"A man without regrets cannot be cured." - Aristotle. (Nicomachean Ethics.)
The darkness wrapped around Jayce like an endless abyss, cold and suffocating. He floated weightlessly, unable to move, yet oddly peaceful, as if he had drifted into a deep, timeless sleep. The silence pressed in on him, stretching across what felt like an eternity. But then, something shifted.
A bright white light appeared in the distance. It was faint at first, barely more than a glimmer. But as Jayce watched, it grew, brighter and brighter, until it filled the space around him. The darkness retreated, and the light enveloped him like a warm embrace. His mind screamed out for clarity, but the light offered no answers.
And then, she appeared.
A figure, glowing softly, bathed in the pure radiance of the light. Her appearance was almost divine—blonde hair cascading around her shoulders like flowing silk, a laurel of delicate flowers circling her head, and a white tunic that seemed to shimmer with a soft, otherworldly glow. She floated gracefully toward him, her presence both calming and overwhelming.
Her voice rang out, like a melody that wrapped around his thoughts. Warm. Soothing. Comforting. "Rowan," she said, and the sound of his name echoed in his mind.
He blinked, his voice barely a whisper as he questioned the vision before him. "Who... who are you?"
Her lips curved into a gentle smile. "I am Dumas. I've brought you here from your world, Jayce."
He frowned, confusion swirling in his chest like a storm. "Why? What do you want from me?"
Dumas looked at him, her eyes filled with a depth that seemed to pierce the very core of his being. "I know who you are, Jayce. You've been given a chance—a task—to deliver salvation to humanity. To save them from the demons that plague their world."
Rowan's thoughts whirled. Salvation? Demons? "I... I'm not some hero. I'm a useless loser. I can't do that." His voice cracked slightly as he spoke the words, the doubt eating away at him. He couldn't help it. What could he possibly do in the face of something so vast, so impossible?
"You probably just have the wrong person." he reasoned.
Dumas didn't seem to be swayed by his words. Her gaze softened, filled with a quiet understanding. "You are mistaken," she said, her tone gentle but firm. "The only thing you need to do is try. Do not give up. That is something you failed to do in your previous life."
Rowan's mind flashed with fleeting memories of his past. The regrets, the failures, the endless mistakes. He had never been one to push through the difficult moments, always doubting himself, always letting his fears control him.
Her words struck him, like a weight landing in his chest. "I know I failed to keep on," he muttered, a bitter edge to his voice. "I didn't try. But... how can I do it now? How can I face all that knowing I'm a failure?"
Dumas's eyes softened. "You have another chance, Rowan. A chance to change, to do what you were meant to do." She lifted her hand slightly, the air around them shimmering with power.
"If you succeed in sealing away the demons, humanity will be saved, and I will reward you with the chance to live once more, but differently. This time, you will find your purpose."
Rowan's heart raced. A second chance? To change everything? The offer hung in the air, like a lifeline thrown to him in a sea of darkness. But there were so many questions still left unanswered. So much he didn't understand. He wanted to ask, to know more, but the words seemed to die on his lips.
Before I go, I offer you a gift, Jayce," Dumas said softly, her voice echoing in the vast, glowing space.
She extended her hand toward him, and a brilliant light began to flow from her fingertips. It moved toward him with a gentle pulse, filling the air with a warm, yet intense glow.
His right eye burned. The pain was sharp and searing, like she was carving a piece of his very soul, a burning sensation that threatened to pull him apart. His body tensed, the light feeling like it was taking root inside of him.
"Wait!" he called out, reaching toward her. "What do you mean? How the hell am I supposed to—"
"Remember little hero, you are not your mistakes." Dumas's voice whispered, just as the light enveloped him completely.
With that, everything around him began to fade.
Rowan's eyes fluttered open, and the first thing that greeted him was the warmth of the campfire. The crackling of the flames brought him back to reality, though his mind was still groggy, disoriented from the surreal dream. He tried to move, but his muscles protested, stiff from whatever unconscious slumber he had been in. The air smelled rich and earthy, with the smoky scent of charred meat hanging in the air, mingling with the slightly sweet aroma of the roasted flesh. His stomach growled loudly, as if to remind him just how long it had been since he'd had a proper meal.
His eyes scanned the area. The fire was low now, its orange glow flickering against the darkening sky, casting long shadows across the ground. The smell of roasting meat was unmistakable, and it felt like an eternity since he'd last had something to eat. His eyes landed on the figure across from him; a cloaked individual, sitting silently by the fire, watching him intently.
