Dull thuds and screaming voices echoed at the edge of my awareness. I tried to draw a deep breath, to ground myself, but fire tore through my chest. My lungs locked up like they'd forgotten how to breathe. Panic clawed at me.
I forced my mind inward, reaching for the Birthright. I still didn't understand how it let me see—but that wasn't important right now.
Shapes bloomed into view. Not everything, just the people. Through my Birthright, the world was selective. I could see the members of the Bramble Banner, and I could see the tiger. But the trees, the plants, the ground beneath us? All gone. Like the forest had vanished.
Maybe there was a reason for that. Maybe not. Either way, I didn't have time to dwell.
Rev appeared off-center, leaning. Injured. Kyr was down, unmoving, but there were faint signs of breath. Lysander stood over them, waving his staff wildly—and judging by the way the tiger struggled to move, he was managing to pin it with something.
The tiger itself looked weaker. Diminished. If I could just stand…
I grit my teeth, forced my eyes open, and pushed myself upright. Sight returned fully. The roots pinning the tiger writhed up from the ground like snakes. Rev was bleeding badly.
I stepped forward—then froze.
Something moved near Kyr's body. It took a moment to register through the fog in my head.
A Mawich.
I lashed out with the Birthright, trying to drive it off. Pain answered instead. White-hot and blinding, it shattered my focus and stripped away the ethereal sight.
"Kyreefgh—" I choked on his name, coughing blood. Not a good sign.
The sound caught the tiger's attention. Its head turned. It snarled, and the weight of its aura crashed over me again. Rev staggered as it lifted off her, and Lysander's face flickered with brief relief.
Then horror.
The Mawich lunged and drove its claws straight into Kyr's skull.
Lysander's mouth fell open. The creature turned and let out a screech that split the air. The tiger looked at it, then looked at me.
It was thinking.
While it hesitated, Lysander ran to Rev and pulled her up. I couldn't hear what was said, but her face twisted in frustration before hardening. She shot me a venomous glare, then turned and fled with him, putting distance between themselves, the tiger, and the Mawich.
It took me another second to register the Mawich wasn't alone.
It was calling the pack.
The tiger shifted again, stuck between instinct and indecision. Fight or flee. That pause—that single moment—was its undoing.
Several Mawich appeared silently from the trees, jumping on the tiger and attacking it. It tried to bite back at them, but the injuries it sustained were holding it back.
I turned and ran.
Well—limped, quickly. Every step jarred through my ribs, my legs buckling beneath me, but stopping meant dying.
I kept glancing back, breath ragged, expecting claws at my back. But the forest behind me remained still. No shadows. No movement.
Reaching for my ethereal sight, I flicked it open just enough to scan the world. The Mawich weren't following me. They were heading in the direction Rev and Lysander had taken.
I didn't understand why. I wasn't going to question it.
I kept running until my legs gave out. I collapsed against a tree, sliding down to the roots. My chest heaved. My vision blurred. I had nothing left.
I closed my eyes.
And opened them from the outside.
I was floating with no body, no limbs. Just awareness. I looked down, or tried to. Below me, Darian's body slumped lifelessly against the trunk. His skin was pale, lips tinged blue.
He looked dead.
Panic clawed at me.
No, no, no. I couldn't die again. Not like this. Not before I knew why I was here. There had to be a reason.
I was sent here for something. Please. God? Anyone?
Nothing answered. Just silence.
Time passed. I don't know how much. I floated, helpless, as insects began to crawl across his—my—skin. I wanted to scream. To swat them away. But I had no arms. No mouth.
I was a ghost watching my own body rot.
Just as the weight of despair started to crush me, something moved.
A frog. Huge, slow-moving, and cautious, crept toward Darian's corpse. The frog loomed closer, its pale green skin slick with moisture, muscles bunching with each slow, deliberate hop. It stopped just inches from Darian's motionless form, throat pulsing as it regarded the lifeless body with unblinking, lidless eyes.
Then it struck.
