I always thought my obituary would read something like "local accountant dies heroically saving kittens."Turns out it will read "man deleted by cosmic clerical error."
Tuesday, 3:17 p.m.I was halfway through a spreadsheet when the fluorescent lights over my cubicle flickered.A thin ding! chimed in my skull—like someone tapping a wineglass inside my brain.
[DIVINE NOTICE]
Subject: Elias Rowan
Error Code: G-12-B "Existence Record Misfiled"
Remedy:Immediate recall
A trapdoor opened beneath my feet.Gravity vanished.Excel crashed.So did I.
...
Imagine an airport after a blizzard: too many travelers, not enough staff, and everyone holding a different passport.Only here, the arrivals hall floated in black nothingness, check-in counters carved from starlight.
A bored teen-looking deity with bubble-gum hair waved me forward.Her nametag read SERAPHIM CLERICAL INTERN, 2-WEEK TEMP.
"Name?" she asked without looking up.
"Elias Rowan. Human. Thirty-one. Still had two episodes of Galactic Chef in my queue."
"Reason for recall?"
"You tell me. I was doing taxes."
She scrolled a tablet made of moonlight. "Mm-hmm. Here— 'misfiled under E-Rowland, deceased four years ago. Fatal paper shredder incident.' That wasn't you, was it?"
"I prefer to keep my limbs."
"Cool. Compensation package coming up." She popped her gum. "Take a number."
While I waited, I met a ghost who'd died by rubber-duck avalanche (don't ask) and a Viking who kept complaining the mead here tasted like printer ink.
After ninety eternities (or maybe fifteen minutes—time was mush) a brass bell rang.A door labeled RECOMPENSE ARBITRATION creaked open.
Inside sat three minor gods behind a mahogany desk that floated on wisps of cloud code.
Lothar, Patron of Overdue Projects—bags under his eyes.
Zyana, Muse of Petty Complaints—fingernails glowing neon.
Belios, Auditor of Cosmic Paperwork—horn-rimmed glasses, no nonsense.
Belios cleared his throat. "Mortal, our department regrets your premature deletion. As restitution, choose three abilities."
His quill hovered over a parchment titled 'New Life Skill Draft.'
My gamer heart did a backflip. "I'll take—"
Absolute Creation.
Omniscient Eye.
Skill Devourer.
Zyana clicked her tongue. "Rejected. Those are S-tier. You're… what do mortals call it… bronze rank."
"Fine. How about Spatial Domination?"
Lothar yawned. "Taken. World-287B. Next."
Think, Elias. I needed something they couldn't veto.
My eyes drifted to the REJECT SHELF—scrolls covered in dust.
Appraisal: Slightly Misleading
Minor Alchemy
Negligible Telekinesis
Belios raised a brow. "Really? Those?"
I forced a grin. "Dangerous in the right hands."
"Approved," he said, mostly because stamping "APPROVED" seemed to make him happy.
ping —
Light burst behind my eyes.
[SYSTEM ONLINE]
Welcome, User: Elias Rowan.
Version: Beta 0.9 (Allied Mode)
A second voice—dry, male, mildly amused—whispered in my head.System:Nice choices. Underwhelming but… artisanal.
"Who are you?" I muttered.
System:Your interface. They outsource tutorials now. I'm on your side.
Belios frowned. "You're talking to yourself already. Promising."
Then he slid a parchment toward me.
REINCARNATION TERMS
• One (1) body: healthy, human, age 22.
• Drop zone: city-state Lynestra.
• Starting funds: three copper bits (approx. price of stale bread).
• No divine tech support except standard System ally.
• Survive, thrive, entertain.
I signed. Ink shimmered like liquid sunrise.
Suddenly—
A floor-sized sigil glowed beneath my chair. Wind howled. The arbitration office folded into a point of light.
System:Brace for impact.
"On what?"
THUD.
I landed in a pile of something soft and fragrant.
Hay.
Barn rafters above, dawn creeping through slats. Cows stared at me with judgy eyes.
Good news: alive.Bad news: wearing only linen pants and a tag reading NEW ARRIVAL — RETURN IF FOUND WANDERING.
System:
[SKILL CONSOLE]
• Appraisal: Slightly Misleading — LV 1 (0 / 30 use points)
• Minor Alchemy — LV 1 (0 / 20)
• Negligible Telekinesis — LV 1 (0 / 10)
[BLUEPRINT LOG]
Empty.
[DIVINE NOTIFICATION]
Next Audit: 365 days
Tip of the Day: Don't die twice.
A pitchfork lay five feet away.I focused.
