Chapter 1 - The Awakening

  He opened his eyes to a distant sun, colossal and red, suspended in an alien sky. His cheek pressed against something soft—grass, he realized distantly—and when he rose, he discovered he'd been lying at the very edge of a precipice. Instinct pulled him back, then curiosity drew him forward again to peer over the rim.

  Below was nothing. Not ground, not water, but the void of space itself. Stars scattered across perfect darkness. He looked up. The same view greeted him: an endless expanse of night punctuated by distant lights. In those first twenty heartbeats of consciousness, everything felt profoundly, impossibly wrong.

  He turned. Immense mountains serrated the horizon, their peaks clawing at the strange sky. Several were active volcanoes, spilling rivers of molten rock down their flanks in lurid red streaks. Between him and those burning ranges stretched a dense forest, growing thicker as it approached the lava-scarred cliffs. The trees should have been ash. Something whispered deep in his mind that none of this should exist.

  There was no atmosphere—at least none he could see. No trace of blue touched the sky. The red sun cast its light across everything, yet nothing scattered that light into the familiar color he somehow expected. He jumped experimentally. Gravity felt normal. But what was normal? How could he know? And stranger still—how did he understand these things at all? The knowledge felt institutional. Clinical. Like it had been given to him rather than learned.

  This must be a dream. Nothing else could explain it. He pinched himself hard, expecting to wake. Pain bloomed instead, sharp and real. Another thought followed—if he jumped from the cliff and didn't wake, then nothing would rouse him.

  He approached the edge again. His stomach turned over. What if this wasn't a dream? What if he'd simply lost his memory and was about to throw himself into the void? Would he fall forever, dying slowly of thirst and hunger? Would he suffocate? Yet he was breathing now, breathing in a place with no visible air. And the sun, impossibly close and huge—it should have been unbearable, yet it was merely warm.

  Then another realization struck: he couldn't remember his own name. Not even a whisper of it remained.

  He looked down at himself. Thick white robes, cinched at the waist with a sash of black and red. Comfortable, though they felt ancient somehow, like a uniform from another age.

  A cooler thought surfaced: he had no idea what he looked like. He raised his hands to his face, exploring. A smooth, bald scalp. A long beard, undeniably red, cascading down his chest. Yet something within him insisted this wasn't right. His real face was lost, buried with whatever name he'd once carried.

  His thoughts circled back obsessively to that name. A fragment of memory flickered at the edge of consciousness—a word poised to break free, yet stubbornly trapped. It began with an R. He was certain of that much.

  He surveyed his surroundings but found no signs of civilization. Just trees and mountains. He could tell this place—more disc than planet—wasn't particularly large. From where he stood, he could perceive how the land curved ever so slightly to his left and right, arching away into the distance. Looking toward the central mountains, he estimated perhaps three or four days of travel would bring him to the opposite edge of this circular, floating world.

  His gaze settled on a small pond at the forest's edge. Thirst announced itself with sudden urgency. Upon reaching the water, he knelt and cupped his hands to drink, catching sight of his reflection. He looked younger than his long beard suggested—late twenties at most.

  Once satisfied, doubt took root. Perhaps this was no dream after all. Everything felt too vivid, too real, even if the laws of physics here defied all reason. Yet another question nagged: why did he know about physics in the first place? He'd assumed it was common knowledge, but when he searched for the source of that understanding, his mind offered only emptiness.

  Gazing into the forest ahead, he spotted a distant plume of smoke unfurling against the sky. A fire, kindled by friend or foe. Either way, it was a risk he had to take if he hoped to learn where he was and what had brought him here.

  He pushed through the first line of trees and noticed how dark their trunks were, how deep and rich the green of their leaves—almost matching the dark grass carpeting the ground. Where the grass thinned, pale gray dirt showed through. Looking up into the branches, he spotted round, deep-blue fruits hanging sporadically, each at least as large as his palm.

