Chapter 3 – The Council of Rebirth
Silence.
Not the kind that follows death — but the kind that precedes something greater.
Joshua opened his eyes to nothing.
No pain.
No floor.
No ceiling.
Just an endless expanse of light stretching in every direction — soft and pure, like the space between one heartbeat and the next.
He blinked, then frowned. Slowly, he got up and stretched his body. Every joint cracked with life; every breath felt sharp and real.
> "That stupid truck… what kind of god uses a truck as a teleportation device?"
He muttered, rubbing his shoulder as the faint sting of impact still lingered.
He looked around, expecting clouds, harps — maybe a few angels with bad singing voices.
Instead, a low hum began to rise — deep, resonant, and strangely human, like a heartbeat syncing with his own.
Then the light shifted.
Shapes began to form out of the brilliance — towering seats carved from gold, stone, shadow, and flame.
Thrones.
Twenty-four of them.
Each occupied by a figure whose mere presence could unmake reality.
At the center, elevated above them all, sat a being whose gaze alone felt like gravity — calm, patient, infinite.
The Council of Rebirth had convened.
A voice echoed through the light — ancient yet gentle, both near and everywhere at once.
> "Joshua Vail. Your mission on Earth is complete. You exceeded human expectations. You will be remembered as the man who rose from dirt to dominion — the mortal who rewrote destiny itself."
Joshua smiled faintly, satisfaction flickering in his eyes.
The voice continued:
> "Out of millions, you have been chosen for a new mission. Hence, your summoning."
Joshua tilted his head, brow furrowed.
> "Summoning?"
> "Yes," the voice replied. "You must have already met the Elder of Summons."
A radiant beam of light fell upon one of the thrones. Sitting there — illuminated like a relic of absurd divinity — was an elderly man with a wry smile, seated on what looked unmistakably like a truck-shaped throne.
Chrome gleamed. Wheels turned lazily. Headlights pulsed like holy sigils.
Joshua froze. His expression darkened.
> "You… don't tell me—"
The old man raised what could only be described as a bumper, in apology.
> "Sorry for the rough arrival," he said sheepishly. "Timing was off."
> "The fuck?" Joshua snapped. "You drove into a skyscraper and hit me!"
> "Technical error!" the Truck Elder protested, clearly embarrassed. "Look, I've been doing this for centuries. Sometimes the gears jam!"
Joshua squinted at him.
> "Why a truck? You couldn't just— I don't know— call?"
The Truck Elder scratched his chin, the metallic sound echoing.
> "Sorry, I got carried away. Old habits die hard."
The other elders chuckled. One, whose throne was carved from pure wind, leaned over and whispered:
> "To be fair, it's tradition now. Mortals expect it."
Joshua pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, a small laugh escaping despite himself.
> "Of course it is. I die by a meme."
Laughter rippled through the thrones — even the flames of the fiery one flickered brighter, as if laughing too.
For a moment, the void felt… lighter.
...