Ultimate Trickster Lord Reincarnation

From The Top, All The Way Back To The Bottom

I woke up soaked to the bone.

Raindrops pattered across my cold cheeks, slipping uncomfortably towards my ears and nape. I had never felt so tired, so weak. Around me, I could hear unfamiliar sounds of civilization, something clacking like horse hooves and shouts intermixed with the rainfall. Nearby, the smell of warm bread mixed with something pungent. I winced. It was rot.

I willed my eyes open and peered at the sky above, raising a free hand to shield my gaze from the downpour. I blinked, confused at the sight of my fingers. They looked less touched by age. So much paler too, like they had been when I was younger.

...I must be dreaming. Cold, wet, and tired on the city streets, a child with nowhere to go. This was my past. Instead of being a prime-of-her-life 29-year-old, I was 18 again, scrappy, uncomfortable, and lying on the dirty pavement.

Great. Was I in the hospitable right now?

I'd collapsed earlier from stomach pain that had rapidly evolved into dizziness...and then unconsciousness. Had my drink been spiked?

Was my closest friend and lover, Lucas, alright?

I managed to gain the strength to sit up, finding a comfortable position despite the weakness and aches. The air burned my skin with its chill. Blearily looking about, surrounding me were stone walls and rotting food, scattered across the dirt flooring I sat on. The lack of light and tight corridor suggested this was an alleyway, a place I had spent too much time as a child. I'd never been in one so...medieval themed before, however. I shook my head. I'd been reading way too many fantasy novels lately.

Shivering, I stood up on the two twigs that were my legs, forced to lean against the wall for support. Despite the brown rags I wore being the size of a potato sack, they still hung loose over my bony arms and jutting ribs. Was it possible to be this malnourished in a dream? It felt like I hadn't eaten in weeks.

I stumbled over to a stream of water tumbling off the roof and down towards the dirt path. I cupped my hands under the flow and gulped it down, repeating this until the dryness in my throat finally started to soothe. A wet, stinging cough wracked its way up from my lungs, leaving tears in my eyes and a burning sensation in my chest. My breath was unsteady. I looked at my hands again, noticing my fingers were turning pale, almost blue. I started to feel nervous.

This was too realistic.

With slow steps, I trudged towards where the shadows ended at the edge of the alleyway. My vision was blurred, almost tunneled from the strain of trying to walk, so I couldn't get a good look at what was ahead of me. I took a deep, shuddering breath and blinked at the sudden change in intensity as I stepped out into the mottled light of a rainy day.

I froze.

"What?" I mumbled, eyes snapping in every feasible direction as I took it all in.

Too real. It was too real.

Who saw this many faces in their dreams? People huddled under street stalls, and drunken men in worn leather clothing stumbled out of a wooden building. Horses pulled dark carriages down the streets as children scattered before them, their figures nearly as skinny and dirty as I was.

As I watched, a sudden thump drew my gaze to the left. Sitting a few feet away from me, an old man had collapsed onto the wet road. He'd been resting with his back on the stone building but must have lost the strength to hold himself upright. His eyes were open and unfocused, and drool poured from his mouth.

'He's dead.'

The unexpected death wasn't what shocked me; I had seen death before. I'd even had a hand in causing it a few times. Growing up on the streets toughens your stomach and mind. I would argue that even the toughest person, however, would find themselves struck still with grief and fear if they found out they had to go back to those times after finally escaping them. That was what I was experiencing right now.