Its tongue lashed out like a whip and tore a beetle clean off Darian's cheek. Another snap followed, and a cluster of ants vanished from the corner of his jaw. One by one, the scavengers were consumed, ripped away mid-crawl as the frog purged them with surgical efficiency.
It was grotesque. And mesmerizing.
The frog crept closer, then leapt, landing squarely on Darian's lap.
For a moment, everything held still.
Then the corpse's eyes opened.
Golden irises, dull and lifeless, locked onto the frog like a predator sizing up its prey. The frog froze.
Pale hands snapped upward and seized it. The corpse sat upright and lifted the frog overhead.
Teeth clamped down.
They tore into the frog's chest.
Blood spilled thick and dark, and the corpse drank.
Something shifted.
A tether pulled tight. It had always been there, just too faint to sense. Now it was clear, and my spirit responded.
I focused on it, and my vision split.
I saw both from within the body and from above it, the two perspectives blurring together. My spirit sank back into flesh.
Sensation returned.
The taste hit me first. Vile and coppery, thick with rot. My stomach turned.
The last thing I saw from outside was color returning to Darian's face. Blue lips flushed red. Gold eyes shone with life.
Then I was back. Fully.
My body ached. My skin was sticky. The taste on my tongue was bitter and wrong.
"What. The. Fuck," I spat, then grabbed my throat in shock. "I can speak now?"
Pain still coursed through me. I could barely move, but I was alive. Somehow.
As far as I understood, this world didn't have true healing magic. There were potions to speed recovery, and mana could accelerate the body's natural repair, but this wasn't healing. I had been dead.
Tears welled up and spilled freely. I couldn't stop them. Once again, I had stared down death. This time it had been my own choice, but it hadn't even been a week since the last time. How many more would there be?
And how had I come back?
The memory of it twisted in my gut. That moment, that grotesque act... it wasn't something I would forget. It didn't feel like salvation. It felt wrong.
Whatever brought me to this cursed world, I had always assumed it was divine. Something greater. I had planned to study the local scriptures once things calmed down. But this? This wasn't divine.
It felt evil. Tainted. My soul felt slick, like something foul had seeped into it and settled there.
"Why... why, god damn it." My voice cracked as I wiped at my face. "I just wanted to help someone who saved me."
I hadn't meant for this. I hadn't meant to trade lives.
I knew there would be danger. I'd told myself I understood. But that was a lie. In my old life, danger meant driving in a rainstorm or forgetting to lock the front door.
Danger didn't use to mean so much.
After taking a moment to gather myself, I reached into my cloak. I had brought a few potions for emergencies, and now was definitely one.
Most of them were shattered. Cracked glass and leaking liquid lined the inner folds of the cloak. Only one bottle remained intact, barely. A thin fracture ran down its side, and some of the potion had already seeped out—but it was better than nothing.
I downed it.
A wave of itching spread through me. Not across the skin but under it. Deep and invasive, impossible to scratch or relieve. I clenched my jaw and tried to ignore it, forcing my focus toward my vision instead.
And then the world lit up.
The forest exploded. Crawling things, glowing threads, flickers of light—too many, too fast. I flinched, shielding my eyes from light that wasn't even real.
My sight had changed. Sharpened. Intensified.
And I didn't know why.
It wasn't helpful, not immediately. I'd hoped to quietly scan for threats or find a path out. Instead, I was drowning in detail. Gritting my teeth, I pushed myself back into that vision and tried to adjust.
Slowly, the sensory overload faded. I took a breath, then spread my focus wider.
Roughly four meters from me, I sensed a snake buried underground, curled and sleeping. Unlike the static brightness of trees or grass, the snake's presence flowed. It was calm, rhythmic, like a river.
I narrowed my attention. The plants and smaller creatures faded until only the snake remained.
Then I pulled my attention away, stretching it outward again. After some effort, I found a bird resting in a nest high above. Its presence pulsed gently, flowing like the snake's had.
Souls.
That's what I was seeing.
Something about my time as a spirit must have deepened the effect of my Birthright. I could see souls now. Or something close.