Rowan's instincts kicked in, and he became cautious. His mind was still foggy, and his body felt like it hadn't moved in days. What should he do? Was this some kind of trap? His fingers twitched, as if instinctively reaching for a weapon that wasn't there. Stay alert, he told himself. Stay calm. He needed answers.
As if sensing his shift in awareness, the figure across from him spoke.
"Yer awake," a voice rang out, sharp and commanding, though laced with a certain softness. It was definitely a woman's voice
It was direct, but with a hint of amusement, as if she found his confusion amusing.
He didn't move at first, but when she spoke again, her hooded figure shifted slightly, and Rowan could sense her awareness. He didn't trust the situation, and a bead of sweat ran down his forehead. His heart beat faster as he looked around, but there was no escape here. The warmth of the fire was his only comfort.
"Who are you?" he asked, his voice somewhat hoarse, unsure if his words would betray his underlying unease.
The woman paused for a moment before she slowly pulled back her hood, revealing her face. Fiery red hair, long and untamed, cascaded down her back, glowing faintly in the firelight. Her blue eyes shone with a cold, calculating gaze, and a deep scar ran up the right side of her face, crossing her cheek and disappearing beneath her hair. The scar was long and jagged, like some battle-worn trophy, but it didn't seem to diminish her beauty, it only added to her fierce presence.
Her expression was one of quiet confidence, almost like she was used to people staring at her with questions. "If you survive long enough I'll tell you," she said simply, almost like an introduction that carried a weight of its own.
Rowan blinked, still processing her words. He had so many questions. He didn't know where he was or why he was here. What was this place? Why was she here?
Before he could ask more, she tilted her head slightly, her smirk playing at the edges of her lips. "It's rude not to give yer name," she remarked, a note of humor in her tone.
Rowan's brow furrowed, and he took a breath, his hands still shaking from the confusion and discomfort. "Rowan," he said. What was the point of keeping his name secret now?
She nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Good. You've been asleep for two days, Rowan," she continued, her voice steady. "Two days. And now…" She paused, her smirk returning. "Yer training starts soon."
Training? Rowan's mind reeled. His mouth went dry. He couldn't even remember how he ended up here, and now she was talking about training? What kind of training could he possibly need? Why was he here? His mind struggled to piece everything together, but it was all a blur.
She didn't wait for him to process further. She gestured toward the fire, where a rabbit was roasting on a spit. The scent of meat filled the air, tantalizing Rowan's senses further, making his stomach growl louder.
"Eat up," she said, throwing him a chunk of meat. Her voice had an edge to it, like she was used to giving orders, and Rowan, hungry beyond belief, didn't hesitate. He tore into the meat, chewing sloppily, ravenous and desperate to fill his aching stomach. It had been too long since he had proper food. The taste was greasy and rich, and the heat of the meat was a welcome comfort.
She watched him for a moment, arms crossed. She didn't look like she cared about his manners or the mess he was making.
Once he had finished, his hunger sated, if only briefly. She handed him a tin can. Rowan didn't need to think twice. He grabbed it with shaky hands and drank greedily, feeling the coolness of the water rush down his dry throat, refreshing him in ways the food couldn't. He drained the can in one go, not stopping until it was empty.
She didn't seem surprised by his thirst. She simply smirked, her eyes glinting with a certain amusement.
"Drink up, brat," she said, her tone casual, almost teasing. "Yer going to be in hell soon."
Rowan froze, the words hitting him like a cold slap. The chill of fear crept down his spine. Her voice wasn't just a warning, it was a threat. He didn't understand it fully, but he could feel the weight of it. His mind raced, trying to process what she meant, but the vague sense of dread that clung to her words made him shudder involuntarily.
"I... I don't understand," he whispered, his throat tight. He had so many questions, but the only one that escaped his lips was, "Who are you?"
"I already told ya," she repeated, still smirking. "Survive and I'll humor ya with my name."
She stood up abruptly, the sound of her grey armor clinking as she adjusted her cloak. The armor was plain but solid, designed for utility rather than style. It gave her an air of practicality—someone who fought for a living, who had seen battles and survived them. Rowan could tell that much.
"But for now ya can call me, Master."
Rowan blinked, his mind still fuzzy from the transition between worlds. Master? Was she serious? He couldn't help but feel the weight of her commanding presence, but his confusion was quickly interrupted by her next words.
Her posture straightened, and she turned to face him fully, her eyes narrowing as she assessed him. "Training starts now," she said again, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Rowan watched in disbelief as the dull cherry-red flames swirled around her fist, glowing brighter as they danced like a living entity. Her gaze was intense, as though she was waiting for something, or someone, to respond. And then, without warning, her voice cut through the air, full of energy and a hint of madness.
