Ronin. That was the name assigned to me at birth. In Japan it takes its meaning as a samurai without a master, a wanderer who must blindly cut down others to survive. It is not a term spoken with respect, nor dignity. But a Ronin needs neither respect or dignity. A Ronin needs only a sword.
However, I, wanderer I may be, have had no sword. I live in this world filled with people who relish in greatness, with abilities I can scarcely understand. And I am jealous. Jealous of their wealth, their power, their luck. I am 26 years old, the age of a man who should have all of the worlds opportunities set out ahead of him, but I see no such opportunities. Only this unshakeable bridge, and the raging tides a few hundred feet below me. I hear rain falling, each individual droplet smashing against the metal and concrete amalgamation that sits beneath me. My nose picks up the smell of water, the faint scent of exhaust from the rare passing car. No one stops to check on me. They do not care.
In the world I was so cruelly brought into, people have Talents. Supernatural capabilities that take no heed of every other law in this world, they are nonsensical, impossible to study, and sometimes, overwhelmingly powerful. But they come with a caveat. Many call them Curses--limitations or consequences to the power a person has. Both the Talents and the Curses are seemingly random, other than often being somewhat parallel. If you have a Talent that is clearly extremely powerful, your Curse will likely be devastating. Not that this matters to me, as I have no idea what my Talent is, and likely never will. Everyone has a Talent hidden within them, very few have two. But in order to activate and understand your Talent, and likewise its curse, one must fulfill the condition to activate said ability. Some conditions are simple, and need only be fulfilled once. Others, like mine, are complex and apparently impossible to randomly encounter, and some conditions must be met every time the Talent is to be used.
So, as I stand on the edge of this bridge, bruised, certain that the world has no room for me, I release my grasp of the handrail and fall. My heart races, but time does not slow down, I do not get many moments to recount my life or regret my actions. I am plummeting, plain and simple. The air rushes past me, screaming in my ears as I fall faster than the rain around me. The water is so close now. I close my eyes. It-
...
Hurts. It hurts. Something slams into my stomach, sending pain and nausea through my body. Where am I? What is happening? Im dead, aren't I? Another kick to the stomach. I open my eyes. The sun glares down on me in flashes, when there isn't a sillhouette obscuring it. But a sillhouette of what? It's a person, no, many sillhouettes, many people. And they're attacking me. This was hours ago, this morning, when the last of what I had was taken from me, when I was robbed and beat. The pain assures me this is no flashback, and then a spurt of knowledge appears in my head, forced into my mind by whatever power controls the abilities of man.
My Talent... To move back in time whenever I die.
My Curse... That Death will hunt me everywhere I go.
Someone pulls back another kick, one more vicious than any before it. I have to protect my face. I raise my arms up to shield my head, but before they are in position- CRACK. I can't think, I'm stunned, It hurts horribly, differently. Death is here again, mere moments after the bridge. But I am pulled away from it. Backwards, receding away from the swinging scythe.
I am on the street, walking, when I find myself. Instantly, I collapse to the ground, squirming in pain that disappeared seconds ago. I realize the agony is gone, that death is gone, and all that remains is me, lying on a sidewalk, receiving furious glares from other pedestrians. I rush to my feet, looking for a place to sit down somewhere, and spot a bench, I move to it and sit down as fast as I can. My mind is racing, so much stimuli has been forced into my mind in some short moments. I died twice, I realize. I discovered my Talent. The ecstasy of the thought lasts for only a heartbeat before I remember the Curse. Death will hunt me. It will do everything in its power to have me in its grasp. But I cannot die. What then, does this mean for me? I dismiss the thoughts that crash into me and focus my eyes. Breathing deeply. I am alive. I have what I sought, a Talent. It is good. I stare at the trees on the other side of the road, the cars driving by, the people walking. It is beautiful. I never wanted to die, I simply had no choice. I realize then, that I have no choice now. The wording my Talent described itself with was absolute. It left some uncertainty, but one thing is unshakeable. Every death means only a trip to the past. The near past, it seems. I will not die. is that good? is it dreadful? I can't decide, I am overwhelmed.
A realization. A hurried check reveals I have my wallet, The keys to my eroded but running sedan, and my phone. It is a small but important victory.