Rise, guardian.

  The words echoed in Viktor’s mind. He felt himself falling, then hit the water with a splash. The cold shock snapped him awake. He staggered to his feet, knee-deep in a vast lake, robe heavy with water, breath ragged.

  Overhead, a strange web of Light stretched like the branches of a tree, and incomplete bodies hung suspended in its glow. Skeletons wrapped in forming muscle, organs slowly knitting together, flesh crawling across exposed bone.

  What... what are they?

  Some were nearly complete, translucent skin sealing over their forms. Others were just beginning: rib cages hanging bare, threads of tissue weaving between vertebrae. No movement coming from them. Only the branches pulsed rhythmically, feeding Light into each suspended form. With every pulse, a low hum resonated through the air, and Viktor watched the light flow like liquid down the glowing threads, pouring into the bodies.

  Who are these people? Are they alive? Why are they just hanging there?

  None of it made sense. He wore a simple white robe, drenched through. Disoriented, he quickly made for the shore. He didn't know whether to be relieved or terrified. He wasn't in Hell. He'd gotten a second chance, but everything he knew was gone. He was dead. This was the price for all his mistakes. Grief clawed at his throat, but he forced it down.

  He steadied his breath and tried to keep himself calm with sheer will.

  Keep yourself together, Viktor. You have to. They all might be in danger. There will be time to pity yourself, but not now.

  He remembered the last conversation with his son. Those five minutes had been a gift. Most people didn't even get that. His death had been his own doing: alcohol, stress, medications he'd skipped because work was too demanding. He'd made his choices.

  I will not let anything happen to any of you so you can make your own.

  His resolve grew stronger with every push of his leg through the water.

  I won't waste this chance.

  As he stepped onto dry land, he stopped. His mouth opened, but no words came. Before him stood an angel, towering, with snow?white wings as wide as sails. The angel wore a blue?green robe, cinched at the waist with a golden rope, from which hung a white?gold flask set with gemstones.

  An actual angel. Standing right in front of me.

  In his left hand, he held a steel staff, a little taller than he was, richly decorated with emeralds and tipped with white?gold ornaments. His skin was dark brown, rough yet burnished in the sunlight. A bright golden halo hovered above his bald head like a crown, and a small orb of Light glowed beside it. His face was framed by a thick jet-black beard. Viktor's breath thinned to silence.

  The angel gripped his staff with both hands, set it before him, and spoke in a deep, resonant voice: “Blessed be, by the eternal Light! My name is Raphael, and I welcome you to the City of Angels, the protectors of the Kingdom of Heaven. I am the Archangel of Healing, and I oversee the rebirth of angels and guardians who have fallen in battle against the forces of Hell.

  I’m sure you have many questions, but you’ll have to wait a little longer for answers. Your assigned officer will arrive shortly to explain everything.”

  Viktor did as told and waited by the shore. After a while, a woman with olive skin and chestnut-brown hair emerged from the water, just as disoriented. She received the same instructions, and they stood quietly together.

  As Viktor regained his composure, he began to take in his surroundings. White marble and silver facades ran to the horizon; veins of blue Light pulsed along their surfaces. When he turned around, his jaw nearly dropped: at the heart of the city stood a towering spire, majestic angels soaring from its balconies, and large clocks set into its sides.

  People in robes and tunics of every color strolled peacefully through the streets, some with halos above their heads, some with small orbs of Light floating nearby. He took a deep breath; the air was clean, carrying the scent of flowers on the breeze. His thoughts were interrupted as a man jogged over, slightly out of breath. He had a thick mane of red hair, a halo above his head, striking brows, and a full beard. His voice was deep but cheerful.

  “May your Light shine true! My apologies, Master Raphael. I came as soon as I got the message. I’m here to collect Viktor and take him under our wing.”

  Raphael’s expression showed his approval.

  “And may yours shine as well,” he replied.

  The red-haired man motioned for Viktor to follow. Viktor thanked Raphael and offered a small bow, which Raphael returned.

  “Come on, let’s go!” the red-haired man called.

  Viktor hurried after him.

  “Where are you taking me?” he asked.

  “To the barracks. That’s where you’ll get your answers. I know you’ve got a lot of questions, but you’ll need to be patient a little longer. The sooner we get there, the sooner I can explain everything,” he said, picking up the pace.

  They walked a short distance through the beautiful city, surrounded by lush greenery. Manicured lawns bordered the smooth white stone paths. In the distance, towers and domes rose above the rooftops, narrow streams wound between the houses, and the air was thick with the scent of blooming gardens.

