Prologue

Prologue

Most seventeen-year-olds don’t expect to be lying on a hospital bed, waiting to die, but Mat wasn’t surprised.

The rhythmic beeping of the machines monitoring his vitals was the only thing keeping him company. Entombed in a room smelling of lemon disinfectant, staring at the white ceiling as if it hid all the answers.

Why was he born with a congenital heart disease? Why did he have to die without ever getting a chance to live? Just why?

If the ceiling knew anything, it was keeping it for itself. Selfish bastard.

He’d been in and out of hospitals for most of his life. But this time was different. Mat knew he wasn’t going to get any better.

His only hope was in receiving a heart transplant, a feeble hope. He was going to die long before his name reached the top of the waiting list, and a compatible donor was found.

Putting his hopes on a last-minute miracle would ruin what little time he had. It was better to accept the inevitable and enjoy what he could.

Books were all the friends he needed. They narrated a thousand lives, adventures and mysteries. His mind could travel the whole world and beyond, to remote magical realms. Things he never got the chance to experience.

He didn’t fear death. Such was inevitable for everyone. Billions had died before him, many more would die after, unless someone nuked the planet and put an end to the cycle. Maybe a fifty-fifty chance at best. Luckily, it wasn’t his problem.

Mat would have the answer to the greatest mystery and know what came after. There might be nothingness, but there could be an afterlife. Either case, he would soon know.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Living seventeen years or seventy didn’t make much difference in the grand scheme of things. The universe remained indifferent. He was a little speck of dust that lasted a little less than usual. Even the Earth wasn’t going to notice.

He didn’t immediately realize he was crying until he felt the wetness of the pillow.

“Fuck!” Mat yelled, or at least tried to. There was no more strength left in him to raise his voice that much. His body had betrayed him one more time.

Despite years of trying to rationalize and find peace with himself, a small part hoped for a cure, a miracle. A bit of luck for once in his goddamn life.