I awake to a new type of stillness. A new silence.
Not the silence of sleep, nor of tombs. This is the quiet of absence. Of something once vital, now void.
No air fills my lungs, yet I remember my breath. No blood moves in my veins, yet I feel a phantom pulse in the hollowness of my too still chest. I remember the warmth I once held, yet now feel...nothing.
My flesh is preserved, but not by life. I am something else now.
In this cold serenity, I find disgust in the only part of me that remains. The only piece of myself unchanged. My magic has advanced far enough that replacing it should be simple. But still I hesitate, staring at that flicker of familiarity, hating it for what it reminds me of: what I was. Who I trusted.
I was only briefly dead. In those few minutes, there were no words of grief. No soft mourning. No thanks. Just hands — quick and clever — stripping me bare. No rites. No rest. No pause for thought.
Parkeh could have returned me. Of this they knew. But I was told that they’d decided to let me lie cold, for the most part. That my ways were…too grim.
Too grim. And yet, here I am — risen again. And where are they? Still running, still fumbling in the dark for answers.
Did I not earn a second chance? Is there no redemption for those who wade through rot so others may walk on stone? Maybe there was justice in my death, in my efforts to work together. But I saw no scales. Only hands, reaching. Ants to sugar. Bees to flower. Flies to shit. Grubby fingers to a dead man’s pockets. So my treatment went.
In this new serenity, I still find disgust in the only part of me that remains.
And yet….
I am returned. Whole in purpose, unburdened by pulse or pity. My breath may be hollow, my heart unmoved, but I see clearer now than I ever did among the living.
I'm confident and resolute in my next steps. And so, as I stare at the ground, my lips curl in disgust at the only part of me that remains.
My magic has advanced far enough that replacing it should be simple.
It's time I get myself a new shadow.