Pain.
That was the first thing he felt.
Not the clean stab of betrayal.
Not the distant ache of death.
This pain was dull.
Constant.
Rotting from the inside out.
Warren opened his eyes.
The ceiling above him was stained brown with old water damage. The air smelled of sour alcohol, sweat, and something faintly metallic.
His body felt heavy.
Wrong.
His throat burned.
His stomach churned violently.
He pushed himself upright—
—and nearly vomited.
Weak.
Too weak.
This was not his body.
His hands were calloused, but not from battle. The muscle beneath his skin was poorly maintained. His veins felt sluggish. His head throbbed with the aftereffects of excessive drinking.
Memories crashed into him.
Not one or two.
All of them.
**************************
Name: Reese Moss.
Age: Twenty-four.
Gender: Male.
Status: Married. Three husbands. Five children.
Reputation:
Drunk.
Gambler.
Abuser.
Warren's jaw tightened.
The memories did not come gently. They forced themselves into his mind—childhood, adolescence, marriage, cruelty.
He staggered to the cracked mirror hanging beside the bed.
The reflection showed a man with decent features.
Sharp jaw.
Straight nose.
Dark brown hair that would have been handsome if not unkempt.
But the skin was sallow.
Eyes bloodshot.
Faint puffiness from constant drinking.
A body prematurely deteriorating from indulgence.
This man was only twenty-four.
Yet his liver ached.
His stamina was low.
His meridians—if this world called them that—were clogged with impurities.
Disgust rose in Warren's chest.
Not at the weakness.
At the memories.
**************************
As Reese's memories integrated, knowledge of this world unfolded.
Three genders existed:
Males — rulers of society. Political power. Legal dominance. Economic control.
Females — legally protected yet restricted. Expected to marry, bear children, and obey.
Carriers — men born with the ability to conceive and give birth. Often more delicate in build. Frequently androgynous or beautiful.
Carriers possessed the least rights of all.
They could not inherit property independently.
They could not refuse marriage contracts arranged by families.
They were seen as burdens unless attached to a powerful male.
And Reese—
Reese had owned three.
Owned.
The word made Warren's expression turn glacial.
**************************
Ezra Steele
Twenty-three.
Carrier.
Black hair. Blue eyes.
Chosen by Reese's parents when Reese was fifteen.
A political marriage between families of equal standing—before Reese squandered everything.
Ezra had once been radiant.
The memories showed it clearly.
Graceful posture.
Refined education.
Soft-spoken.
Kind.
Now?
Malnourished.
Shoulders slightly hunched.
Eyes cautious.
He had given birth twice.
A six-year-old carrier child.
A three-year-old daughter.
He rarely slept fully.
He rarely ate enough.
Because Reese drank away the money meant for food.
Because Reese struck him when irritated.
Warren's fingers curled.
**************************
Theo Pierce
Theo.
Twenty.
Carrier.
Curly blonde hair.
Green eyes.
Sold at fifteen.
His parents had owed Reese gambling money.
Instead of repaying currency—
They handed over their son.
Theo had cried the first night.
Reese had laughed.
Theo has since given birth to two children:
A four-year-old daughter.
A fifteen-month-old son.
Theo worked constantly.
Cooking.
Cleaning.
Washing.
Mending.
He apologized even when silent.
The memories showed bruises.
Small ones.
Hidden under clothing.
Warren felt something dark move inside his chest.
**************************
Henry Ward
Seventeen.
Red hair.
Brown eyes too honest for a household like this.
Two years ago, Reese had seen him in the marketplace.
Bright.
Laughing.
Protected by a loving family.
Reese had grabbed him publicly.
Created rumors.
Destroyed Henry's reputation in a single afternoon.
In this society, once a carrier's purity was questioned—
Marriage options vanished.
To "save face," Henry's family had agreed to the union.
They had wept.
Henry had been terrified.
He had given birth two days ago.
A newborn son.
Two days.
Warren felt the timeline settle heavily.
Two days ago, Henry had been in labor.
Reese had not stayed.
He had been gambling.
Drinking.
**************************
Silence filled the room.
The weight of inherited sin pressed down on him.
Five children.
Three husbands.
A house drowning in poverty because of Reese's excess.
Warren closed his eyes.
He had killed cannibals without hesitation.
He had crushed traitors without mercy.
But this—
This kind of cruelty was slow.
Domestic.
Normalized.
Legal.
And far more repulsive.
He rose unsteadily to his feet.
The body protested.
Weak core strength.
Mild tremors from alcohol withdrawal.
Dehydration.
Malnutrition.
Pathetic.
But salvageable.
His space pulsed faintly in his consciousness.
Still there.
Vast.
Alive.
The river's spiritual water responded the moment he reached for it.
A small vial appeared in his palm.
Clear.
Shimmering.
He drank.
The effect was immediate.
Warmth flooded his veins.
Impurities purged from his organs.
His headache faded.
His liver eased.
His muscles tightened subtly.
Not peak condition—
But restored.
Functional.
Alive.
Warren exhaled slowly.
This world had given him a second life.
In a body steeped in wrongdoing.
A household built on imbalance.
Outside the thin wooden door, he heard it.
A baby crying.
Soft.
Weak.
Newborn.
Followed by a hushed, panicked voice.
Henry.
"Please don't cry… please… you'll wake him…"
Fear.
In his own home.
Warren's expression hardened.
Not the cold indifference of the apocalypse.
Something sharper.
Controlled.
Reese Moss was feared in this house.
That ended now.
He walked toward the door.
Each step steady.
Each breath measured.
He did not know yet how this world functioned politically.
He did not know what enemies he might have.
He did not know how deep Reese's debts ran.
But he knew one thing with absolute certainty.
No one in this house would ever flinch at his footsteps again.
Warren placed his hand on the door handle.
And opened it.