Down past the stratosphere and into the empty expanse above the world he fell. The planet stretched out below him, and Shep found himself tumbling toward a landmass shrouded by a loose grey fog that stretched its ghastly arms into the surrounding sea. It was an area that seemed to have been hidden from the rest of the scattered surface world.

Shep lamented his ill luck, but as he passed through the gloomy strands of mist that climbed even higher than the clouds, the fog vanished, and he could still clearly see the starry expanse behind him. The occasion was odd, but not any more so than the existence of the mysterious energy, so he refocused himself ahead.

Fitting... Shep smiled wryly as his descent finally slowed.

Judging by the fullness and deep grey color of the downy blanket that covered the sky, it must’ve been a rather dreary evening for the people below.

He came to a stop and waited, held afloat by sheer force of will.

Waiting for what? He wasn’t entirely sure. But he had an inkling that something would guide him to his destination if he was patient. And fortunately, he wasn’t forced to linger for long.

There was a tug on his soul. Gentle at first, but it quickly escalated in force. An indistinct lasso of the blue and violet energy formed in the air and wrapped around him. It appeared that someone or something in this world didn’t take too kindly to alien souls wandering around freely.

Shep allowed himself to be pulled along, dipping below the layer of clouds and swooping down like a bird of prey eager to snatch up its meal.

Rain. How troublesome.

The torrential downpour obscured much of the landscape, seeking to erode all in its silent fury. Shep squinted and shielded his eyes but the heavy droplets passed seamlessly through him, uncaring of his desires.

All he knew was that he was headed somewhere to the north.

There was a dark and imposing spine of mountains stretching across the horizon, and a turbulent sea that raged endlessly behind them. He sought more detail, though his efforts still were in vain.

Shep’s vision contorted and blurred further as he picked up more speed. Faster and faster he flew as the rain and wind roared at his vague form. He clenched every imaginary muscle of his ethereal body, bracing for an impact he knew he would never feel as the earth expanded rapidly in his eyes.

But it was at this moment that a radiant glimmer suddenly winked into existence and captured his complete attention. A soul. Time slowed — nearly to a complete halt — as it shone crystal clear through the suddenly lethargic sheets of falling water. It emerged directly in Shep’s path, drifting away from its body as it readied to head into the beyond.

Without even thinking, he opened his mouth wide and swallowed it whole as he encroached upon it. The consciousness struggled against him on instinct, but it was weak and ignorant of its fate. He would guide it.

Be at peace. Shep declared, his voice containing all the dignity and authority of a rightful sovereign. I shall set you free if you so desire, but if you have any lingering attachment to this world — I would offer you another choice.

He was not able to thoroughly convey his intentions, but it could understand enough, so he spat it back out.

The soul trembled. It’s youth showing in its protracted hesitation. But Shep was patient. He would give it as long as it needed. Suppressing the rope of energy that remained wrapped around him, he waited.

Time resumed its steady cadence and hours passed in the pouring rain as the two souls faced one another. It was dark now, but neither’s brilliance had faded.

I agree. The soul finally stepped forward, flames born of desire blazing in its hazy eyes.

Shep nodded in appreciation of its determination as its body liquified, melding into his own like wet clay.

The acceptance of this soul into his vessel was very different from the previous acts of devouring. This time, he allowed the two of them to blend more thoroughly in order to patch up the erosion left behind by the dark chasm.

Shep was no longer in need of energy to fuel his journey and he also wanted to properly respect the will of the body he was soon to inhabit.

Stroud. A sudden deluge of fresh memories, feelings, and regrets crashed into Shep’s mind with the force of a tidal wave. Reeling from the impact, he was unable to put up a defense against the whirlpool of remorse that dragged him into its depths. In the next moment — everything was still and black.

Shep was filled with an immediate and overwhelming sense of dread upon meeting this sight. It was all too similar to his arrival in the afterlife. Cold, lonely, and utterly dark.

