Pain.
That was Jarkan's first awareness—not the absence of sensation that death should bring, but sharp, insistent pain radiating through every fibre of his being. He could feel it clearly, which he was supposed not to feel or experience.
Wasn't I supposed to be dead?
His eyes opened to unfamiliar surroundings: rough-hewn wooden beams crossing a sloped ceiling, dust motes dancing in violet-tinged light that filtered through a small, round window.
He lay upon the wooden floor in what appeared to be an attic, simple and austere. Before him on the worn floorboards was inscribed a perfect circle filled with intricate symbols that pulsed with a faint blue luminescence. He attempted to rise but found his limbs still leaden, whether from lingering poison or some new enchantment, he couldn't tell.
"Where..." The word emerged as a croak, his throat parched and raw.
He looked at his hands, frail, and saw himself. He found himself in the body of a young man in his late teens.
A soft azure glow began to coalesce at the centre of the circle, drawing Jarkan's attention. The light swirled and took shape, forming the translucent figure of a young man.
Jarkan stared in disbelief at what could only be described as his own ghost, but not as he had just been. This was himself at eighteen, before corporate life had hardened his features, before responsibility had bowed his shoulders.
"Don't be afraid," the apparition said, its voice echoing as though speaking from the depths of a well.
Terror and fascination warred within Jarkan. "What manner of hallucination is this? Am I in hell?"
The spectral youth drifted closer, its feet hovering just above the floorboards. "Not hallucination. Not hell. Though you did die, just as I did."
"I don't understand," Jarkan whispered.
"I am—was—Jarkan of House Drenaeus," the spirit explained. "Like you, I was poisoned by my brother. I have seen your memories, as you will soon see mine. The parallels between our lives are no coincidence."
The spirit gestured around them. "This is my home in the world of Aldrakaryn, a world similar to your Earth but fundamentally different. Here, magic flows through all things. Creatures of myth walk alongside humans. Power is measured not just in gold but in one's connection to the arcane energies that bind reality."
Jarkan's mind rebelled against such concepts, yet he could not deny the evidence of his senses—the glowing symbols, the ghostly form that looked just like his younger self, the strange quality of light filtering through the window.
"How am I here? How am I still conscious if I died?" he demanded.
The apparition's form flickered, momentarily growing transparent.
"I was trying to find the way out of this predicament. I was trying to look further, beyond the boundary of my world."
"If I had to guess, it should be the convergence. The eclipse. These astronomical events don't just happen in one reality—they echo across the multiverse, creating momentary bridges between worlds."
Dreneaus' form wavered again, more severely this time. "My body, it was a corrupted body and not just my body, but my soul too, was damaged by my brother's poison to continue. The toxin he used was designed not just to kill the body but to corrupt the spirit itself. I was fading when I felt your death echo across the void—a death so similar to my own, during the same celestial event."
"You... brought me here?" Jarkan asked, struggling to comprehend.
"I performed the Ritual of Soul Convergence," the spirit explained, gesturing to the circle on the floor. "It is ancient magic, forbidden by the Wizard Council of Lunaris. It requires the ultimate sacrifice—the complete dissolution of one soul to anchor another."
As if to illustrate this point, small motes of blue light began to separate from the apparition's form, drifting upward like embers from a dying fire.
"Your body died on Earth, but your soul was caught in the convergence path I created. Now you exist in my body, though the transition is not yet complete. The physical form must accept the new soul, and the mind must integrate memories both old and new."
Jarkan tried to process this information, his corporate rationality struggling against metaphysical concepts beyond his understanding. "You sacrificed yourself... for me? A stranger?"
The spirit's smile was tinged with sadness. "Well, for one thing, we aren't complete strangers. You are me, and I am you, just in two different worlds."
His form flickered as his voice turned serious, "And I didn't just save you for nothing. It is for vengeance. My brother, Malrith, serves the Arcane Citadel. His poison was meant to destroy me completely, allowing him to claim my bloodline magic. I could not stop him in life, but perhaps you can—with my body, my magical affinity."
"I know nothing of magic," Jarkan protested.