REWRITE: Lets escape the reality

Perched atop the tower, a figure emerged from a doorway, stepping toward the unguarded edge. The woman wore a collar, a stark mark of her enslavement. "Wait, what's she doing?" I muttered, unease creeping in.

Koko's voice broke the silence, her tone somber. "She's a victim of cruel fate. Her father died over unpaid debts, her mother succumbed to illness without medicine. They became payment, enslaved to abusive masters. Her sibling, driven mad by injected drugs, died too," she explained.

Her words carried a grave weight as she added, "These bitter life stories are real here, not mere figments."

She fixed me with a serious gaze. "In minutes, she's fated to die by suicide."

"What? Are you serious?" I gasped.

Her eyes, hollow and brimming with despair, reflected a soul stripped of hope. Pity surged within me—was her suicide a just end to her suffering?

"Everyone's fate here is set, unchangeable by others—except you," Koko said.

"Me?" I echoed, stunned.

She elaborated that my knowledge of the divine book exempted me from others' destinies, granting me power to forge my own and alter theirs based on their role in my life. "I want you to save her from certain death," she urged.

Shock rooted me—did she expect me to stop this woman's leap? I grasped my ability to shift fates but doubted its execution. Should I talk her down or drag her back? Even if I succeeded, her pain and enslavement would persist, haunting her memory.

She stepped forward again, prompting a desperate shout. "Wait, stop!"

She paused, glancing back. "Whatever you're planning, don't do it!" I yelled.

Silence hung heavy. Words failed me as her cold stare pierced my resolve. Was talking enough? She'd likely try again soon—what could truly save her?

"I know you've suffered, but ending your life isn't right," I said, my voice trembling.

She remained silent, ten seconds stretching between us. "Your life's been sad, but it's not too late… Let's talk, don't waste it," I pleaded.

Koko snickered behind me, mocking my lecture on life's value—ironic given my own past suicide attempt. "And worse, you did it because you had no friends. Look at you now," she teased.

"Shut up, that's not true!" I snapped.

I moved to guide her inside, but she stepped back toward the edge, teetering. "Wait, don't move! Calm down—I'm here to help," I called.

"Help? You'll help me?" she scoffed, eyeing me head to toe with a wry smile. "You need help more than I do."

Her insolence stung, but I steadied myself. "There's hope ahead—don't give up. Our God is merciful," I said.

"God? Which one—Crimson, the God of Darkness, or Eskapa's? They bless who they choose; trash like me gets no mercy," she retorted, her laugh bitter. She rejected divine aid, believing no one would save a lowly being like her.

"You're wrong—God's real, you just need faith," I countered.

"You don't know! I begged that God countless times—my father's killers went unpunished, my mother's cure ignored. Sold as a slave, we endured abuse I can't recount. I prayed for freedom, but God was deaf, blind to our pain," she poured out.

"I realized He abandoned us as His children—maybe never claimed us, sinners unworthy of mercy," she concluded, tears streaming.

Her raw anguish silenced me, each word a dagger to my heart. Her sobs and tone revealed she'd reached human limits. "My family's gone, I'm a used slave with nothing left. Why should I live?" she whispered, despair etched deep.

Words eluded me—how could I answer? Her suffering dwarfed mine; I had no right to judge her choice. I stepped back, doubting myself. Could I stop her with platitudes? They'd erase neither her past pain nor her current bondage—nor shape a better future.

Was stopping her right, or should I let her end her torment?

"Worthless. I didn't expect you to answer," she said, shaking her head in disappointment.

I bowed, mute, knowing my words were futile. Seconds later, she turned to the edge, preparing to jump. I froze, letting her proceed—until Koko tapped my back, jolting me forward.

"What are you doing? She asked where her God is—why not tell her He's before her?" Koko taunted.

"What? What nonsense is this?" I demanded.

"You don't fully grasp it. The Great Creator is limitless, beyond explanation. You're His instrument to save souls like hers—the answer to her prayers," she said.

"Suffering and despair are earth's norm—this world isn't paradise, yet the Creator never forgets them. Nathaniel, will you be their God?" she challenged.

Her words stunned me. She'd called me a god before, knowing I shaped this world's fates—filled with suffering and death. Fear held me back, yet my presence here, tasked to save Endoryo, suggested the Creator used me.

The woman raised her arms, eyes closed, feeling the wind. Without hesitation, she leapt, plummeting five hundred meters. Panic seized me—my body moved instinctively, chasing her over the edge.

"Hey! You can't die now!" I shouted.

She gaped as I followed. "What are you doing?"

Was I mad to jump from such a height? Yet fear vanished—I trusted God would act, granting me power to alter fate and save us.