Chapter 1: The Glitch in the Cycle
In a dimly lit office nestled within the heart of a tech firm, a man in his early 30s hunched over a flickering monitor, fingers flying across his keyboard. The only light came from the code cascading down his screen, and the blinking red digits of a digital clock that read: 02:59:47.
Josh's expression was taut with focus. Sweat dotted his brow. Every line of code he wrote pulled him deeper into a fragile trance — one slip, and the entire system might crash. He had exactly three hours to finish the critical backend overhaul for a launch presentation that could either save or bury the company… and, by extension, his job.
The silence was broken by the soft creak of the door opening behind him.
A man in his 50s stepped in — short grey hair, thick glasses, and a slightly hunched back from decades of sitting at desks. Josh didn't need to look up to know it was his supervisor, Mr. Carlton.
"Josh," Carlton said, voice calm but tired, "could you run to the corner store? We're almost out of coffee. The clients will be here soon, and you know how they get without their fix."
Josh turned, blinking as though coming up for air. "Sir, I still have hours of debugging left…"
"I'll finish your code," Carlton interrupted, offering a small smile. "I've looked over your logic; it's solid. I'll plug the holes. Go get the coffee. We both know you'll code better when you've had some fresh air."
Josh hesitated for a beat. The request was simple. Harmless. And Carlton wasn't just his supervisor — he'd been a mentor, someone who saw potential in him when others didn't.
"...Alright, sir. I'm trusting you with my life's work here," Josh said, standing up with a groan.
Carlton chuckled. "Don't worry. I won't sell your soul while you're gone."
Josh offered a tired grin and grabbed his coat. "No promises on mine getting hit by a truck, though."
Carlton waved a hand dismissively. "Statistically unlikely."
The morning air hit him like a splash of cold water. The city was buzzing — commuters rushing, horns blaring, neon signs flickering even in daylight. Josh jogged toward the coffee shop, already pulling up the order list on his phone.
His mind was still occupied with lines of code, debugging sequences, and system integrations when he stepped off the curb without looking.
A horn screamed.
Time slowed.
A massive delivery truck swerved, tires shrieking on wet asphalt.
Josh looked up just in time to see the wall of steel.
Impact. Darkness. Silence.
Somewhere far, far removed from Earth — in a place where time held no meaning — a different scene unfolded.
A robed figure stood at the gates of a rural orphanage, hidden in a forested valley untouched by civilization. They held a small infant wrapped in a worn, enchanted cloth that shimmered faintly under the moonlight.
The figure whispered words of old magic, runes glowing briefly around the child's forehead, and placed a folded paper on the blanket:
Name: Ahriman
The infant's eyes fluttered open, glowing for a second with unnatural silver light — then returned to normal.
The figure knocked on the door, stepped back, and vanished in a swirl of ancient runes.
Moments later, a kind-faced matron opened the door, blinking at the bundle on her doorstep. She took the child into her arms, unaware of the celestial mistake unfolding.
In the Realm Between Realms…
High above the mortal planes, within a celestial dominion known only to gods, alarms echoed across marble halls filled with glowing script.
A radiant being — the God of Reincarnation — stood frozen, his expression a mix of confusion and frustration.
"What...?" he muttered, glancing between two floating soul orbs. "That's not the vessel I assigned..."
In one sphere was the soul of Josh, a man whose karmic balance had earned him reincarnation as a scholar-mage. In the other, the soul of Ahriman, an ancient echo tied to a long-extinct power — one that had been sealed away in the divine archives eons ago: the Authority of the Forgotten.
Somehow — whether by chance, interference, or cosmic glitch — the souls had fused.
The God of Reincarnation reached out to correct it…
And then paused.
"No… it's already done. The vessel's accepted the soul. Even I cannot undo this now."
He sighed and turned away from the glowing sphere now pulsing with quiet chaos. "Let's hope the world survives it."
Back in the Mortal World…
The child named Ahriman slept peacefully in his crib. But deep inside, memories that were not his stirred — memories of keyboard shortcuts, cold code, caffeine-fueled all-nighters, and the moment of death under the wheels of a truck.
And beneath all of that… something darker.
A library of ancient magic, languages no one remembered, and powers that even gods had once feared — now stirred within him.
He was neither Josh nor Ahriman anymore.
He was both. And he was something else entirely.
As the moonlight filtered through the cracked glass of the orphanage window, the infant stirred in his sleep.
His tiny fingers twitched, and across the room, a withered flower in a pot bloomed anew, its petals glowing faintly for a moment before fading back to normal.
No one noticed.
In the dark corner of the nursery, a forgotten wooden doll, untouched for decades, shifted ever so slightly — a faint hum echoing from it like a sigh of relief. Dust lifted from its surface as if stirred by an unseen wind.
Whispers no one else could hear swirled around the crib.
"You are the vessel.""He returns… through you.""Names long buried will speak again…"
Ahriman's eyes opened for a brief second. Not the glazed, unfocused stare of an infant — but sharp. Aware. Ancient.
And then, as quickly as it came, the awareness vanished.
He began to cry, just like any other newborn.
The matron returned moments later to cradle him, rocking him gently, never once suspecting that the child in her arms had become the axis upon which fate would soon turn.