  A sound to his right made him turn. There, perched on a nearby tree, sat a creature that reminded him of a monkey—though he couldn't recall ever seeing one before. How strange, that the animal had pulled the very word from the depths of his mind. The longer he studied it, the more certain he became that this was nothing he'd ever known. Its ears were large and drooping, nearly resting on its small shoulders. Three long tails extended from its body, each tipped with what looked like a short blade—bone, perhaps, though their metallic sheen suggested silver or steel. The blades were no more than an inch long. The creature itself stood no more than half a foot tall, though each tail stretched close to two feet in absurd disproportion.

  As he watched, the creature used one tail to slice a blue fruit from a branch about a foot away. The other two tails caught it mid-fall, wrapping around it and bringing it to the creature's hands. It began to eat messily, blue juice spattering everywhere, entirely unconcerned by his presence.

  He left it to its meal and pressed deeper into the forest. He spotted several more of the creatures along the way but paid them no mind, just as they ignored him. Wherever he was—and he was increasingly convinced this was no dream—it didn't seem particularly dangerous. His stomach was beginning to protest. Perhaps the sight of so many fruits had stirred his hunger. The trouble was the trees stood tall with smooth, uninviting trunks. And though the monkey-like creatures seemed harmless, who could say how they might react if he trespassed into their realm among the branches?

  He pressed deeper, certain that eventually some fruit must have fallen to the ground. Yet after what felt like an hour of walking, he found none, though the branches above seemed more heavily laden than ever. What he did finally encounter was a fallen branch, long enough perhaps to reach those tantalizing blue fruits. The scarcity of fallen wood had troubled him during his wandering—strange how little the forest shed. Aside from occasional rises in the earth, scattered stones, or isolated boulders, the dark grass grew ever thicker, swallowing the pale soil beneath until it looked pristine, as though it consumed everything that dared to fall.

  He lifted the branch, readying himself to knock down a fruit, when a sudden sensation overwhelmed him. A chill sank to his marrow, a crushing feeling of loss. The branch slipped from his grasp as his breath quickened. He struggled for composure, closing his eyes and steadying himself with slow, deliberate breaths. When his breathing finally eased, he opened his eyes and looked at the branch again.

  "What was that?" he murmured.

  He looked up at the blue fruits, hunger gnawing at him. With resolve, he picked up the branch again. The sensation of loss returned, overwhelming and profound, but this time he held on. Suddenly, mist appeared, forming a leafy branch attached to a tree. A bulky canine made of mist moved with astonishing speed, climbing the misty trunk and colliding with the branch, severing it. Though the beast's details were indistinct, its danger was unmistakable. As the mist vanished, he realized he felt weaker, but the strange sensation of loss had faded.

  Had he just witnessed how the branch broke from its tree? A vision in mist? Answers weren't forthcoming. Still feeling relatively well despite his weakness, he used the branch to knock two fruits to the ground before tossing it aside, determined never to touch it again.

  He didn't hesitate to bite into the first fruit, leaving the blue peel on as the three-tailed creatures had done. The taste was intensely sour, the rough peel adding a bitter edge, but it was sustenance.

  The moment he bit into the second fruit, a loud noise echoed from the direction of the lava-scarred mountains. He rose quickly, considering flight, even taking a few hesitant steps backward. But what would that accomplish? He had no memory of who he was, no sense of belonging anywhere. There was only one choice: to move toward the unknown sound.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  He'd taken only a few steps when more sounds erupted in the distance. With each stride, the commotion grew louder. When he heard gasps and voices, he slowed and proceeded with caution. A battle was raging ahead. Though he didn't know who he was, he knew one thing with certainty: he was no fighter.

  At last, he found the source. Through a gap in the trees ahead, a clearing opened where battle raged. A woman fought there—human, the first familiar thing he'd seen since waking. She was powerfully built, encased in plated armor that caught the red sunlight, her bright blonde hair streaming behind each movement.

  What surrounded her was far less familiar.

  Canine creatures, each rising to his waist even on all fours, circled and lunged in waves. Leather armor clung to their frames, spikes jutting from their spines like cruel ornaments. Some gripped swords in their jaws, swinging the blades with disturbing ease. Though he stood too far to catch their words, he was certain: they weren't barking or howling. They were speaking.

