"AHHH!"
A voice tore through the clearing, waking a nearby young man.
Jacob's eyes cracked open, and the sight before him made no sense. A boy stood a few paces away, thrashing and shouting into empty air.
"What? Where am—"
The question never finished. A surge of alien memory crashed into him—a life that wasn't his—flooding in so violently it drowned the other's shouting beneath a tide of pain. The world around him blurred, edges melting into black.
"Trei?" The same voice called again, closer this time, steadier now. Jacob blinked, the echo of agony receding. The ground beneath him was cold and damp, the chill seeping through his clothes. When his eyes finally focused, he found himself surrounded by knee-high grass and a forest of towering trees.
I'm… alive?
His final memory rose unbidden: the rough feel of slick stone beneath his palm, the glinting carapace of a beetle-like arachnid, and his own foolish curiosity as he reached for it. The creature had darted forward, burrowing into his skin. Ice spread through his veins, followed by numbness, regret, and then a crushing pain in his side as he fell from the cave and struck stone. There was blood, then finally, death.
He steadied his breath, forcing his racing thoughts into order, struggling to separate the two colliding lives. The first memories to surface:
Treiton Hale. Low-born, fifth son of a minor noble. A world like some twisted Renaissance. Cobblestone streets and painted canvas, mercenaries and petty lords, yet threaded through it all, a strange vitality: the energies men had learned to wield, bodies honed beyond mortal limit.
Warriors.
Jacob rubbed his temples, trying to press away the ache pulsing behind his eyes.
"Treiton?" the boy called again. "I honestly thought we were dead," he muttered, glancing up the jagged cliff face. "How'd we survive?"
Luca. Treiton's servant. They had known each other for a year, both reckless in youth and idle privilege. Their friendship, it seemed, had been forged in mischief.
"Hellooo," Luca sang, waving a hand before Jacob's dazed face. "We should really get out of here, man. We could return to—"
"No. It's fine," Jacob interrupted, shaking his head too quickly. A spike of nausea struck as another flood of memory opened, bile rising in his throat. He'd been no stranger to drink or women in his adult life. But this boy, Treiton, and his young companion? Their indulgence bordered on scandalous for anyone, much less a pair of fifteen-year-olds.
Though, Luca did seem to have at least a more assertive personality in their outings, often being the first to suggest heading home.
"Yeah, showing our faces there again would be a terrible idea," Luca said, tossing his short, acorn-colored hair with a flick of his hand. "That young lady might make extra sure we don't walk away next time. Not worth dying over an inheritance."
Sorting through the haze of drunken nights and lazy revelry, Jacob began to see the outline of Treiton's life. The boy's days had been a string of appetites consisting of drinking, gambling, and womanizing without pause or consequence.
Until now.
At first, the noble girl had seemed charmed by him, even playful. But Treiton's boldness had crossed a line. A man had burst in at the worst moment, roaring curses, and the rest dissolved into a blur of fists, accusations, a petition to his family, and finally, a punishment: thrown from a cliff, his fall watched by the smirking pair who had sealed his fate.
Yet something in that memory stood out. Why would a noble girl waste her time with someone of Treiton's reputation, only to turn on him so suddenly?
She's more cunning than she let on, Jacob thought darkly. She may have drunk with these two fools, but her mind was sober.
A low, humorless chuckle stirred in his chest. Despite the disorientation, a strange warmth spread through him as a vow formed.
It seems like I'm alive again. I've come back in your body, he thought. In return, I'll reclaim what was yours… and make your life worth something.
He swore it silently to the boy whose name he now bore.
Treiton didn't truly feel like himself yet, but he was grateful that only his servant was here to witness his confusion. No one else would see through the unfamiliar calm in his eyes, no one to suspect that another mind now inhabited this body.
And by the time he returned home, time would serve as his excuse.
"What now?" Luca asked, breaking the silence.
Treiton rose and stretched, rolling his shoulders, twisting at the waist. To his surprise, the pain he expected never came. The wounds from the cliff, and even the fatal ache of his former life, were simply… gone.
"It feels good to be alive," he murmured, voice low. "No matter where I am."
"Yeeeah…" Luca said slowly, still waiting for direction.
Treiton turned toward him. "You know the way out of this place?"