Once I adjusted, more patterns emerged. Birds in the trees. Snakes and burrowers beneath the soil. I estimated my effective range to be around twenty meters. It was enough.
The sun hung low in the sky. I couldn't tell if it was rising or setting. My stupid magic compass only spun in a circle. But with the birds singing so loudly and the fog feeling unusually thick, I guessed it was morning.
Not that it mattered. I still felt like hell. Whether that was the fog's fault or just the aftermath of dying and coming back, I had no idea.
I chose south. The camp had been south of the forest. Even if I missed it, I'd find the edge eventually.
I moved carefully, keeping my soul-sight active. I noted that creatures on the move had more erratic soul patterns, pulsing in uneven rhythms across their bodies. It almost formed a language. But I didn't have time to decode it now.
My guess was correct. As the sun climbed higher, I made progress.
The forest thinned. The ground dried. And eventually, I saw the first signs of human life.
Probably.
The figures ahead were human-shaped, but their soul patterns weren't smooth. They were layered with spirals and interlocking rings, a complexity I hadn't seen before. I hadn't been able to see humans like this before, so I didn't know if it was normal.
I also didn't know if they were friendly.
I crouched and watched as they moved about. From the rising smoke and that mouth-watering scent, they were making camp. Cooking.
My stomach made the decision for me.
I moved forward, keeping low, and at about ten meters out, some of the people closest to the forest stiffened. Their soul patterns shifted—tightening, spinning faster around the head and hands. They had noticed me.
I reached down to check my mask.
Gone.
I had kept it tied to my belt, but somewhere along the way, it had fallen. I hadn't even noticed. My stomach sank.
Fuck.
Only the royal family had golden eyes. There was a chance they might take me in for a reward. But with people actively trying to kill me for reasons I still didn't understand, I wasn't willing to bet on that.
Too late to turn back now. Running would look worse.
Mind racing, I grabbed the nearest thick stick and ripped off my shirt sleeve. I tied the cloth over my eyes.
If I couldn't hide the color, I'd cover it.
Blind and desperate. That was the play.
I staggered toward the clearing.
"Halt! Do not take another step!" a man's voice barked. He sounded like the one in charge.
"I—I mean no harm," I called out, raising my hands. "I got lost in the Gloamreach. The smell of food drew me here."
"A blind man alone in the Gloamreach? That's a tale not even children would believe. Smells like demon trickery." His voice was sharp and suspicious, and honestly, I didn't blame him.
"I didn't start alone," I said, letting the weariness bleed through. "We encountered an injured tiger being pursued by Mawich."
Gasps rippled through the group. Two figures bolted out of my awareness.
"I told you I felt something..." someone whispered.
"Enough speculation! You claim to have escaped alone? What proof have you that you brought nothing with you?" the lead voice snapped.
"The tiger fell on us and we were forced to scatter. The creatures didn't seem interested in me. I've been walking for at least two days and haven't seen the others."
"A blind man, taken into the forest and able to survive on his own for days after escaping Jini wa Meno Mirefu?"
"Losing one kind of sight gave me another. I didn't miss the tiger's arrival. It was simply too fast."
Silence followed. I didn't try to fill it.
"Then I am sorry for your loss," he said slowly. "But we cann—"
"Kamanda Jabari Bin Baraka," a young voice cut in, calm and commanding. "The poor boy is half-dead on his feet. He's no threat."
The crowd shifted.
"Bibi Neema..." the commander said, tone guarded.
"No. No more. We will offer hospitality," she declared, stepping forward. Hands gentle, she placed them on my shoulders and leaned her forehead against mine. "Welcome. You were brought here by the hand of Mungu. May the ancestors' protection rest upon you."
She pulled back and extended her hand. I took it without thinking.
The crowd reacted instantly.
Gasps. A rush of motion. Their soul patterns spun wildly, especially around the heart and hands.
"Peace, peace," Neema laughed, lifting her other hand to hold them back. "There is no harm in ignorance."
Great. Cultural faux pas number... what, five? Six? Seems I'm doomed to keep making them.