  Hundreds already carpeted the ground at her feet. She cut down more with a strange spear, its metal dark as dried blood.

  She swept the weapon in wide arcs, and where it passed, walls of flame erupted—pillars that stretched from earth to sky, sealing off angles of attack. The barriers forced her enemies into a single killing corridor directly ahead. But the flames didn't last. Again and again she had to wheel around, reignite the walls, return to the front. A rhythm of necessity.

  Something else caught his attention. Lightning flickered across her armor—faint at first, barely visible against the metal. But with each passing moment the sparks grew brighter, crackling with greater intensity. They hadn't been there when he'd first spotted her.

  Only then did he realize his feet were moving. He'd covered ten paces without thought, drawn forward by an overwhelming need to help.

  He forced himself to stop.

  Clarity came like cold water. His presence would only get her killed faster. Some deep instinct whispered that rushing in would doom them both—not just him, but her, as if his presence carried weight beyond his useless body. At best he might distract one creature for a heartbeat before they cut him down. One creature out of dozens—what use was that?

  None at all.

  She moved as though dancing, her spear flashing in lethal arcs—piercing, toppling, slashing. That made him pause. Should a spear even slash? This one resembled a spear, but its three-foot blade marked it as something else entirely. He didn't recognize the weapon, and though he claimed no expertise in arms, he was certain he'd never seen anything like it.

  A colder thought settled over him then. What if he wasn't an outsider at all but a native who had simply forgotten? What if the things he thought strange were normal, and the things he thought normal were the illusion?

  He forced his focus back to the carnage and gasped when one of the creatures stirred up a violent wind around itself. In a blur, it dashed straight through a wall of flames, emerging ablaze. The swirling wind carried the fire with it, creating a sight both terrifying and mesmerizing. Then, in a single leap, the creature sank its teeth deep into the woman's neck, tearing away half of it in one savage bite. Still aflame and propelled by momentum, it toppled and rolled toward the forest, scattering blood and igniting shrubs as it crashed.

  To his astonishment, the woman remained standing. She didn't move—just stared. Her gaze fixed on him with sudden intensity—not threat, but recognition. Her lips moved, forming words lost beneath the crackling flames and snarling beasts. Something in her expression shifted: not fear, not anger, but something closer to relief. Or perhaps warning.

  Then she collapsed.

  The lightning that had been dancing around her converged in a single point, then released in a blinding flash and thunderous roar. A vast sphere of electricity erupted from her body, swallowing the clearing. Before he could react, the blast flung him through the air. He collided with a tree and fell hard to the ground.

  Dazed and barely conscious, he looked up to see the forest ablaze. Trees surrounding the clearing burned, but his mind returned to her stare—that final look she'd given him before death claimed her. Whatever it meant, whatever she'd wanted from him, he had to discover it.

  Summoning his strength, he forced himself upright. Perhaps if he touched her as he'd touched the branch, he could reach her again in that strange mist form. He moved slowly, deliberately, holding his breath as he passed beneath flaming trees, eyes stinging from smoke. At last he entered the clearing. Every beast lay charred and lifeless.

  At the center was the woman. Despite deep slash wounds and the pool of blood where half her neck had been torn away, her body was otherwise intact. She was unmistakably dead—yet untouched by her own lightning.

  He made his way to her and, to his surprise, felt no disgust at her dismembered form. It was as if this were just another day. He knelt beside her and touched her forehead. Instantly, mist formed, draining his strength far worse than the branch had done.

  He focused intently, hoping she might respond, but she remained silent. Instead, the mist revealed a vision: a replay of what had just transpired. He saw the creature, the woman, the monsters surrounding the warrior. For a heartbeat, he felt her—fragmented sensations, emotions not his own, a desperate need to remember something important. Then, as she fell again in the vision, the scene ended, mirroring perfectly what he'd witnessed minutes before.

  He released her and felt lightheaded, collapsing to his side. His hand struck something rough and hard—the spear—and a jolt of energy surged through his body, far more violent than when he'd summoned his own weapon. The energy built within him, expanding outward until a scarlet bubble formed, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. Slowly, it lifted him into the air. Hovering four feet above the ground, he realized the spear was inside the bubble with him.

