Darkness.
That was the first thing I knew—thick, consuming, absolute. It wasn't just the absence of light. It was the kind of darkness that seeped into your skin, settled in your lungs, and whispered that you didn't belong here.
I gasped as I stirred awake, the air damp and musty as it clawed its way into my chest. Every breath felt like inhaling rot and mildew. My body was stiff, chilled, and aching in a way I didn't understand.
My eyes fluttered open, sluggish and unfocused, squinting at the fractured ceiling above me. Wooden beams stretched above my head, warped and splintered with age. Cobwebs dangled like silent curtains in the corners, swaying with a breeze I couldn't feel. Dust particles drifted lazily in the gray light leaking through the slats in the walls.
I was lying on something—rough, lumpy. A cot, barely more than a slab of wood and straw. My fingers curled into the coarse blanket as my heart began to race.
'Where… am I?'
I sat up too fast. A spike of panic shot through my chest. My vision swam, and I had to grip the edge of the cot to stay upright. Every part of me trembled—from the chill, the confusion, or maybe just the simple fact that everything felt wrong.
There were no windows, only a crooked wooden door set loosely in its frame, open just enough to let in a weak ribbon of morning light. Beyond it, the world was still. Unfamiliar.
"This… this isn't home."
My voice came out hoarse, cracked and uncertain. Hearing it echoed back made something twist inside me.
I stumbled to my feet, the floorboards groaning with every step. My legs felt like stilts, like they belonged to someone else. I moved to the doorway and pushed it open farther.
Outside was a forest—wild and ancient. Towering trees loomed overhead, their trunks wide and weathered, their roots crawling over the ground like gnarled fingers. Moss clung to every surface. The canopy above swallowed most of the sunlight, casting the underbrush in muted green shadows.
No roads. No buildings. No buzz of streetlights. No cell service.
No sign of the world I remembered.
A chill ran down my spine that had nothing to do with the breeze.
'This has to be a dream. Maybe I hit my head. Maybe I'm in a coma. Maybe—'
I forced the thoughts down before they took over. Instead, I looked at myself.
Smaller. My hands were tiny, my arms too thin. My clothes were nothing like what I remembered—just a long, loose tunic tied at the waist, with boots worn so thin I could feel every board under my feet.
I was younger. Not just in appearance—everything felt younger.
Panicked, I rushed back inside and collapsed onto the cot, burying my face in my hands.
'Okay. Think, Jake. Think.'
The last thing I remembered—school. Walking home. Complaining about a project I hadn't finished. A car honking in the distance.
Then… black.
No transition. No warning. Just... gone.
Hours passed—maybe. I couldn't tell. The world outside never seemed to shift. No sun. No moon. Just gray.
Eventually, the panic dulled. Not gone. Just… cold. Heavy. Like something that had settled into my bones.
'This is real. Or real enough that pretending it's not won't help.'
And then, something impossible happened.
A light shimmered before my eyes—soft, pale blue, like moonlight on water. It floated there, not attached to anything. Just there.
It pulsed once.
Then formed into something solid.
A screen.
༺═════════════════༻
Name: Yesha (Jake)
Age: 12
Title: Saint
―――――――――――――――
Strength: F
Agility: F
Holy Power: F – (SSS) Locked
Aether: F – (SSS) Locked
―――――――――――――――
Skills: [Heal], [Bless]
༺═════════════════༻
I stared at it, mouth dry. It didn't look like a hologram. It wasn't projected from anywhere. It wasn't on a screen. It just was—superimposed on reality like some kind of glitch in the universe.
'What… is this? A game?'
I reached out, half-expecting to pass through it. Instead, it shimmered in acknowledgment, as though it recognized me. Responded to my will.
The words stared back.
"Holy Power… Aether…? Locked?"
Even saying the words out loud felt strange. My voice echoed oddly, swallowed by the silence.
'A system. A status screen. Like in those isekai novels.'
The realization slid into place like a puzzle piece that shouldn't fit but did anyway.
And then there was the name.
Yesha.
It didn't just feel like a label. It felt… right. Like it belonged. Like it was me.
And the title—Saint—sat there like a weight on my shoulders. I didn't know what it meant. Not fully. But I could feel its gravity already.
The screen faded slowly, dissolving into the air like mist.
No sound. No prompt. No tutorial.
Just silence.
I exhaled shakily.
'So… I'm dead?'
The thought hit harder than I expected. I hadn't cried. I didn't even feel grief. Just numbness. Until—
Memory.
A flash of tires skidding. A child's scream. The gleam of headlights far too close.
A little boy in the crosswalk.
My feet moving without thought. The scream that tore from my lungs. The feel of my hands hitting his small back, shoving him away.
Pain. Bone. Metal.
Then nothing.
And a voice—clearer now in my mind than it had ever been.
["You have chosen selflessness in the moment of death. The world has need of a Saint. You shall be born again as Yesha."]
Not a dream.
A choice made for me.
'I really… died.'
It wasn't fair. I didn't get to say goodbye. Didn't get to choose this world. Didn't get a say in what came next.
'Who the hell makes decisions like that for people?'
My fists clenched.
That was when I heard it.
A growl—deep, throaty, and uncomfortably close.
I froze.
Another sound followed. A scraping drag. Like claws across bark. Then the snap of branches—more than one. Heavy footsteps. Slow. Deliberate.
I crept to the door, pushed it shut as quietly as I could. The hinges screamed.
Too loud.
The growl returned. Louder. Closer.
Panting followed—wet, shallow breaths, like something sniffing the air. Hunting.
I dropped to my stomach and crawled to the slit in the wall. Through the gap, I saw movement.
Eyes. Three pairs. Glowing red.
Shapes, monstrous and low to the ground, stalked the clearing. Mangy fur clung to skeletal frames. One creature had curved spines running down its back. Another limped, its hind leg twisted. The largest stood taller than a man, its chest heaving, ribs nearly tearing through its skin.
'Wolves? No. Not wolves. Not right.'
I backed away slowly, trying not to breathe.
Then I remembered.
The screen.
I willed it back.
༺═════════════════༻
Skills: [Heal], [Bless]
༺═════════════════༻
No new options. No hidden weapons. Just… that.
'Support class. Healer. Buffer. Not a fighter.'
I was a Saint.
Alone.
The door shook.
One of the creatures had found it. Its weight pressed against the wood.
I looked around wildly. A shattered table lay in the corner. I crawled to it, snapped off a leg, and gripped it tight. It was more splinter than club.
"Bless!" I shouted, aiming it at myself.
Nothing.
Again. "Bless!"
No light. No warmth. No change.
'Why isn't it working?!'
Then, it hit me.
'I'm not the target.'
Heal. Bless. They weren't meant for the caster. They were support skills—tools for helping others. Not for saving yourself.
I could buff, but not myself. I could heal, but only others.
A cruel twist of fate for someone who had no party.
The wood groaned again. A claw scraped against it.
I laughed softly—bitter and sharp. "Of course. The Saint can't save himself."
I backed away from the door as it began to splinter.
No options. No powers.
Just me.
A twelve-year-old with a stick.
The beasts were seconds away. My breath hitched. My muscles locked.
I had to choose.
Run and die tired. Hide and die later.
Or fight.
No cheat. No miracle.
Just one choice.
One stand.
If I was going to die again, I'd do it standing.
I gripped the splintered wood tighter, raised it, and whispered—not to the screen, not to a god—but to myself.
"Let's see what a Saint can really do."