‘Please… not again…’ he whispered into the void.

Panic was worming its way through his body, and his chest heaved as he desperately sucked air into his lungs. And then — his eyes shot open.

Stone. Smooth. Real.

He was unable to piece together a single coherent thought as his mind suffered from a wild stampede of emotions.

“A-Ah—” Shep spluttered, coughing violently as he inhaled too sharply and too rapidly due to his surprise. His throat was dry and hoarse, and his whole body ached with a dull pain — particularly in his stomach where it felt like someone was scraping a dull knife through his intestines with every slight shift of his torso.

“Shhh. You’re okay, Stroud…” a gentle voice cooed as a warm but calloused hand stroked his hair. “Maeve, would you fetch some water, please?”

Shep closed his eyes and breathed in again as he heard the soft pitter-patter of feet scampering across a wooden floor.

A heavy door swung shut.

An old chair creaked at his bedside.

And again, he heard the voice.

“How’re you feeling, my valiant knight?” it asked.

Shep’s tongue moved in an unfamiliar manner as he wheezed out, “...Alive.”

He spoke. But it was not in any language he should have known. Moran. A faint recollection told him. Or a northern dialect of it, to be more precise. The way of speaking was very harsh, and the pronunciation was stunted, almost hard.

“Y-Yes… Yes, you’re okay,” the voice repeated as it choked up, seemingly more to seek reassurance itself than to comfort him. Shep reopened his eyes and his head rolled to the side to face the source of it.

His own tears welled up as he gazed at the kindly, mature woman still running her fingers through his sweat-soaked hair. Every part of her seemed to smile with immeasurable relief and affection as she gazed at him. From the subtle wrinkles around her thin, upturned lips to her soft brown eyes… There was a beauty and warmth to her that he couldn’t explain.

Celina. Mother.

“T-Thirsty…” Shep managed to croak out.

Celina nodded vigorously. “Maeve is on her way with some water. She should be returning any moment now.” Somehow, she managed to speak clearly amidst the jumbled mess of laughs and sobs that wracked her frail body.

Shep looked away as peace and unease engaged in a perplexing battle in his heart. As they fought, the room settled into a mellow quiet.

Celina was perfectly content to coddle him with murmurs of motherly affection. However, his thoughts now churned in an unceasing loop of regret and confusion. There was just too much to process. Too much to feel. It didn’t matter how prepared he thought he was for such a moment... Shep was gradually being overwhelmed.

His breath quickened again.

“It's alright… You’re safe now, Stroud.”

Celina repeated those words over and over, but despite the assurance she poured into them — they resounded harmlessly through the dark void surrounding Shep’s mind. With his eyelids serving as the backdrop, he sank back into the abyss. The flesh and blood of his new body faded until all that was left was a tired and empty soul...

“I’m back—!”

The image shattered, and Shep returned to a gut-wrenching pain as his body recoiled from the sudden noise.

“Oops! Sorry…” Shep saw a young girl in her early-to-mid teens hunching her shoulders sheepishly, withering under the older woman’s glare.

Maeve.

“He just needs some peace and quiet now, dear,” Celina clarified, her visage softening.

“Right,” Maeve whispered. The girl did her utmost to remain quiet as she tip-toed over to the nightstand and carefully placed down the jug in her arms. “Should I call in my father for another round of healing?”

“Not just yet.” Celina wrapped an arm around the girl’s waist, drawing her in for a familial embrace. “Thank you for standing vigil with me. Your presence and well wishes meant a lot to us both. But the hour is late now — you should get some rest.”

Maeve hesitated, and Shep didn’t need to look to sense her apprehensive fidgeting at his side.

“O-Okay…” she sniffled after a few tense seconds. “I’m really glad Stroud is better now. I-I’ll be back again in the morning with my father to see him.”