  The energy continued to surge, but it no longer felt empowering. It seared him from within, burning unbearably. His body screamed for release. He could endure no more. Just as consciousness began to slip, the bubble suddenly burst. He fell hard, still weak, crumpling to the earth with a groan.

  "No," a voice said. "What have you done?"

  He seized the spear lying before him and rolled over to see who had spoken. Standing there was the monster—the same one that had slain the warrior, whose body lay lifeless at his side. Fear consumed him, but with the last of his strength and will, he forced himself to his feet, gripping the spear in what he suspected was entirely the wrong way.

  "That spear... all our plans, our preparation—ruined by yet another vile Deathless," the creature snarled.

  He knew there was no escape. Death was certain. Deathless—what did that mean? The thought flickered briefly before he dismissed it. Where he was going, answers no longer mattered. He steadied the spear, both hands clamped tight, bracing himself to at least leave the beast a scar to remember him by. Strangely, with death so near, his fear faded, and he found that oddly unsettling.

  "A Deathless that just happened to form," the beast growled, stepping toward him. "No matter. You'll end up at our Altar. Where you belong. Where they all belong." The creature's certainty was absolute, as if this were a law of nature rather than a threat. "Untrained as you are, the cycle can simply be repeated." Its grin widened before it suddenly lunged.

  He thrust his weapon, but the monster slipped aside, rolling onto its spiked back and dislodging the spear from his grasp. Rising, still grinning, it leapt onto him, claws tearing into his neck as its jaws clamped down on his face.

  Agony consumed him—then vanished. Darkness claimed him far faster than he'd imagined it would.

  He took a deep breath, opened his eyes, and found a metal roof above him. He was lying on something hard. Forcing himself to sit up, he noticed at once a red spear materializing before him, suspended in midair and enclosed in the same scarlet bubble that had once surrounded him. It seemed to whisper, urging him to take it.

  Reluctantly, he reached out, bracing for the burn. But his fingers passed through the bubble without resistance, and the moment he grasped the spear, the bubble vanished. Looking around, he realized he'd been lying on a rectangular, bed-sized stone platform. The room contained many more of these raised platforms, but what seized his attention was the figure stationed before the building's only entrance.

  Red sunlight streamed in behind it, and as it stared at him, he knew instantly: this was no less a monster than the canine that had killed him. How had he survived that encounter? The thought barely formed before he took in the features of the creature before him.

  It resembled, dimly, what he thought a snake might look like, though he couldn't remember with certainty. Even so, he knew snakes shouldn't look like this. The face seemed right, or close enough, but the rest was all wrong. Snakes weren't supposed to have hands, legs, or torsos. Yet this creature was disturbingly humanoid, its unnaturally long tail the only part that matched his mental image of a serpent's body.

  "Well, well," the creature said, "what a surprise. Not only do we finally get a Deathless, but one with an Arbiter as well." Its eyes lingered on the spear. Only then did he realize he'd dropped it without noticing.

  "Who are you? How did you save me?" he asked.

  "Save you?" the creature echoed. "Oh my, you are far too fresh, Reygel. So very fresh."

  "Reygel?" He repeated the word, testing its weight on his tongue. It felt right somehow. Like coming home to a place he'd never been.

  The serpent-like being laughed. "You don't even know your own name. They say Deathless never know their names until they've died once. Seems that's true. And sometimes," she continued, her voice quieter, "they bind to an Altar that matches their soul. We've kept ours ready for generations, hoping. Most Deathless go elsewhere—they hunger for things my people don't understand. But you..." She studied him. "You're different."

  "So I did die," he said slowly.

  "Oh, that you did," the creature replied. "If you're awakening on an Altar of Resurrection, it means your end was certain. The Altars shape the names of all Deathless they bind, engraving them beneath their beds of resurrection." Her gaze shifted toward the side of the stone pedestal.

  He leapt down and looked for himself. Carved clearly into the stone were the words: Reygel Sireg.