves, and the peaceful hum of life beyond life.

  Ezren blinked, stunned into silence.

  Eventually, the boat slowed as it reached a small wooden dock. There, standing perfectly still, was a man in yukata-style robes, clean, spiritual, clearly official. A Conductor.

  The man gave a polite bow. "Welcome to the River of Veil."

  Ezren slowly stood up. "The... River of what now?"

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  The man’s voice was calm and patient. "The River of Veil. A spiritual crossing where souls drift before their journey begins, or ends. Some move on. Others... are redirected."

  Ezren blinked at him. "Redirected?"

  "Your situation will be explained in time," the man said with a knowing smile. "For now, please proceed."

  He gestured toward a distant torii gate, standing tall and crimson in the middle of an open field bathed in pale blue light.

  Ezren hesitated. Everything about this place felt like a dream, like he’d wake up any second.

  But he didn’t.

  He stepped off the boat and walked toward the gate.

  The moment he passed through, the peaceful forest vanished.

  The air shifted. Now, he stood in a vast expanse of white marble flooring, lined with countless blue-glowing spirit figures, all floating in rows like they were queuing.

  Some looked like animals. Others, people. All silent.

  Before he could ask anything, a woman in formal attire, tall, poised, clipboard in hand, walked briskly toward him.

  "Ezren Halewind?" she asked. "This way, please."

  She pointed to a small elevator, standing out like an office building drop-in amid the ethereal surroundings.

  Ezren blinked. "I’m... dead, right?"

  The woman didn’t answer.

  She just held the elevator door open.

  "Please proceed."

  Ezren stepped inside the elevator, the doors sliding shut behind him with a soft ding. The walls were polished brass, and faint runes pulsed along the corners, almost like the metal itself was alive.

  When the elevator chimed again, the doors opened… directly into what looked like an office.

  Not a waiting room. Not a hallway.

  An actual office.

  Right in front of him, in the center of the room, was a large wooden desk nearly buried beneath towering stacks of paperwork. Behind it sat a man in a sharp, charcoal-gray tuxedo, sleeves rolled up as he scribbled furiously with a glowing pen.

  The man didn’t look up.

  Behind him stretched an enormous window that revealed a breathtaking cityscape, towering structures, bridges of woven light, floating spirit railways, and buildings that leaned more toward Victorian architecture with intricate arches, stained glass, and steep rooftops. Yet the entire skyline pulsed faintly with a spiritual aesthetic, glowing runes carved into spires, lanterns floating in midair, and distant silhouettes drifting like ghosts among the rooftops.

  It wasn’t modern. It wasn’t ancient. It was something… in between.

  Ezren took a cautious step forward, still trying to process where he even was.

  The man behind the desk finally glanced up, tired eyes meeting Ezren’s.

  "Ah. You’re the human."

  With a heavy sigh, he set his glowing pen aside, and it gently floated back into a crystal holder on the far end of his desk. Reaching beneath one of the piles, he pulled out what looked like a hand-drawn sketch, a spiritual document etched with glowing ink. He sifted through several others, flipping sheets in silence as if hunting for the right file.

  “I was hoping this would be a quiet cycle,” he muttered to himself.

  Finally, he held up a particular document, squinting at it under the dim glow of the office’s floating lanterns.

  “Ezren Halewind,” he read aloud. “Seventeen. Civilian. Time of death... April 12, 2088.”

  He paused, blinked, then looked up at Ezren with a deep, unimpressed sigh. “Mr. Halewind, it seems you were sixty-three years early.”

  Ezren frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean? Why am I even here?”

  The man flipped through another page, then continued reading, his tone matter-of-fact.

  “Let’s see... Four kids. Loving wife. Life career: professional soccer. Estimated net worth: 100 million dollars.”

  He clicked his tongue and shook his head.

  “Shame. You would’ve had a good life, if fate had left it alone.”

  Ezren stared at him, slack-jawed. Then, after a pause, he gave a dry, disbelieving laugh.

  "Wait. You’re telling me... I was supposed to be rich, hot, and have four kids?!"

  The man didn’t respond.

  Ezren looked down, voice dropping just a little. "Damn."

  He shifted on his feet, forcing another half-laugh. "So I just lost all that... for what? A peanut butter sandwich and a flying SUV?"

  There was no answer.

  His expression finally cracked, just slightly. He looked toward the glowing skyline behind the desk.