“I’ll see you then,” Celina rubbed the girl’s back and sent her off with a compassionate smile. Immediately, she turned her attention back to Stroud, filling a wooden cup from the jug and bringing it to his cracked lips.

“Slowly…” she chided as Shep lifted his chin, gulping down the lukewarm water.

As the sweet nectar trickled down his throat, Shep released a deep and satisfied sigh, indicating with his eyes that he wanted more. Celina happily obliged, doling it out to him in small doses, so that his eagerness wouldn’t cause him to choke.

“Satisfied?” she asked after the jug had lightened considerably.

Shep nodded and settled back down onto his rough pillow.

“Good. Now get some rest. As soon as Chef Oren is awake, I’ll bring some food up for you.” Celina stood up and stretched her stiff limbs as she stifled a yawn. “I’m right next door, so just call out if you need anything. And Stroud…” she added offhandedly as she moved toward the door, “...Do show some kindness to Maeve when she returns. The girl has been so consumed by guilt that she has scarcely slept or eaten in the three days since your injury.”

His puzzled frown in reply didn’t seem to inspire much confidence in Celina, but she didn’t press the matter and soon departed.

Shep returned his blank gaze to the bare ceiling.

“Stroud…” he uttered out loud after a few minutes. He repeated this action a number of times as he tasted the name, savoring the way it rolled off his tongue. He quickly found that he rather liked it. And not solely because of the new start that it represented.

No. Shep liked the name because he admired the young man he had inherited it from. It hadn’t taken long to sift through the departed boy’s memories.

The original Stroud was far superior to himself. He was brave, and he lived with conviction and confidence in himself despite everything this world had thrown at him.

Orphaned at a young age, he was eventually sold off by a greedy caretaker to a slaver. In his new master’s care, he was quickly labeled as a piece of worthless baggage. He was frail and weak — not suited for labor. And neither was he pretty enough to catch the interest of the more perverted patrons.

The master incessantly whipped and berated him for his incompetence.

As Stroud grew older, he took it upon himself to look out for the younger children who were bought or kidnapped. Making sure they were healthy and at least somewhat well-fed, even at his own expense.

It wasn’t until the slaver entered the northern reaches of the Tristan Principality, on the turn of Stroud’s 10th year, that his life finally changed for the better.

The master had grown complacent after years of successful bribery and extortion, failing to take heed of the rumors of Baron Marwood’s righteous personality. While making his way to the small town of Ebbinside, seeking some hearty slaves, the master was beset by the Baron and his men, eventually falling victim to a knight’s blade.

Stroud and the scant few slaves who still remained were set free. The younger ones were taken to an orphanage in the town of Magend, but they claimed he was too old. Undesirable.

This left the Baron in a bit of a predicament. The man couldn’t bring himself to abandon this scarred and steely-eyed child who was too weak for farmwork, but neither did he want to personally shoulder the responsibility of his upbringing.

Eventually, a compromise was struck when they returned to his estate. The head maid of his manor took an interest in the boy. She and her late husband had always wanted a child but were never able to conceive.

Celina took Stroud in and raised him as her own; teaching him etiquette and how to read and write — so that he may serve the Baron when he came of age.

Stroud quickly developed tremendous respect for Celina. She never brought up his past or took care to give him special treatment. She showed him unbiased love; and most importantly, gave him hope for a future that he could decide.

That was all he wanted. All he needed.

Stroud. He was everything that Shep wasn’t in his past life. But then again, Shep had grown much in his time as a wandering soul: developing his ability to endure, along with a steadfast belief in himself.

As Shep thought more about it, he was able to find an increasing number of similarities between his current self and the departed Stroud.

The wild ambition of two men began to blend together inside the dark servant’s quarters.

Shep was ready to shed the shell of his former self and truly become something new. Something more.

“Stroud…” he muttered one final time, feeling his soul shiver and writhe with glee.

Then, all at once, a wave of exhaustion washed over him and he promptly fell asleep.