  Every corner of the city felt peaceful and harmonious, as if time flowed differently here. As they crossed a small stone bridge, Viktor paused to watch the water glowing; colorful fish flickered below, and water lilies drifted among the lily pads.

  Before long, their path led them to a door standing alone in the middle of the walkway. The red?haired man opened it; golden Light shone within.

  “Silver Horn Barracks, Fourth Unit!” the man announced.

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  The Light faded, revealing a large hall filled with long tables, where people sat talking and laughing. It looked like a great tavern. The man pointed to a table set off in a corner, apart from the rest.

  “After you,” he said to Viktor.

  Inside, the atmosphere was lively and warm. Voices mingled; laughter rose and fell. In the center of the room stood a large round table from which a branch of blue Light seemed to radiate, threads of it running out into the city. The air was rich with the smell of food, and a few people played instruments in the corner, adding to the cheerful atmosphere.

  “Let’s sit here,” the man said, gesturing to a corner table. “I suppose introductions are in order. I already know your name. Viktor Gale, right? Got it right?”

  Viktor nodded.

  “Weeell,” the man went on with a grin, “so it’s only right I introduce myself. Erik Sigurdsson. I lived about a thousand years ago. Viking. And since you’re not my first newcomer, I’ll save us both some time and answer the basics.”

  Viktor just listened, mouth half-open.

  “You died,” Erik said matter-of-factly. “Passed through the Valley. You got your call at Zadkiel’s place?” he asked, eyes widening with honest curiosity.

  Viktor nodded.

  Yes, it was the last time I saw someone very dear to me. Who knows how long it takes until our next reunion.

  “Heh!” Erik laughed. “In my time, there was no phone. Just a bowl with some water he was sticking his fingers into and spinning.” He waved the memory away.

  “But never mind that. You faced Judgment, and you were assigned to the Eternal Guardians. And look at you!” Erik swept both hands toward Viktor. “You’re no longer just a spirit. Your body has been reborn, and your soul is bound to this place.”

  “You’ll be given armor, and your training starts tomorrow. This city is defended by eleven archangels.”

  Erik went on. “The city's wall has eight gateways, and it's our job to guard and fight for what’s behind them. Each realm represents a type of world and channels the heavenly Light that connects everything.” He paused, then pointed toward a round opening in the ceiling, where a glowing branch descended into the hall and touched the central table.

  “You were reborn from that. It runs through the city like a tree's roots, stretching far beyond the walls.” He took a long sip from his beer, dragged his sleeve across his mouth, and went on.

  “Our units rotate out there, and we're stationed strategically. Right now, our unit is on standby here in the capital. If any area is attacked, we're sent immediately.” Leaning back, he added, “Any questions so far?”

  Viktor stared, absorbing it all. After a moment, he shook himself and asked, “Guard? Fight? How am I supposed to process this? Not long ago, I was a manager! Against whom, or what?”

  Erik's expression turned serious.

  “The Legions of Hell. They've already taken four entry points, and I hope they take no more. That blue Light you saw dims every time we lose one. If we lose another, the Light will be too weak and everything on Earth will freeze.” Then his tone flipped, bright again. “But enough doom and gloom. It’s your first day! Let’s eat!”

  “So this is what they meant by them being in danger?” His voice rose. “The Legions of Hell? Eat? You mean I still need to eat, even after death?” Viktor asked, surprised.

  Erik just looked at him and raised his hands palms down. “Chill. Everything will get answered in time. Your body's been reborn, but it still needs energy. So eat up. Anyway, enough questions for now. Come on, let's get something to eat!”

  Viktor took a deep breath. “Just one more,” he said, finally ready to ask, pointing at the orb of Light. “What is that?”

  “This?” Erik grinned. “We call it a Lumion.” He seized it, and in an instant flames engulfed him, shaping into gleaming silver plate, beautifully engraved and bearing a silver horn insignia on his left shoulder. A large silver ax filled his right hand; a massive shield locked to his left forearm. His whole figure shone, fully armored beneath an imposing helm.

  “Every guardian gets one. It’s your protection: no more suiting up or running to the armory. Pretty handy, right?” he chuckled. “Don’t worry, tomorrow you’ll learn everything, and you’ll get your own. For now, eat!” The flames folded back into the orb, and Erik stood again in his robe.

  This is actually pretty amazing. Me from suits and managerial meetings into medieval armor...

