Darkness.
Not the darkness of a moonless night or a room with the lights extinguished.
Those still possessed something.
A breeze.
A sound.
The vague certainty that walls existed somewhere beyond your reach.
This had none of that.
There was no ground beneath Ethan’s feet.
No wind against his skin.
No heartbeat drumming in his ears.
For one deeply unsettling moment, he wondered if he still possessed a body at all.
He experimentally raised an arm.
It moved.
Well…
that was reassuring.
He took a tentative step forward.
Nothing changed.
Another.
Still nothing.
“So,” he said to absolutely no one, “this is either the afterlife…”
His voice travelled nowhere.
It neither echoed nor faded, simply existing for the brief moment he spoke before vanishing completely.
“…or I’ve finally gone insane.”
Neither option seemed especially appealing.
He stood still for a while, though ‘stood’ felt like an optimistic description.
There was no sensation of weight, no pressure beneath his feet.
If someone had informed him he was floating upside down, he would’ve had no evidence to dispute the claim.
His last memory returned with uncomfortable clarity.
The bridge.
The flood.
The girl.
The freezing water forcing its way into his lungs.
He let out a slow sigh.
“I really did it.”
He wasn’t angry.
Mostly annoyed.
He had survived twenty-four years only to die because his brain had looked at a flooded river and concluded that it was an excellent time to audition for heroism.
His mother was going to be furious.
…Assuming furious remained an option for people whose son had drowned.
That thought hurt more than the water ever had.
He rubbed a hand across his face and exhaled through his nose.
“Well,” he muttered, “at least the girl made it.”
That counted for something.
Hopefully.
A minute passed.
Or an hour.
Or perhaps a century.
Time had abandoned the place as thoroughly as everything else.
Eventually, Ethan frowned.
“You know,” he said to the emptiness around him, “this is surprisingly disappointing.”
Silence.
“I expected…
something.”
Still nothing.
“Not harps.
That would’ve been weird.”
He considered it.
“…Actually, harps would’ve at least confirmed I was dead.”
Nothing answered.
“No pearly gates?”
Silence.
“No old man with a magnificent beard judging my life choices?”
Nothing.
“No truck waiting to send me to another world because apparently drowning wasn’t dramatic enough?”
The darkness remained stubbornly empty.
He clicked his tongue.
“I don’t even get isekai’d.
Figures.”
A voice answered.
“You already have.”
Ethan froze.
It wasn’t loud.
It wasn’t quiet.
It simply…
existed.
The sound came from nowhere.
Or perhaps everywhere.
He spun instinctively, searching the darkness.
Nothing.
“Who’s there?”
“I am.”
“…Very helpful.”
His eyes searched the void again.
There wasn’t so much as a flicker of light.
“No offence,” Ethan said carefully, “but disembodied voices generally rank quite high on my list of things that make people question their sanity.”
“You are dead.”
“I had noticed.”
“You are not dreaming.”
“I assumed that as well.”
“You are not insane.”
“That’s considerably more debatable.”
Silence lingered for a heartbeat.
“I find your assessment inaccurate.”
Ethan snorted despite himself.
“First good news I’ve had all day.”
The voice continued as though interruption meant very little.
“You died.”
“I gathered that from the drowning.”
“You chose another before yourself.”
“It wasn’t exactly a calculated decision.”
“No.”
“It just…
happened.”
“Yes.”
He scratched the back of his neck.
“I’ve got to ask.”
“You may.”
“Was it stupid?”
The answer arrived immediately.
“Yes.”
Ethan closed his eyes.
“I knew it.”
“You entered floodwaters that trained rescuers would have hesitated to cross.”
“I know.”
“You possessed neither equipment nor assistance.”
“I know.”
“You were fortunate enough to save one life.”
“I was.”
“You were unfortunate enough to lose your own.”
A long silence followed.
Finally Ethan shrugged.
“I’d probably do it again.”
The darkness seemed to listen.
Not judging.
Simply waiting.
He sighed.
“Maybe not exactly the same way.”
Another pause.
“I’d at least look for a rope first.”
For the first time, the silence felt…
lighter.
Not laughter.
Not quite.
Something close enough that Ethan suspected the impossible voice possessed a sense of humour after all.
“You are an unusual man.”
“I’ve been told that.”
“You spent years studying a world that never existed.”
“I liked the books.”
“You believed you could have governed portions of it better than those who lived within it.”
Ethan rubbed his chin.
“I said they desperately needed potatoes.”
“You also drafted tax reforms.”
“…In my defence, the existing system was terrible.”
“You designed roads.”
“They needed roads.”
“You estimated harvest yields.”
“They definitely needed better harvests.”
“You calculated the carrying capacity of the North.”
“…I might’ve gone a little too far with that one.”
“You filled six notebooks.”
Ethan blinked.
“It was seven.”
The voice fell silent.
“…You counted?”
“I was rather proud of the seventh.”
Another pause settled over the darkness.
When the voice spoke again, there was no mockery in it.
Only certainty.
“You have long desired another world.”
Ethan didn’t deny it.
He had imagined it often enough.
Not because his own world disappointed him.
It didn’t.
He had family.
Friends.
A life he had genuinely enjoyed.
But there had always been a part of him that looked upon Westeros and wondered…
Could I have done better?
Not as king of everything.
Not with perfect foresight.
Simply…
Better.
“You are not the first to ask that question,” the voice said.
“I imagine not.”
“You are among the few who asked it while wishing to leave the world better than you found it.”
Ethan looked into the endless darkness.
“So…”
He folded his arms.
“…what happens now?”
The answer came without hesitation.
“You shall be given the opportunity to discover whether your confidence was justified.”
The darkness remained unchanged.
Yet somehow…
Everything had just become infinitely more interesting.