Six years.
Six years in this world, and I still don't know anything about it. Because I've never left this jungle. Not once.
A dense forest. Somewhere in the middle of it — a village of tents, maybe a hundred and fifty, two hundred people. That's the entire world Jhed had known since he opened his eyes in this life.
But in six years, he'd figured out one thing.
These people were hiding from someone.
He'd overheard Linea once, talking in a low voice to another woman: "They're searching for us. Even in the jungle."
Who were they? Why were they searching?
He still didn't know. But from the way people spoke — in half-sentences, in nervous glances — whatever was out there wasn't friendly.
I feel bad for Linea, Jhed thought, staring up at the tent ceiling from his small bed. She thinks I'm her son. But I'm not. Not really. This body is hers. The soul inside it isn't.
He let that thought sit for a moment, then pushed it aside.
Not my problem.
He was six years old now.
His hair had grown in strange — some strands white, some black, tangled together like the two lives he carried. His eyes were red. On his forehead, a small mark, shaped like a lotus flower, that no one could quite explain.
Mendriya was thirteen. She'd grown into someone sharp and a little unpredictable — quick to laugh, quicker to argue. She asked Linea about their father almost every day.
When is Dad coming back?
Linea always gave the same answer.
Soon.
Loane hadn't visited once in six years. Jhed remembered the way Linea's eyes had looked that morning he left — the way she'd watched the tent entrance long after he disappeared.
She'd already known then.
Jhed climbed out of bed and stepped outside.
The village knew him. He was the only child here — everyone else was grown, most of them women. A few hunters moved between the trees at the edges of camp, returning with rabbits and boar slung over their shoulders.
"Jhed! Come here, beta."
An old woman waved at him from outside her tent. Rayo. He visited her every morning without fail — it had become a kind of ritual.
"Good morning, grandma. How are you?"
"My clever grandson." She beamed and held out an apple. "Here. Take it."
He took it.
"Thank you, gradma."
"Oh, come here—" She pulled him into a hug that was stronger than it had any right to be. "She's going to tell the story again," Jhed muttered to himself.
"You remind me of my grandson," she said softly, pulling back to look at his face. "Same smile. Same eyes."
I cry? Since when do I cry, Jhed thought.
"That monster — that Draid — killed him. My little boy." Her eyes filled. "Killed him without mercy."
Jhed stared at her for a moment.
What do I do now. I don't know how to handle crying people.
"Grandma." he said carefully. "Don't cry. I'm here. I'm your grandson."
Thank god I heard that line in a movie once.
She wiped her eyes and laughed softly. "You really are, Jhed. You really are."
"Jhed!" Mendriya's voice cut through the camp from somewhere behind him. "Come home! Mom's calling!"
He stood up. "I have to go, Grandma."
"Go, go. Take care of yourself."
"I will."
The apple was split evenly down the middle before he'd even sat down.
"Half each," he told Mendriya.
"Obviously. Give it here, I'll cut it."
Dinner that night was quiet. Moonlight fell soft across the tops of the tents. After eating, Jhed lay back on his bed and stared at nothing.
Today was the same as yesterday. Morning with Grandma Rayo— same as every day. Then Linea called me inside early again. She always does that. Won't let me stay outside too long.
I'm the only child here. Maybe that's why.
Still no books. No way to learn anything. No mobile — obviously. I don't even know how I'm going to survive the rest of this life.
My head hurts. I'm going to sleep.
He didn't like thinking too much. Every time he did, the memories of his first life crept back in — the kitchen, the blood, the headlights. He'd learned to stop before he got there.
He closed his eyes.
Deep night.
The camp had gone completely still. Moonlight pressed through the tent fabric in pale strips. The only light inside was a single candle, burning low.
Linea and Mendriya had gone into the jungle to hunt. It happened sometimes — nighttime, when certain animals moved.
Jhed was alone.
A shadow fell across him.
He didn't wake up in time to see the figure clearly — only a shape, standing over him, holding something that caught the candlelight.
A sword.
"Goddess," the figure whispered. "Bless me. And let me kill this child."
A bolt of light crackled down the blade.
The sword drove into Jhed's stomach.
Far between the trees, Linea stopped walking.
"Mom." Mendriya grabbed her arm. "That light — it's coming from our tent."
Linea was already running.
"Goddess, grant me your power. Teleportation."
A sphere of light bloomed beneath the figure's feet — and they vanished.
Mendriya burst through the tent entrance first and froze.
Jhed lay on his back, chest heaving, eyes wide open. The sword wound was deep. Blood soaked through the white sheet beneath him and began dripping to the dirt floor in slow, steady drops.
Tip. Tip. Tip.
He tried to speak. His mouth moved. Nothing came out — there was too much blood, moving too fast.
Is this it? he thought, staring at the ceiling. Is this where it ends?
Why. Why does death follow me everywhere.
I hate you.
His eyes were wet. The white sheet had turned completely red.
Outside, people were running toward the tent.