  “One more thing,” Elion raised his pointing finger and leaned closer. “When you meet someone, greet them with, ‘May your Light shine true!’ They’ll reply, ‘And may yours shine as well.’”

  Viktor nodded, amazed and overwhelmed, unsure how to process any of it. Part of him wanted to curl up in a corner, or wake up and find this was all a dream.

  They rose and walked to the round table. Erik smiled. “Order anything. Your favorite, or something you’ve always wanted to try.”

  Viktor stared in disbelief. Erik caught his look, grinned, and demonstrated:

  “Roast boar and a tankard of beer!”

  A small fleck of light floated down from above the table, landing in front of him and transforming into a perfectly roasted boar, with a glass tankard of golden beer beside it.

  “I don’t drink from horns anymore. Glasses are so much better!” he laughed. “Come on, ask for whatever you want,” he encouraged Viktor.

  Viktor just shrugged and spread his hands. “Ham and corn pizza, and some water?”

  Another fleck settled; his order appeared.

  “Water? Water?!” Erik sputtered, then waved it off and gestured to a nearby table. “Come meet your new brothers and sisters.”

  They crossed to a long rectangular table where seven men and two women sat. Glasses lifted in greeting.

  “May your Light shine true!”

  “Cheers, Elion! Cheers, Lieutenant! Who’s the newcomer?” called voices from the table.

  “Elion? I thought you said your name was Erik?” Viktor whispered.

  Elion grinned. “Everyone starts with an earthly name, and once you awaken your sacred power and earn your halo, you choose a new one. I didn’t want to throw you, so I led with Erik. But call me Elion. Lieutenant Elion, or just Lieutenant.”

  “And may yours shine as well!” Viktor replied.

  “Second Squad, introduce yourselves!” Elion called out.

  The first to stand was a burly man with short black hair, rough skin with a golden undertone, and a neat goatee.

  “Carlos Juan Pérez Lopez,” he said, stroking his chin.

  “I was in a gang back then. Don't matter which one now. I’ve been here for eighty years.” He smiled. “Pleased to meet you.” He raised his cup in Viktor’s honor.

  Elion leaned and murmured, “Carlos, leave the rest out,” with a wink.

  A short woman with darker skin and loose brown hair stood. “Mona Gatta. I lived in thirteenth?century Italy.” She plucked a slice of pizza from Viktor’s plate, took a bite, and winked. “Oh, I just love modern pizza,” she added, smiling.

  A man with ivory skin, dark hair and eyes, and a fine mustache leaned forward and spoke quickly: “Yoshiro Saito, once a samurai in the sixteenth century, later a rōnin.” He raised his cup and bowed slightly.

  Finally, a blue?eyed man with light skin and faint stubble spoke: “Artur Moore. Corporal, for now. Australia, I was a guard at a local prison. I’ve been here a hundred years. Pleased to meet you.” His voice was even and pleasant.

  The rest offered brief greetings in their own styles, from curt nods to cheerful quips, and the mood loosened.

  Elion stood, set his boar down, lifted his cup, “Lieutenant Elion! Viking Erik Sigurdsson, eleventh century, seafarer. Pleased to meet you!”

  All turned their raised cups toward Viktor.

  Viktor set down his pizza, took his glass, and, with a slightly unsure smile, said: “I’m Viktor Gale. I died the day before yesterday. I was a manager at an IT company, and I left behind a wife and four children.”

  Silence fell over the table.

  Carlos whistled low. “Two days? You were out quick like all of us, hermano.”

  “Four children,” Mona said softly. Her expression gentled. “I'm sorry.”

  Viktor's throat tightened. He picked up the glass to hide his face.

  “What’s he got?” Artur asked.

  “Water!” Yoshiro whispered.

  “Give him something with a bit of grace!” Carlos declared.

  Mona stood at once and brought him a large cup like the others.

  Viktor peered inside. Beer, by the look of it. Alcohol had helped end his recent death, and he had no taste for it now. He didn’t want to offend anyone. He smiled and raised the cup. “To the would?be guardian?”

  Laughter burst around the table. "He's one of us!" Artur shouted.

  They ate and talked. Pizza crisp, beer cold and bitter. Exactly Viktor's taste. Conversations swirled: Earth politics, rotations, a father whose son guarded now. Voices tangled. “Only half a million of us against billions of monsters. We might rotate out soon,” Yoshiro told Carlos.

  Only half a million? More people die on Earth in a few days than that. Why so few?

  The talk broke off. A voice rang from the Light above the great table: “We need reinforcements beyond the Fifth Gate at once!”