Nothing.
System:Try something lighter.
A strand of hay lifted—wobbled—dropped.
Telekinesis use +1/10
Progress.
Footsteps outside. Female voices.
"—swear I heard thunder inside the loft.""Maris, if you've adopted another stray man, Mama will tan your hide."
I rustled deeper into the hay. Appraisal, don't fail me.
Appraisal:
• Subject — Barn Door (Construct: human-made)
• Material — Wood
• Weakness — Hinges
No lies detected—hard to mislead about lumber.
I nudged a hinge pin with Telekinesis. Millimeters, but it moved.
Then the door opened anyway.
Two farmhands peered in: one lanky, one stout, both in rough canvas dresses dusted with grain. Early twenties, maybe.
The lanky one squinted. "Why's there a half-naked man in our hay?"
Stout one sniffed. "Looks lost. Leave him; sun's barely up."
I sat up, straw sticking from my hair like punk spikes. "Morning. I, uh, took a wrong turn at Albuquerque?"
Blank stares. Looney-Tunes jokes don't translate inter-dimensionally.
System: Comedy rating: 2/10.
I rolled out of the stack, bowing. "Which way to Lynestra?"
They pointed east without asking questions—country folk know trouble by smell.
dirt path ribboned between barley fields. In the distance: spires, smoke plumes, the promise of civilization.
I patted my pocket—three copper bits jingled.
System displayed a mini-notification:
Quest Received: Reach Lynestra's Guild Square before sundown.
Reward: Identification papers + 5 use points to any skill.
"Side quests already? Thought you were just an interface."
Someone's got to motivate you, it said. Also, your pants are see-through under back-lighting.
I walked faster.
At brunch-time a roadside vendor stirred soup with a wooden spoon. Steam carried garlic, onion, dreams.
Copper bits burned holes in my pocket.
But the spoon… hope for Telekinesis training.
I asked to borrow it.She hesitated. "You'll wash it?"
"Polish it," I promised.
I sat under an oak, placed the spoon on my palm, and glared until sweat trickled down my neck.
It wobbled like a compass needle lost at sea.Lifted.Spun.Fell.
Telekinesis use +2/10
Pathetic, but measurable.
On my third try the spoon did a full flip and smacked my forehead.
The vendor applauded. "Enough showboating. Either pay for soup or give back my ladle."
I opted for bread—cheaper.
Half a mile later a lone rider pounded toward me: leather coat, crossbow strapped to the saddle.
Appraisal:
• Subject — Mercenary Scout (Race: Human)
• Strength — Moderate
• Secret — Hates cats (Useful? Maybe if I weaponize kittens.)
His eyes narrowed at my flimsy clothes. "Newcomer, eh? Toll to walk this road."
I raised the bread loaf like a peace banner. "I have carbs."
He unslung his crossbow.
System: Friendly reminder: You are squishy.
The rider's boot caught a hidden rut. Horse stumbled; he dropped the weapon. My chance.
Telekinesis yanked the crossbow—just enough to shove it under his stirrup.He toppled. Mud splat.
Telekinesis use +4/10 (7/10)
Bread intact.
I kept walking.
Reaching Lynestra At Last
Stone walls, banners of crimson and gold, clamor of markets.The city smelled of charcoal, citrus, and distant sea.
Gate guards blocked my path. One eyed my barn-loft couture. "Papers?"
I handed air.
System:Generating Forged ID… done.
A parchment manifested in my hand:Elias Rowan, Apprentice Threadwright.
Guard scanned the seal—plausible enough. "Welcome. Try not to starve."
Inside, the streets pulsed with life: jugglers, hawkers, smiths showering sparks. And there—a guildhall sign shaped like a shield and needle. Silver Loomers' Guild.
As I approached, a woman's voice—firm, low, hinting steel—rang out.
"Any able hands? We need help unloading silk crates!"
I looked up.
System: Character Registered — Guildmaster Mirena
(Race: Human; Age: Mid-30s; Sun-bronzed skin; Forearms honed by years of smithing; Soot-smudged cheek).
Guildmaster Mirena. Mid-thirties, sun-bronzed skin, forearms like sculpted oak, a smudge of soot across one cheek.
My pulse skipped.
Not lust—yet. Admiration. Opportunity.
I raised my still-warm bread loaf. "First job application comes with carbs?"
She laughed, deep and throaty. "If you can lift, you can eat."
System:Quest Updated: Impress Mirena (0/3 success flags). Bonus: Tease Level unlocked next stage.
And just like that, my "useless" journey officially began.