  "...I didn’t even get to say goodbye."

  Ezren stood there for a moment longer, then looked back at the man behind the desk. "Wait—how did I even die? Can I go back to the living?"

  The man let out another sigh and flipped over a page. "A Conductor was engaged in a mission near your location. You were, unexpectedly, caught in the crossfire."

  Ezren blinked. "A Conductor? Like the ones who collect train tickets?"

  The man didn’t answer that.

  Instead, he said flatly, "Unfortunately, you’ve already crossed the River of Veil. You can’t return to your body, it’s been… smashed to pieces."

  Ezren’s throat tightened.

  The man stood, walked around the desk, and placed a hand gently on his shoulder. "I apologize. The Conductor on assignment should’ve been more careful."

  Ezren swallowed. "So… what now?"

  "You’ll be processed into your soul form," the man explained. "Then placed in the queue."

  Ezren glanced toward the spirit lines he’d seen earlier. "Those people down there… and animals? They’re all waiting to—"

  "Be reincarnated," the man finished. "As new lives. Their memories will be wiped. Just like yours would’ve been."

  Ezren looked down at his hands. Solid. Real. "But… I’m still in my body. Why? Why am I not all glowy and blue like them?"

  The man returned to his desk and began gathering his papers. "Because you’re an anomaly. An irregularity. Crossing on should correct that."

  He glanced back, already moving on to another file. "Someone will be there shortly to pick you up. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m extremely busy."

  Ezren hesitated, but the man was clearly done. With a quiet exhale, he turned and stepped back into the elevator.

  The doors closed behind him with a soft chime.

  When Ezren reached the bottom floor again, the quiet hum of the place settled over him like fog. He looked out across the marble expanse where hundreds of glowing spirits floated in perfect lines, waiting for their turn to be processed.

  But something else caught his eye.

  In the far distance, beyond the queue of souls, there was a separate area, brighter, livelier. A glass-paneled room with actual people inside, not glowing blue spirits, but humans. They were wearing ceremonial robes, open, yukata-inspired attire with flowing sleeves, layered belts, and soul-blue trim that shimmered subtly under the ethereal lighting. The fabric moved like a breeze even when there was none, and each one bore subtle personal touches, but all shared the same spiritual aesthetic of purpose and passage.

  Curious, and more than a little awkward about standing alone among ghosts, Ezren made his way toward the room.

  As he stepped inside, a buzz of conversation met him immediately. People were chatting in clusters, laughing, checking glowing displays along the walls.

  “Station 1’s the most prestigious! I have to get placed there.”

  “I heard Station 2 gets better benefits though.”

  “No way, I got chosen for Station 5!”

  Ezren looked up and saw a large floating bulletin board, names written across it in shifting text. It pulsed faintly with cyan-blue lines, shifting as more names were added.

  He drifted away from the group and spotted a quiet waiting chair off to the side. Grateful for a break, he sank into it with a tired sigh.

  His thoughts swirled.

  I could’ve had a life. A real one. Family, a career, hell, four kids? Now I’m just some weird mistake waiting to be recycled.

  He clenched his jaw. The idea of being reborn with no memory, as someone else entirely, felt... wrong.

  Suddenly, a shadow appeared in front of him.

  A woman stood there, tall and poised. She wore the unmodified Station 10 uniform, ghost white with soul-blue trim, pressed to near perfection. Her long, dark hair was tied neatly back, not a strand out of place. Her pale gold eyes were sharp, calculating, and not the kind you could lie to. She looked like she ran the world and had no time to explain why.

  “Are you the one?” she asked.

  Ezren blinked and looked up. “Uh... yeah. I think?”

  She nodded slightly. “Then if you’d follow me, Mr...?”

  “Ezren,” he replied, standing. “Ezren Halewind.”

  Without another word, she turned on her heel and gestured to a nearby parked black car, runes etched along its sleek frame. Ezren followed her in silence.

  The drive felt longer than it was.

  They passed strange landscapes that didn’t belong to Earth, veiled lakes that shimmered with ghostly reflections, trees that swayed even without wind, and hills dotted with faint lights that danced like fireflies. The world was quiet, like the air itself was holding its breath.

  When the car finally slowed, Ezren leaned forward, trying to catch a glimpse of where they were.