"We're going to play a little game," she said, her smile growing wider, more predatory. "It's called Try Not to Die." She raised her hand, the fire on her fist growing larger, the flames turning into a bright, almost blinding ball the size of a soccer ball. "The rules are simple. If ya dodge, ya survive. If ya don't..." She laughed, a sharp, gleeful sound that sent a chill down his spine. "You die!"
Rowan's heart raced. "What kind of crazy woman was this?" he thought.
The flames around her hand seemed to almost sizzle with an energy that didn't just threaten to burn, but to obliterate. His breath quickened. This woman is insane. She wasn't just any person. She was a demon in human flesh.
Before he could even react, she hurled the fireball at him with terrifying speed. Rowan ducked instinctively, feeling the heat brush against his face, too close for comfort. The flames exploded against the ground, sending a wave of heat through the air, but he didn't have time to focus on that. The next fireball was already on its way.
He dodged, rolling out of the way just in time as she threw another one. The flames shot past him, and he scrambled to his feet, his body on high alert, trying to keep up with the crazy woman's relentless attack.
Each fireball she threw was faster than the last, and the glint of madness in her eyes made him want to run. She's really enjoying this, isn't she? Rowan thought, his heart pounding in his chest as he rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding a third fireball.
"Having fun yet, brat?!" she called, her voice laced with excitement, like she was watching him struggle with amusement.
Rowan wiped the sweat from his brow, panting heavily. "I'm having the time of my life…!" he said, clearly terrified, his voice shaking despite his forced grin. The flames burned brighter as she threw another, and he barely managed to roll out of the way in time.
"Good, good!" She sounded pleased with his response, the flames around her hand growing even stronger, fiercer. "Yer still standing. Impressive." She tossed another fireball, and this time it landed close enough to scorch his shirt as he barely managed to move out of its path.
"They usually break quickly! That means ya have potential!"
Rowan's legs were beginning to feel like lead. He was exhausted already, and she wasn't stopping. He managed to dodge yet another one, rolling across the dirt and coming to a panting stop.
"Okay, Master!" Rowan gasped, still panting, his face pale. He was scared, but he was trying not to show it. "You've made your point! But why are you trying to kill me?!" he asked, struggling to his feet.
She finally stopped, and the flames around her hand dimmed, though their intensity remained. She turned to face him, her smirk curling wider.
"I'm trying to bring out yer latent magic potential," she explained, her voice taking on a more serious tone, but her amusement still lingered in her eyes. "There are three ways to do this."
Rowan, still panting and confused, could only stare at her in disbelief. He hadn't expected any of this.
"Number one," she continued, "is the easy way—sit there and meditate, become familiar with the mana in yer body, let it grow naturally. Bah! Boring and it takes forever, but it works for some. Number two is a bit luckier, be born loved by mana, like all geniuses, which is rare.. And finally, number three…" She paused, her voice almost giddy like she was about to share a secret, "…is my favorite. Have it forcefully awakened by dangerous situations or traumatic experiences. Like I'm doing with ya right now." She grinned, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "I do love this option."
Rowan stared at her, still catching his breath, his mind struggling to make sense of it all. "Of course it's your favorite," he muttered under his breath, his fear still evident in his voice. "But why are you doing this to me?!"
Her smirk widened. "Because," she said, her voice low and intense, "the only way to awaken yer potential is through pressure. And pressure," she continued, her smile turning sharp, "makes diamonds."
Rowan swallowed hard, his hands still trembling. He was in over his head. But he could feel something stirring deep inside him. "More like you enjoy torturing me.." he muttered.
"Whadya say, brat?" Her voice snapped him from his thoughts, and the flames around her hand surged with renewed vigor. "N-Nothing, Master!" he stammered, his fear driving lightning down his body. "I-I'll do my best!"
She chuckled darkly, the flames around her hand growing even stronger, casting long, fiery shadows against the ground. "Good," she said, the promise of more danger lingering in her words. "Mana is something we all possess as it's our innate life force. But not everyone has enough of it to use and even less have the skill to manipulate it, and turn it into magic. The lucky ones are born into esteemed families and trained to utilize it from a young age. The others, well… we havta unlock it somehow. And you," she smiled, the firelight reflecting in her eyes, "are going to unlock it by surviving me."
Rowan stood his ground, fear creeping through his veins, but he knew he had no choice. He had to survive this to change, to grow, to finally find his purpose. This training from hell was his only shot.
"Now, let's see how well ya survive, brat," she said, her voice full of anticipation.
And as the fireballs rained down on him once more, Rowan knew that the road ahead would be filled with more than just physical pain.