In this universe, life did not begin naturally.

  It was born when the previous universe chose to die.

  The universe where wormholes exist stands three steps ahead of the one humans call reality. Here, God is not denied—He is dominated. Science sits on the throne of creation, treated not as a tool but as the only truth worthy of worship.

  Earth exists in every universe.

  Not because it is powerful, but because it is the only place where life insists on being born.

  Yet this universe itself is no longer alive.

  Life does not live inside beings anymore—it only imitates existence.

  Neil Shefa was born in 2015.

  From the moment of his birth, he was different. Violet hair. Golden pupils. Pale skin stretched over a fragile body. And when he entered the world, he did not cry.

  Because there was no one there to hear him.

  “Enter the castle, my brother,” HIM said—his voice calm, low, as if he were chewing something between each word.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Neil stood still.

  A boy with no destination. No memory of warmth. No understanding of what it meant to belong to someone. The only people he had ever called close were now lying behind him—silent, cold, and not breathing.

  He whispered, almost to himself,

  “What is a brother? Someone who gives orders… or someone who follows them?”

  Then his voice hardened. “HIM… I don’t know why I feel angry right now, but show me your face.”

  He lifted his eyes, unblinking.“And don’t call me your brother. A brother is someone who stays. Not someone who leaves.”

  Neil stepped forward.

  Each step felt wrong—like fragments of erased memories were being forced back into his skull. His body paused again and again, as if reality itself was resisting him.

  That was when HIM smiled. “I can heal them both,” he said lightly.

  “But you will have to play a game with me.”

  Neil stopped.

  Steve.

  Tony.

  Their names echoed in his mind like unfinished sentences.

  HIM continued, his tone changing—as if he had suddenly become the protagonist of the world itself. “The rules are not simple,” he said.

  “So I’ll explain them in a way that a HOLY can understand.”

  A pause. The sound of liquid being sipped. “The game is called High Hijack.”

  The Quils reacted instantly. Their bodies stiffened. Their breaths vanished. Some clutched their throats as if hell itself had been spoken aloud.

  None of them breathed again until HIM allowed it.

  Neil watched them—motionless, silent—like the hand of a broken clock stuck between seconds.

  “In this game,” HIM continued cheerfully, “you will enter Adbirna Castle… without your body. That’s it. Simple, right?”

  Neil’s chest felt tight.

  Disturbed. Uneasy. But not afraid.

  Then HIM leaned closer, amused.

  “You know humans can’t even breathe here,” he said. “Just like your friends. So tell me—how are you still alive?”

  Neil did not react.

  He had already accepted something long ago.

  That this was his fate.

  With a steady voice and eyes filled with resolve, Neil said, “I will play the game.”