Luca tilted his head back toward the cliff, lips tightening. "Not really. We could try climbing, but I'm not betting on it. If we go around, we'll just end up back home."
Treiton brushed dirt from his sleeves, gaze narrowing toward the stretch of horizon beyond the treeline. "Then what about another town? Somewhere farther." A spark began to kindle behind his eyes. The curious, wandering instinct that had once guided him—the explorer's hunger—stirred again. "If we're going to live well, we'll need to stand on our own. Tell me, how much do you know about Warriors?"
"Warriors?" Luca echoed, brows furrowed.
Treiton nodded faintly, sifting through the overlapping fragments of his borrowed knowledge. "The guards at home are all low-level practitioners, right? I've seen them spar, move faster and hit harder than normal adults. But no one ever explained to me how."
There wasn't much clarity in his scrambled head, but he could still dredge up some basic knowledge. There were three levels for Warrior practitioners, or at least, as far as he knew. He had only ever seen the guards back home, the rest explained to him by his father. Each stage rose in strength, one tier stronger than the last, beginning with the low-level rank.
Luca scratched at the back of his neck, sheepish. "Can't say I ever asked. Not like they'd tell a servant anyway. I've heard you can join academies for that sort of thing, but… with what we've got?" He gestured vaguely to their tattered clothes.
Treiton tilted his head, calculating. "It'll be difficult to do much without funds. Maybe going back home is—"
Luca interrupted by reaching into his pocket, rummaging before pulling out a small leather pouch. The coins inside clinked softly, their faint metallic ring cutting through the humid air. "Guess the savings of a servant weren't worth confiscating," he said with a lopsided, self-deprecating grin, holding it out.
Treiton hesitated before accepting it. It was only a handful of coppers, but the gesture struck something deeper. The way Luca lowered his head spoke louder than the coins ever could. This boy had vouched for his friend, stood beside him when no one else would, and followed him over the edge.
Though… they both screamed and sobbed as they were forced off.
But how many children could face death with dignity?
"…Thanks," Treiton said quietly, his tone steady.
Luca blinked in mild surprise, then smiled, more genuine this time. "No problem. We'll need it if we want to eat tonight."
Treiton let the pouch rest in his palm a moment longer before tucking it away. "Then we'll head back—not home, but toward the road. Once we find a path, we'll flag down a carriage and pay our way to another town."
"Right." Luca nodded and turned toward the slope, picking a careful route along the cliffside.
Treiton followed, pausing once to glance back at the cliff they had fallen from. His jaw tightened. I'll come back here one day, he thought. And I'll find out what really happened to you. That's all I can give.
The forest up the side of the ledge thickened quickly, shadows knitting between the trees. Sunlight cut through in narrow blades, glinting off leaves slick with humidity. The air grew heavy, ripe with the scent of damp earth. They had walked only a short distance, breathing hard. The wind shifted suddenly, sweeping through with sudden force.
Treiton stopped, letting the cool draft brush against his skin.
Rustle. Rustle.
Luca froze mid-step. "Trei…" he whispered.
A low growl rolled through the brush ahead. It was quiet, but deep enough to vibrate in their bones.
Treiton's hand froze at his side. The sound came again, closer this time, followed by a more deliberate rustle of leaves. A shadow shifted low against the ground, its movement fluid and predatory.
Then the creature emerged.
It flowed from the underbrush with a ripple of muscle beneath sleek midnight fur, glistening like polished onyx. Its shoulders rose unnaturally high, its forelegs stretched long and powerful. Grey streaks shimmered faintly across its hide. When it bared its fangs, two curved sabers protruding from its jaw were revealed.
Luca took a shaky step back, voice barely holding steady. "Don't… move."
And then a name surfaced from Treiton's new memories.
The Forest of Beasts.
That's where they were.
Before he could even process the thought, a sharp vibration stung through his skull. It started behind his eyes, crawling outward like a swarm of hornets trapped beneath his skin, building into a painful, pulsing hum.
Then came the sound from inside his mind.
[BZZZ! Danger Instinct activated! Predator detected. Recommendation: RUN!]
Treiton's pulse spiked, blood surging hot through his veins. His body moved before his thoughts could catch up, shouting the command aloud to Luca.
The beast's pupils narrowed to slits. With a low hiss and an explosion of motion, it lunged through the trees straight toward them.