Arc 1, Chapter 2: Awakening

  Fragments of consciousness returned.

  Coarse bark pressed against Ash Valendris’s spine.

  He felt the roughness grinding into his back, pulling up old shame he had buried decades ago.

  Moist dirt and moss filled his lungs. The smell dragged him back to childhood, to a small boy lost in old woods.

  Air moved over his skin. His body felt like he had put on someone else's clothes.

  Forest sounds reached him. Birdsong mixed with rustling leaves and water trickling somewhere distant.

  He opened his eyes.

  A canopy stretched overhead, a lattice of branches and green filtering pale sunlight.

  He could feel this sunlight. He could see this sky. It was different from the radiance that had engulfed the temple. It was different from the void between moments.

  He existed in a place and a time.

  His body responded when he commanded it to move. It was no longer the collection of aches and failures it had been.

  He pushed himself upright, and the motion came easily. Muscles obeyed without protest. Joints moved smoothly where they used to grind.

  He looked down at his hands. Liver spots and scars that had mapped eighty years of mistakes across weathered skin were gone. The fingers were long, steady, and strong.

  Visions seemed real sometimes. Hallucinations could be vivid when born from hopelessness. Perhaps he was dying on that temple floor with a blade through his chest, and this was merely his mind's final mercy.

  But the earth underfoot was solid. The bark bit into his palm when he gripped it. Pain was real. This place was real.

  He staggered to his feet. The world swayed. He caught himself against a tree and breathed hard. He needed to orient himself.

  Age-old trees stood like pillars in the canopy of the dense vegetation around him. The area felt familiar. A lasting essence remained here, even if his current recollection was thin.

  As he moved, he noticed a blurred symbol carved into the trunk of a timeworn oak. A spiral surrounded by lines was half-covered in moss. It suggested customs from the past and lost stories embedded into the forest. A nearby circle of stones had once formed an ancient bonfire. It was extinguished and covered with soot, a faint reminder of others who had ventured here before him.

  Then he heard it.

  Water.

  He moved toward the sound, stumbling through ferns and across roots. Every footfall felt lighter, faster, and unburdened. The trees thinned and the ground sloped downward. A small lake opened before him, maybe twenty paces across. The surface was mirror-still, casting back the sky and forest in perfect detail.

  He approached the water’s edge and looked down.

  The reflection made his breath catch. He was twenty-three or perhaps twenty-four. Defined features had not yet faded with the years. His dark hair fell across a forehead unmarked by worry lines.

  His eyes were alert and clear. They held none of the resignation that had grown deep after decades of failure. His face looked as it had before everything went wrong.

  "It worked."

  The words came forth in a voice that was his but different. It was deeper than he remembered and lacked the roughness that age had engraved on his throat.

  "It actually—" The words died.

  His knees hit the ground. Earth and stone bit through fabric, but he barely felt it. His hands plunged into the lake’s cold water, shattering that perfect reflection into ripples. When the surface calmed, the young face returned.

  He was back.

  He had spent fifty years searching. Rumors had taken him to deserted temples where reality blurred into myth. He had given up his money, his dignity, and every hope of salvation. But the real cost was closer to home. He remembered his house as a pile of ruins because he had never taken care of it. Every choice he made led to the same goal: tearing time itself apart.

  Relief should have come with the thought. Instead, an empty pain spread through his chest. He looked at the image and saw the boy who had wasted his chance.

  That frightened child had hidden in caves for five years while time marched forward without him. He had emerged weak and ignorant, everything House Valendris despised.

  He closed his eyes. He forced himself to breathe and think.

  He was at the Proving. This was the five-year trial every member of House Valendris underwent upon reaching eighteen.

  They were sent into Thornwood Forest to survive and forge themselves into something worthy of the family name.

  When he first entered these forests, he was eighteen years old. He had wasted every moment of it. Fifty years had diluted the recollections, but he could still recall his fear. Every silhouette had hidden a monster. His skin crawled at the memory of mud seeping from the woods' floor. He had persuaded himself that hiding was the same as living.

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  He had emerged from Thornwood unchanged and unworthy. Everyone had known it.

  His fingers touched the water again, watching ripples distort that young face. This time would be different. He knew it had to be. Yet a hushed tone of uncertainty slipped into his mind.

  He wondered if he would fail again or squander this chance like before. The doubt weighed on his determination. Still, the fear of repeating past mistakes drove his resolve.

  He had spent fifty years learning what he should have learned here. He had studied texts no one else would teach him. He had experimented with magic that was forbidden in the kingdom. He finally understood what the Seed of Life actually was.

  The Seed of Life allowed him to gather mana from the world around him, drawing it inward to strengthen his body. A warrior could move with the speed of the wind or lift boulders, limited only by control of this power. He had at last mastered how to use it properly.

  He stood up. Water dripped from his hands.

  He had three months. That was how long he had before the family sent a carriage to collect him from the forest’s edge. He had three months to become what he should have been.

  The forest stretched around him, vast and dangerous. Somewhere in these woods, monsters prowled. Pockets of corruption leaked from ancient battlefields. Those threats had terrified the boy he used to be.

  But he was not that boy anymore. He carried eighty years of knowledge in a twenty-three-year-old body. He knew what the Seed of Life could do. He understood Dark Gate Magic.

  The kingdom had banned its teaching. In his previous life, he had devoted decades to searching for instructors, bribing criminals for banned manuscripts, and gathering understanding from fragments. He had learned through trial and distress. Now he had that knowledge from the beginning. He would have no wasted years and no fearful hiding.

