A Good Man Awakens

A new Life

I awoke sitting under a large tree with my back against the trunk, the last rays of the sun catching my eyes as the dark of night chased it over the horizon. Something was not quite right; that's not to say something was wrong, far from it, it just wasn't right. My thoughts were clearer than they had been in all my years. My senses seemed sharper and more refined.

For a moment, I became lost as my body absorbed a thousand different sensations. I marveled at how my eyes took in the scenery around me, seeing further than ever before. I could make out the intricate details of trees and hillsides leagues away. I watched as a bird leapt from a branch and tore up into the sky, seeing every wingbeat in perfect clarity as it furiously gained altitude.

My nose picked up hundreds of fresh scents—the earthy aroma of decaying leaves damp on the forest floor, the sharp, green scent of freshly cut grass from the towering larch trees, and the deep, smoky richness of the oak that surrounded me. I could smell and even taste the salt in the air blowing from behind me, leading me to wonder if I was close to the sea.

Whispers of jasmine, sage, and elderberry teased my nose before fading into the chilled air around me. For a fleeting moment, I could have sworn I even smelled the dewy twilight settling on the low-hanging leaves nearby.

Suddenly, a biting wind swept through the trees, making the branches groan softly and rustling the leaves with a sound like nature's endless song. The cold wind whipped across my back, sending ice-cold shivers through my body. I realized, with a start, that I was sitting naked in the middle of a forest, the dark of night approaching fast.

I began rubbing my upper arms, trying to infuse some warmth back into my shivering body. Something was different—my pale, almost translucent skin was firm and unblemished. My stomach was taut and flat. Instinctively, I rubbed my face, finding it smooth, no longer etched with the wrinkles and lines of old age.

I hopped from one foot to the other, feeling the cold dew soak into my feet and make them feel ten times colder. For a moment, I longed to be back in Vermuila, bathed in the warm glow of Villas's presence by the river. His last words echoed in my head—his "gift" to me. Had he done this? Had he taken away the years of pain my body had carried? Not dead, but renewed. My hand went to my cheek, tracing the familiar scar that remained—a constant companion since my misguided youth, when I'd tried to fend off a mugger. It was still there, a reminder that despite this new body, I was still me.

The last rays of the sun died and twilight brought with it an even deeper cold. I have seen what the cold can do to a man. I have seen limbs blacken and wither from exposure. I have held the hands of many as we have cut away the cold's black kiss, in the hope that we may save them. A few we did, but not many. Those we did save were never the same again, former shadows at best. Relegated from hero to cursed in the blink of an eye. I had to find some cover, some clothes at least or risk joining the shadows myself.

I scanned the forest, trees and foliage stretching endlessly in every direction. I could have been a hundred leagues from the nearest inn or village. Judging by the withering trees and decaying leaves around me, autumn had taken hold, though it hadn't yet reached the treetops, where the leaves remained green and supple. If I could scale the trees, I might gather enough fresh leaves to fashion some makeshift clothing. It wouldn't last long, but it could get me through the night.

The larch and oak nearby offered little help. The larch might provide shelter if I could break off enough branches, but the oak's butterfly-like leaves would do little to cover me. I needed something better. I darted through the trees, surprised by how light I felt on my feet. The cold might be numbing me, I thought, granting me vigor I shouldn't have.

In less than half a bell, I found what I was looking for—a massive Jati tree, its thick trunk towering high into the darkening sky. It was a shipbuilder's dream, its bark gray and smooth, its size enough to make ten men with outstretched arms struggle to encircle it. But the leaves—large, teardrop-shaped and perfect for clothing—only grew near the top, at least a hundred feet above.