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And then I opened my eyes.
Above me was a sky of pitch black, obscured by a canopy of dense foliage. The stench of rot and blood hit my nose like a blow, making me gag. Cold seeped into every muscle, every bone. My small, fragile body lay on the muddy forest floor, wrapped in a few thin, soaked blankets, mottled with blood.
I raised my tiny hands in front of my face. The sticky, clammy sensation against my palms made my heart pound. In the dim light that filtered through the forest, I saw it clearly: blood. Dark, dried blood crusted at my fingertips, smeared down my thin arms in streaks.
I tried to sit up, but pain surged through me, as if I'd been run over by a cart. My blurry eyes darted around. The scene was chaos – as if a brutal raid had just torn through this place.
A large carriage lay on its side, its roof scorched and smoldering. Smoke still curled faintly from its frame. The two horses that once pulled it were sprawled lifeless in front – their bodies twisted, entrails spilling from split bellies, thick with flies.
I counted four… no, five human corpses scattered across the leaf-covered ground. Blood had soaked into the mulch, pooling into dark red patches.
Two of them wore blue-lacquered armor – likely guards. One had his head cleaved open, brains splattered up the trunk of a nearby tree. The other had been run through by a spear, the shaft still jutting out from his back, its iron tip piercing through his chest.
A woman's body lay crumpled near the carriage wheel. Her long hair was splayed out like ink on parchment, an arrow buried deep in her chest. Her outstretched hand reached toward me, as if in her final moments she had tried to shield the child.
A man's corpse rested near the roadside, his once-elegant crimson cloak torn and bloodied, yet still bearing an air of nobility. His face was frozen, eyes wide open, lifeless. Deep sword cuts gashed his chest – three, maybe four.
And then there was the servant girl. Her body lay face-up, her dress torn, chest exposed. Her face twisted in terror. I didn't want to imagine the horrors she might've suffered before the end. The sight stirred both sorrow and disgust in me.
Those bastards… they hadn't spared even the women. There was no doubt now – this was a massacre. A ruthless, merciless slaughter. They killed everyone in the caravan. No one was left.
No one… except me.
Somehow, I had survived. Perhaps because I hadn't cried or screamed. Or maybe… maybe it was because my soul had only just entered this child's body. Who knows?
But such musings meant nothing now.
How was I supposed to survive, lying here in the middle of a forest, wild beasts lurking in the shadows, and the murderers possibly still nearby?
I shivered. The wind howled through the branches, creating a chorus of eerie whispers. Damp and cold crept into my very soul. I thought to myself:
"Has even the divine… forsaken mortals like us?"
A rustle echoed from a distant bush.
My eyes widened. From the darkness, two four-legged beasts emerged. They resembled hounds, but were nearly the size of calves. Their fur was pitch-black, matted with blood and mud. Their eyes glowed like red embers in the night. Long, curved fangs gleamed with saliva that dripped to the forest floor.
They growled lowly and approached the horse carcasses. Then, with a frenzy, they began tearing into the meat. The sound of ripping flesh and snapping bones made my skin crawl.
I curled up, holding my breath. If they turned toward me, I'd be next.
Then I heard it – a faint crack – a footstep breaking a dry twig. And then, firelight.
Two figures emerged from behind the bushes.
One was a tall, broad-shouldered man, with a mess of orange hair tied loosely at the nape of his neck. His piercing green eyes shone in the darkness. He wore a cloak of animal pelts, a leather belt strapped with a massive battle-axe. On his back, two spears gleamed with polished iron tips.
Beside him walked a woman. She was slender, skin pale as snow, glowing faintly in the firelight. Her eyes were golden and sharp, filled with intellect. In her hand was a staff made of dark oak, tipped with a blood-red gemstone that pulsed with an eerie light.
Before I could process who they were, the man halted and, without hesitation, drew both spears and hurled them at the beasts.
Both monsters howled in pain. One collapsed instantly, the spear lodged in its spine.
The man charged forward like a thunderclap, roaring. His axe swung down in a brilliant arc. It cleaved the first creature's neck cleanly, sending its head flying. Blood fountained high into the air.
The other beast tried to rise, snarling, despite its wound. But before it could strike, the woman stepped forward, chanting in a tongue I did not understand.
A gust of razor-sharp wind spiraled from her staff – thin as a blade – and sliced through the creature's throat. It stumbled, groaning, then dropped dead, limbs twitching.
I stared in silence.
They were like gods of war, stepping out from ancient legends.
Their eyes scanned the battlefield, and then fell on me.
I trembled, unsure whether from fear or from the release of a child's terror too long suppressed. I cried. A thin, high-pitched wail – the only sound my fragile body could make – pierced the forest air.
The woman's eyes widened. She said something in that same strange, ancient tongue.
The man strode toward me, knelt down, and lifted me gently from the pool of blood. His arms were strong, solid as iron. Despite the coldness of his armor, I felt warmth – and safety.
The woman approached, her hand wiping blood from my face. She whispered words of power, and a soft light glowed from her staff, washing over my forehead – warm, like the first sun after a long winter.
They exchanged a glance. Then nodded.
The man said something – again, I could not understand.
All I knew was…
They carried me away from that forest of death.
I turned for one final look. There – among corpses, beasts, blood, fire, and ashes – was the place I was reborn, in the form of a child. And I knew, from that moment on, my fate had taken a path from which there would be no return