How many times can we die before death itself becomes worthy of us?
An extravagant question, perhaps, yet one that had defined Finn's life so far.
And the answer he had reached was three.
In the streets of the city at sunrise, the morning fireworks were in full bloom.
A pale boy walked with hesitant steps, weaving through the crowd, his small hand gently tapping his chest, from which a faint metallic sound echoed.
"So, Finn," said the man holding his other hand, his voice a mix of anticipation and worry. "How do you feel after the operation? How's your new heart?"
Finn stayed silent for a moment, trying, and failing to free his hand.
"Dad… let go of my hand first, then I can check properly," he muttered, annoyed.
The man wore an extravagant red suit. His features resembled Finn's, only warmer, more welcoming. He held each of his children's hands tightly, refusing to let go.
"No way," he said, shaking his head lightly. "With your size, I'd spend the whole day trying to find you again if I lost sight of you."
"Just admit you're scared of telling Mom you lost the kids," Finn muttered, clicking his tongue and looking away.
"One doesn't rule out the other," his father replied with a small cough. "I mean… your heart. Your heart."
A satisfied smile pulled at Finn's lips.
"I don't know if it'll hold," he said, running his hand over his chest again. "But it's by far the best we've made. It's got the elasticity of Number Three, the combustion of Number Seven, and the balance of Sixteen. It's… perfect."
And it had better be.
After all, this was undoubtedly his last prosthetic.
Accessing his heart again would be nearly impossible without irreversible consequences, not after a dozen surgeries already.
Hearing that, his father let out a subtle sigh of relief.
"Don't worry. Research on the Fallen keeps progressing. I'm sure we'll find a solution in time."
"I think you're already doing enough," Finn said, shaking his head. "If we find something, great. If it's impossible… then so be it. I'm tired."
"I know it's tough, Finerald. But you must hold on. You owe us this much," he scolded, his voice rising as his expression grew stern. "Even if there's no solution, I'll create one—just as I always have."
Finn licked his lips and stayed silent.
Those words might have sounded arrogant, but he knew better than anyone that this man's claims were never empty.
He was, without exaggeration, perhaps the most intelligent man alive, at least among all the geniuses Finn had seen with his own eyes.
"So little brother's going to survive, then?" came a small voice from the other side.
It was Fiona, his twin, holding their father's other hand while nibbling on sweets. She looked almost identical to Finn. Except for her deep navy-blue eyes, which seemed to swallow the world whole.
She really has a way of saying everything so bluntly, Finn muttered.
"Of course I'll survive. Don't act like a child," he added with a warm smile. "I told you I'll be there when you Face 'Freya'."
She giggled and broke off a piece of her biscuit for him.
"Good answer," she said, grinning. For her, that was probably the highest form of affection. Now you just need to delete that sense of fatalism of yours.
He took the sweet and chewed, his expression relaxing.
"Alright, we need to hurry," their father said, quickening his pace. "Our ship's leaving soon, and we still have to find souvenirs for your siblings."
"Is it my fault you have so many kids?" Finn muttered, clicking his tongue again—only to receive a smack on the head.
Strangely, every time he got a new prosthetic heart, something never changed: his mood was always sour.
"You know," Verascus said, "for a genius, you're often the worst person when it comes to word choice. Respect is a form of wisdom too. Didn't all those books you read teach you that?"
Finn chuckled, satisfied.
"At least you acknowledge my unmatched genius."
"That's all you took from my lecture?" Verascus groaned. If he'd had one hand free, he would have facepalmed a dozen times already. "I've told you a thousand times, Finerald, your potential is infinite, but you must focus."
My time isn't infinite, unfortunately.
"Dad, you know praise doesn't work on people like him," Fiona said flatly before laughing. "Especially if you've said it a thousand times already."
Exasperated, Verascus also began laughing, albeit reluctantly.
The tension finally began to ease. After over a month spent here under the stress of Finn's surgery, they were finally going home.
Finally, I can resume the research, Finn thought, quickening his pace.
But soon he realized something strange, his father had let go of his hand. His foot wasn't touching the ground. His eyes widened as he tried to understand, but everything was frozen from the crowd to the wind.
Then suddenly, he felt himself floating into the sky, his head in the clouds.
A voice echoed in his mind.
First step. Final destination.
Then the world resumed—and everything had changed.
A threatening darkness spread slowly.
The sky was swallowed by a purple cloud, hiding the sun that had shone so brightly just moments earlier.
Debris rose into the air.
Although the world was moving again, Finn stood frozen.
An Eternal Dome.
A dozen had already appeared in the past century—random, unpredictable portals to unknown worlds.
Wherever one appeared, destruction followed. Half the souls within vanished; the other half were doomed unless they escaped before the Gate stabilized.
Those who lost their souls became Fallen, beings stripped of humanity, hollow shells with no hope of return.
This phenomenon, which had paralyzed much of the world, was called Freya Vice, and with it came the Gate of Possibilities.
The city's joyful cries twisted into screams of madness.
Within seconds, everything lay in ruins.
It was as if reality itself had been shifted, but the cause was simple: desperation.
The will to survive… or the agony of losing someone before your eyes.
Finn raised his head slowly, his breath shaking.
His father still stood there—eyes closed, motionless, as if asleep.
Finn bit his lip and ran toward Fiona.
She was conscious.
When he saw her bright blue eyes still alive, the heart that had already begun to sink surged again.
She looked at Finn, then at their father, and fell to her knees.
"Finerald… is it what I think?" she whispered, her once cheerful voice twisted with unbearable grief.
Finn looked at her, then back at Verascus.
It was over. There would be no goodbye.
His mouth opened—then closed again. For the first time in a long while, his mind was blank.
He clenched his fists, shut his eyes, and whispered:
"Hael."
When he opened them, his expression had changed.
An unnatural calm washed over him, as if something else had taken control.
"Fiona," he said steadily, "we have to go."
"Go where? It's like this time we'll lose everything again!" she screamed, tears spilling.
"If we're still standing, it means we haven't lost everything," he said, pulling her up. "Come on."
"But Dad… Dad has fallen."
"Fiona," he repeated, his tone calm and cutting,
"Our ship—we can still make it. You said you wanted to be strong, right? You said you'd destroy the Dome someday. Then survive this one first."
He didn't drag her because he believed in her.
Even if she acted childish around her family, Finn knew her well.
She could show an insane level of maturity for her age.
She nodded, gently freeing her hand from their father's.
Finn grabbed it firmly and ran with her toward the harbor.
They looked back once.
Verascus stood still, almost smiling, his eyes filled with indescribable pain.
Humanity had just lost its greatest mind.
"Listen to me," Finn said, his voice steady—his words cutting through the chaos with ease.
"Follow my lead. I can't promise we'll survive, but I swear that none of us will die here."
Fiona barely nodded as she took one last glance around, as he seemed to be returning to his senses. A melancholy voice echoed inside his mind, uttering words that would forever remain engraved within his mind.
[Welcome to hell. Paradise is within sight. Close your eyes to glimpse it better.]
Since birth, Finn had already lost his life twice.
Once at birth, when he sacrificed half
his lifespHisto be revived.
The second, two years ago, on his tw,elfth birthday, when his heart was torn out.
And soon, he would experience his third and final death.
He would fall.