"We just died, didn't we?" The wound on his chest, which wasn't there anymore, still hurt. Malt ignored the feeling. He turned to face the beautiful scenery of the central continent: the hill they were on overlooked the plains of Shacte, a vast expanse of nothingness which led to the Grey Ocean.
"I could recognize the jasmine flowers and their scent anywhere." He said. "I assume we killed each other?"
The woman he was talking to laughed coldly. "I definitely killed you, but I doubt you'd been able to do much against me!" She passed a hand in her black hair, starting to tie it in a braid. "You seem to be correct." She spoke slowly, turning serious. "We must have reincarnated towards the edge of the continent, for some reason." She swore in her mother language, then reverted to the common tongue. "I don't know who defeated me while I was distracted, but I can bet it wasn't you."
Malt shrugged. "Think what you will." He was fully conscious of having cast a sixth tier spell to slay her by destroying her soul and, he was sure, she was aware of it too. This was a problem, for there should have been no reincarnation after that. Himself reviving, he could understand, but her? That was a mystery to be solved.
He took notice of his appearance by using a nearby pond as a mirror: still the same azure eyes, the same blonde hair, the same pale complexion. The reincarnation overwrote the new body, apparently. He was dressed in a long white tunic, with a red sash as a belt and a turban of the same color covering his head. The woman donned the same attire. "Shacteish traders, uh?" He muttered to himself.
She took a small curved knife out of her left boot. "Shacteish raiders." She corrected. "Masquerading as traders to strike at a caravan, if I had to guess."
He narrowed his eyes, searched his own left boot and found a similar weapon. She was right. Malt looked at her. She was as beautiful as ever, with her tan skin and almond slanting eyes. He was slightly surprised by the lack of all demonic influence in her appearance. "You lost your horns." He commented.
"Figures." She didn't seem surprised. "Hellish blessings don't carry over after death. That's one of the reasons I was planning to switch to abyssal powers after the war." She paused, a confused expression barely noticeable on her face. "You really noticed the horns before the wings?"
Malt shrugged once more. "The horns fit you. I liked them."
"Did you now…" She trailed off, then pointed her index at faraway shapes moving along the plains. "Ah! That's the caravan, I bet." She turned contemplative for a moment. "Poor bastards."
Malt knew full well she wasn't referring to the caravaneers, but to the two raiders who lost their bodies to the reincarnators. "Seriously, Vera?" He exclaimed: "You burned how many cities to the ground? Don't complain about a couple of marauders now."
"We were at war, Malt. I didn't siege your little towns because I wanted to." There was poison in her voice, but she managed to calm herself down almost immediately.
Raising both hands, palms open, between them she said in a quivering tone "We can argue later. First, we need to understand why we'd get reincarnated together. Second, exactly where we are and how to go back to our camps. Third, what our new talents are. We were lucky last time, but we can't assume to be as fortunate this time around."
"Fourth." Malt concluded in a heavy tone. "When we are."
She just nodded, without saying anything. The atmosphere between them was heavy, and how could it not be? Malt and Vera, who had spent the last ten years of their lives trying to murder each other at every possible opportunity, studied each other's expressions. Malt hesitantly held out his hand. "Temporary truce?" he proposed.
Vera took his hand and shook it. "Temporary alliance?" She made her counter-offer.
Malt grinned and found it weird. It had been a long time since he last smiled. He felt strangely… light? For the first time after years, he wasn't on a battlefield risking his life. He did not need to consider Vera's offer for long. "Deal."
After a moment of silence, she laughed again, this time more warmly, and Malt felt his grin grow larger. He understood her perfectly, she didn't need to say anything. The laughter was born from relief and the satisfaction of dealing with another professional who could consider the situation at hand rather than reignite their past rivalry at the first occasion.
They started going down the hill, passing a shallow torrent and a field of small white flowers. As they were approaching the caravan, they waved their hands to signal their arrival, while shouting greetings in the dialect of those lands. The merchants responded in kind, while their master gestured towards the two outriders escorting them to go meet the strangers, as per standard procedure. All of them were dressed in outfits similar to the ones the two reincarnated with. Shacteish tribes never wore armor, even in battle. From what little knowledge Malt had of them during his past life, he understood this to be a religious custom of some kind, tied to a particular deity of theirs. He suddenly wished to have studied the region more when he had the time and, secretly, hoped Vera to have more of a firm grip on the region's history. They both had travelled through Shacte multiple times during their campaigns, but almost never interacted with the locals. Vera could maybe pass off as a local from the southern plains, but Malt had no chance of being recognized as one of them.
As the lightly armored riders approached them, Malt caught a glimpse of an insignia hanging onto the side of one of the carts. It read: "Master Desirai, alchemist extraordinaire. Potions, scrolls and adventuring gear for every need!"
Malt smiled to himself and, with the corner of his eye, saw Vera do the same. The spinning threads of destiny had never been so clear.