George's Last Reincarnation

CHAPTER FOUR — THE ROOM THAT REMEMBERS HIM

Light swallowed George whole. For a moment, he felt weightless, like his body had been peeled away, leaving only raw awareness floating in an empty space. No sound. No breath. No heartbeat.

Then the light cracked apart. George stumbled forward, catching himself on cold stone. He blinked. He was inside… a room. A square chamber with walls carved from smooth white marble, glowing faintly from within. No windows. No doors.

Except the one he came through. The red door now stood behind him. But something was wrong. The handle was gone. The keyhole was gone. The door had become a solid slab, as if it had never been meant to open again.

George cursed under his breath. “What the hell did you drag me into?”

A voice answered: “Your seventh chance.”

George turned sharply. Someone was standing in the center of the room. Not the boy. A man, tall, calm, wearing simple grey robes. Barefoot. Dark hair tied loosely behind him. Eyes a still, impossible silver.

George’s spine locked. He knew that face. He had seen it in dreams across lifetimes… never understanding why. “You,” George whispered. The man inclined his head. “Yes. We meet again.” 

“Who are you?” George demanded.  The man stepped closer. “A watcher. A guide. A witness to every life you’ve lived.” 

His voice was quiet, but each word echoed, as if the room itself listened.  George narrowed his eyes. “You working with that kid who keeps haunting me?” 

“The boy is a messenger. I am something else.” 

“What do you want from me?” 

The man reached out and touched the wall with two fingers. A ripple spread outward—like water disturbed by a single drop. The marble shimmered. Images emerged from it… blurry at first, then sharp.

  George’s first life. 

A younger version of him beating a man in a nightclub basement. 

His second life.
A stolen car. A gun. Blood on his hands. 

Third.
Drug money. Betrayals. A body dumped off a bridge. 

Fourth.
A prison riot. Fire. Screams. 

Fifth.
A gang war he started because of wounded pride. 

Sixth.
A wealthy life gained through dirty deals and lost through one fatal mistake. The wall showed everything, every sin, every choice.  George’s jaw tightened. “Turn that off.”

“I cannot,” the man said. “This is your truth.” 

“I said turn it off,” George growled, stepping forward. But the man lifted a hand and the room itself threw George backward, not violently, but firmly, like pushing away a child reaching for danger. 

“You have lived seven lives,”

the man said. “Six filled with cruelty and hunger for fame. One spent chasing power. All of them empty.” 

George surged to his feet. “Don’t preach to me.”

“I am not preaching. I am informing you.”

The images changed. Now they showed things George had never seen A vast glowing wheel made of souls. Threads of light stretching across dimensions. Thousands of spirits entering and leaving the wheel.

But one thread, his thread, blackening, thinning, unraveling. The man pointed to the withering thread.

“That is your reincarnation line. It is breaking.” 

George swallowed hard. “So what? I fix it. I’ve survived worse.” 

“You cannot fight the breaking of a soul.”
The man’s voice darkened. “But you can choose what your final life becomes.” 

George stared at him. “Final?” 

“Yes. This is your last reincarnation. When this life ends, your soul dissolves.” 

For the first time in years, maybe in lifetimes, George felt something like panic. 

“What do you want me to do?”

he whispered.  “Learn,”

the man said. “Change. Understand what you were never willing to understand.” 

“And what’s that?” 

The man stepped closer.  His silver eyes pinned George in place.  “Why you were chosen.” 

George froze. “Chosen for what?” 

The walls suddenly dimmed.  A distant rumble echoed outside the room, deep, violent, ancient. The man looked toward the sound, his expression tightening. “They have found us.”

George stiffened. “Who?”

The rumble grew louder.  The marble walls cracked slightly at the corners.  The man touched George’s chest with two fingers.  “Remember this name,” he said softly.
“Asher.” 

George went still.  Asher.  The name hit him like a memory he didn’t have yet.

“You…” George whispered. “You’re Asher?”

The man smiled faintly. “No. But I am the one who will lead you to him.”

Before George could speak, the walls split open, shattering into dust. Dark silhouettes appeared on the other side. The Collectors. Four this time. Moving toward the room with silent purpose.

The man pushed George backward. “Your test begins now.”  “Test? What test?”

“Survive,”

the man said. “And the path to Asher will open.”

A blinding light erupted between them, forcing George away. The man vanished. The red door vanished. The room vanished. And George fell, tumbling downward into a dark, roaring abyss.

He screamed, Then hit solid ground with a brutal thud. He gasped and looked up. He was no longer in the marble room.

He was standing… In the middle of a massive underground city, glowing with blue fire, filled with thousands of wandering souls, and the Collectors were already descending toward him.