  He turned from the lake and scanned the forest. He needed shelter. A dense thicket to the right offered immediate cover, but it provided little permanence. It was susceptible to the elements.

  To the left lay rocky outcroppings where shadows hinted at a cave. Stone walls would hold heat better than any constructed shelter. The enclosed space was perfect for containing mana for training. This appealed to his wisdom.

  He started walking. He felt no grinding joints or shortness of breath. He moved with smooth, powerful motion. The slope grew steeper as trees gave way to stone. He climbed, using roots and rocks for handholds.

  A dark opening appeared in the cliff face. It was a natural formation and not too large. He pulled himself up the final ledge and approached the cave mouth. Cool air drifted out, carrying the mineral smell of deep stone.

  The cave extended back fifteen paces before narrowing. It was dry. The floor showed no signs of animal habitation. The ceiling was low enough to feel secure but high enough to stand comfortably.

  He entered and let his eyes adjust to the dimness. Faint light shone in from the entrance. The walls were rough stone. The floor was relatively level. At the back, the space narrowed into a crevice too small for anything large to emerge.

  The boy he had been would have stayed near the entrance, shivering in terror. But the darkness no longer felt like a menace. It felt like warmth.

  He moved to the center of the cave and sat with his legs folded. He closed his eyes. He began the breathing pattern he had learned after years of study. He inhaled through the nose, held it, and exhaled through the mouth. This helped synchronize with the natural flow of mana.

  Deep within, the Seed of Life came to life. He sensed it as a living, glowing presence in his chest. It felt as though an invisible force led a thousand glistening fireflies to come together inside of him. The ebb and flow of his breath was reflected in this dance of light.

  He had been over forty before he realized the significance of this feeling in his former life. He had lived with this ability for decades without comprehending it. Now he knew exactly what the Seed could do. It gathered mana through resonance. It drew energy inward the way lungs draw air, strengthening the body and creating a reservoir of power.

  He breathed deeper. The mana in this cave was thin because Thornwood Forest allowed power to leak away rather than concentrating. As he concentrated, a subtle tremor vibrated through the cave walls. A sudden draft passed through the entrance and chilled his skin. He needed to be methodical.

  A sudden movement occurred in his pocket. His eyes flung open. The breathing pattern broke.

  Warmth radiated against his thigh. It was not painful, but it was insistent. He reached into the pocket of his leather tunic. His fingers did not find flint or rations. They wrapped around a smooth, warm object.

  He pulled it free. The Philosopher’s Stone sat in his hand, radiating a crimson light. The glow coated the cave walls in red.

  The stone should not have existed. The texts were clear. Philosopher's Stones fulfilled one wish and then destroyed themselves. They left only dust and memory behind. He had used his. He had begged the universe to send him back. The wish had been granted.

  “You’re not supposed to exist anymore,” he said. His voice echoed in the cave. “You should have crumbled to nothing.”

  The stone glowed more intensely. The heat in his arm increased and spread to his chest, his throat, and his face.

  “Wait.”

  The crimson light blazed outward. It flooded the cave with radiance so intense it burned his vision white. The heat surged through his entire body. The sensation was overwhelming and invasive. He tried to let go of the stone, but his fingers would not move. They held a tight grasp on it.

  His lungs seized. He tried to breathe, and all he could feel was burning. His lungs filled with flames. He choked. The world turned, and darkness filled his vision. It was a starving, certain black.

  He tried to yell. The world was gone.

  Silence woke him.

  Complete silence. It rested on his eardrums like a weight. It made him aware of his own heartbeat and breathing because those were the only sounds that existed.

  He opened his eyes. A red sky spread out overhead. It was not the color of sunset. It was a dome the color of fresh blood.

  He sat up. His body felt heavy and light simultaneously, like moving through water while wearing armor. The earth below him was soft.

  Red flowers grew here. Millions of them stretched in every direction. They grew so densely that no earth showed between them. Red spider lilies. He knew these flowers were associated with death and farewells.

  He pushed himself to his feet. The flowers compressed beneath his boots without sound. He reached down and plucked a single lily. The stem snapped with a wet crack. He felt cool, sticky sap on his thumb. He was physically here.

  Massive trees rose in the distance. Their trunks were wide enough to contain buildings. They reached upward until they disappeared into the red sky.

  A throne sat a hundred paces away. It rose from the sea of flowers like a monument. It was carved from stone so dark it appeared to soak up light.

  A figure sat upon it.

  Distance made details unclear, but the silhouette was human-shaped and unmoving. It sat there watching.

  His heart beat fiercely against his ribs. Every instinct screamed to flee. But this place spread infinitely. He stared at the throne. As his eyes adjusted, details emerged. The figure wore black armor that was cracked and worn. A breastplate showed stress fractures spreading from its center.

  A sword rested across the figure's lap. The black blade looked alive. Its surface bore veins of red that pulsed like frozen lightning. A faint red mist twisted from the metal before evaporating. Pure mana leaked from the sword in visible currents.

  The figure’s head was bowed and the face was hidden. The throne was engraved with runes that were painful to look at directly. Power saturated every surface.

  He stayed still in the sea of quiet flowers. He reached inside himself to find the Seed of Life. A soft hissing sound filled the air, as if the planet were telling him secrets in a tongue he did not understand. His power pulled back from the cold. The air felt thick, wet, and heavy. He felt out of place.

  He pushed against the frigid barrier and smelled iron. It was a rough, metallic scent like the sound of conflicts that had lasted for a long time.