  A torii gate, old and weather-worn, stood leaning at the top of a moss-covered stone path. Behind it, the structure came into view, a small compound made of wood and stone, with sliding paper doors and wide open spaces that looked like they belonged to a temple more than an office.

  The building was oddly shaped, like it had been repaired and expanded a hundred different times. A crooked wooden sign swung lazily near the front entrance:

  Station 10: Please Don’t Touch the Wraiths (We’re Working on It).

  Ezren squinted. "Wraiths?"

  The woman, still silent, stepped out of the car and gestured for him to follow.

  Inside, the station was a mix of cluttered desks, hanging soul-lanterns, half-organized shelves of scrolls, and the faint scent of incense. It felt lived-in, not clean or official, but warm in a strange way.

  As they stepped through the entryway, Ezren’s eyes lingered on the small charms, spirit-bells, and old faded talismans dangling from wooden beams.

  He whispered under his breath. "This place looks like a haunted temple… run by poets."

  It wasn’t what he expected.

  And somehow, it already felt like it fit him better than whatever came before.

  After a few more steps into the building, Ezren noticed something odd. The interior of Station 10 didn’t follow any consistent design logic. One moment he was walking past traditional sliding paper doors, soft wooden floors beneath his shoes… and the next? A polished oak door with brass knobs appeared, wedged right into the hallway like someone remodeled halfway through and gave up.

  He paused briefly, staring at it.

  "That's... weird," he muttered.

  The woman didn’t comment. She just kept walking.

  They passed through a few winding halls, some lit with flickering lanterns, others with dangling bulbs that looked like they belonged in a maintenance closet, before arriving at a door with a slightly crooked plaque that read: Main Office.

  The woman slid the door open and stepped inside. “Last recruit’s here,” she said flatly.

  Ezren blinked. Last recruit?

  Inside, a man was leaning so far back in his chair he looked like he might slip into another realm. Feet propped up, head tilted back, arms dangling. Papers fluttered lazily across his desk, completely ignored.

  With a sigh of absolute irritation, the woman stepped over and smacked him across the head with her clipboard.

  “Ghhk—?!” the man jerked upright, nearly falling out of his seat. His dark hair was tied loosely into a messy half-knot, strands hanging lazily over sharp but tired eyes.

  The man was in his early 30s, with loosely tousled blonde hair that falls past his shoulders, accented by faint streaks of lavender near the ends, a detail that somehow fits his eccentric flair. His sharp eyes hold a playful glint, often half-lidded like he’s perpetually amused or halfway through a nap. He wears a relaxed smile, the kind that could disarm tension, or mask something deeper.

  His outfit is a modified Conductor uniform: a dark, flowing robe with wide sleeves and a tan scarf draped lazily around his neck. A scroll case hangs from his waist, alongside various spiritual trinkets and talismans. Ink stains mark his cuffs and gloves, hinting at his role as an artistic caster who uses a brush as both weapon and tool.

  Still rubbing his head, he blinked toward Ezren. “Huh? Recruit? Oh, finally. Let’s get this over with.”

  The woman sighed deeply and reached into her coat, pulling out a piece of parchment, thin, ethereal, almost glowing.

  “This is a Veil-sanctioned contract,” she explained to Ezren. “By signing it, the Veil will recognize you as authorized to help spirits cross into the River.”

  Ezren raised a brow. “Will it hurt?”

  The woman gave him a strange look. “What? No. It’s a contract. With a pen. Why would it hurt?”

  She handed him the pen.

  Ezren, still confused but resigned, took it and signed his name across the page.

  As soon as he lifted the pen, the parchment shimmered, then crumbled into glowing smoke and vanished.

  The woman reached into a drawer and pulled out a metal medallion engraved with a large 10 at its center. She handed it to him.

  “Keep this with you at all times,” she said. “It’s your Station ID.”

  Then she straightened, and with a final glance:

  “Welcome to Station 10. Congratulations on being a Conductor.”

  Ezren blinked. “Huh?”

  It wasn’t a question. Not really. It was the kind of ‘huh’ that carried a thousand unspoken reactions, confusion, disbelief, maybe even a little bit of cosmic betrayal.

  He looked down at the medallion in his palm like it might explain itself.

  The weight of it settled on him slowly.

  Not just the metal, but everything it meant.

  “This has to be a dream,” he muttered. “A very elaborate, annoyingly detailed dream.”

  But it wasn’t.

  And as that realization crept in… the chapter of his life ended.

  Quite literally.