Eric Jean never expected to die on a Tuesday.
It started like any other day—gray skies, lukewarm coffee, and a crowded bus ride to a job he barely cared about. At 27, Eric's life had settled into a dull rhythm, and deep down, he hated how little of it felt real.
He had dreams once. To travel. To write. To matter. But dreams had a way of becoming background noise in a world that demanded bills be paid and hours be logged.
He worked in a data entry office, the kind with blinking fluorescent lights and that constant smell of stale air. His coworkers weren't cruel, just... invisible. Much like he felt most days. He often wondered if his life was being watched by some cosmic audience who had long since changed the channel.
By noon, he had already scrolled through three job listings, not because he planned to apply, but because pretending to escape was better than facing his spreadsheet. That was when the screen flickered.
Not his computer screen. Everything.
The world around him shimmered, like reality itself had glitched. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and looked around. No one else seemed to notice. They kept typing, clicking, sipping from their chipped mugs.
He stood up, heart racing. His chest tightened.
And then—nothing.
A moment of silence.
A blaring horn.
A flash of light.
Then—
Darkness.
Eric floated.
Or maybe he didn't. It was hard to tell when there was no sound, no light, not even a sense of time.
His thoughts were the only thing left.
"Is this death? No pain... That's good, right?"
It felt strangely peaceful. Like sinking into warm water without needing to breathe. But something gnawed at the edge of his awareness. A feeling that he wasn't truly gone. That something—or someone—was watching.
Then, as if called by his very soul, the void ignited with light.
Stars blinked into existence, spiraling into cosmic patterns. The darkness gave way to a massive celestial chamber, its sky swirling with ethereal auroras and constellations that pulsed like living veins.
And then—they appeared.
Dragons.
Not imagined beasts or fairy tale sketches. These were beings of raw, ancient power—forces of nature incarnate.
The first to descend from the heavens was cloaked in crimson fire, its wings like burning banners, its eyes molten gold. Each flap of its wings rained embers that vanished into the void.
The second rode on coils of wind, its form sleek and translucent, its body surrounded by a tempest that whispered forgotten names.
Next came a creature of water and frost, scales like deep ocean ice, exhaling mist that froze stars mid-flight.
Then one of thunder, crackling with arcs of living lightning, its roar shattering silence itself.
Eric fell to his knees, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of their presence. His heart pounded, his breath caught in his throat. He wasn't sure if it was fear, awe, or some divine instinct telling him to submit.
"What... are they?" he whispered, though no sound left his lips.
Above them all came a golden behemoth, vast enough to eclipse the stars. Its wings unfurled across the heavens, and its eyes—twin suns burning with intelligence and compassion—locked onto him.
"I am Aetherius," the being spoke, its voice not heard, but felt. "The First Flame. King of the Celestial Brood."
As the name echoed through his soul, the space around Eric changed. He was no longer floating, but kneeling at the center of a massive stone circle suspended in the stars, with the dragons forming a ring around him like ancient judges of fate.
Eric tried to stand but found his legs trembling. His voice cracked as he managed to speak.
"Why... me?"
The fire dragon snorted, and sparks danced in the air. The wind dragon hovered lower, curious. The ice dragon's breath sent frost blooming across the stone below.
Then Aetherius spoke again, this time gently.
"You are not chosen for who you were, Eric Jean. You are chosen for what you can become."
Eric swallowed hard. His throat burned with emotion. "I don't understand. I was... nobody. I worked a desk job. I didn't even finish college..."
The thunder dragon growled softly, but Aetherius raised one massive claw, silencing the others.
"You have a soul that resists despair. A heart unbroken by meaninglessness. That is more than most."
Slowly, the dragons began to circle him in a ritual spiral, their energies weaving around him—flames brushing his shoulders, wind lifting his feet, water trickling over his skin, lightning tingling down his spine.
"This is not your end, Eric Jean," Aetherius declared. "It is your rebirth."
Eric's body shimmered with light. He gasped as warmth spread through him, not painful—but cleansing.
"You shall be reborn as Eldarion, a name woven in the tongues of the ancients. With it, you will carry our legacy."
As the dragons chanted—not in words, but in sound and soul—Eric felt his identity dissolving, reforming. Memories burned away, not erased, but folded into something greater.
"Goodbye, Eric Jean."
"Hello, Eldarion."
Then the world faded once again, and light embraced him like a cradle.