A celestial glow bathed the grand hall, golden lights flickering from floating lanterns above. At its center sat Dionysus, draped in silken robes, fingers lazily twirling a goblet of ambrosia. His temple was vast yet eerily silent, filled only with the whispers of wandering souls awaiting their second chance.

But now, there was only one.

A soft chime echoed as a new presence appeared. Dionysus lifted his gaze, and for the first time in eons, his lazy amusement faltered.

A soul he had already reincarnated. Twice.

He had given them a second chance. That was his duty, his purpose—to take the souls who had suffered cruel, undeserved deaths and grant them new beginnings. Murder victims, abused children, those who had been crushed beneath the weight of their unloved existence. He placed them in warm homes, loving families, where they would never know the pain of their past lives. And once they passed naturally, they wouldn’t return to him—they had lived fulfilled lives, their souls no longer burdened with regret.

But this one? They were different.

The first time, it was bullying. A slow, painful suffering until death came too soon. He had felt sorry for them. So he gave them a new life—a safe childhood, kind parents, warmth, love. He had done everything right.

And yet, here they were again.

Dionysus flicked his wrist, summoning the full memories of their second life. He watched. He felt. And something dark coiled in his chest.

"…What is this nonsense?" His voice was quieter now, dangerously calm. "That wasn’t love. That wasn’t peace. I gave you a perfect life, and yet you suffered again."

He leaned back, exhaling slowly.

"This is going to bother me."

For the first time in centuries, the god of reincarnation felt something beyond mere duty. He felt a personal need to fix this.