Stroud was roused in the morning by a soft rapping on his door. He rolled over, squinting his eyes as the first rays of sunlight crept above his windowsill and scattered through the room, broken up by the lattice covering the narrow pane.

“—Come in!” he announced breathlessly after thoroughly quenching his thirst with the leftover water from the previous night.

Celina strode inside at his call, wearing a plain grey dress with her hair tied up in a neat bun. She carried a tray of food with her, supporting some lightly buttered toast and sliced fruit.

“Breakfast in bed!” a deep and merry voice rumbled behind her, “If only my wife would spoil me so…”

“Even if she would, I would never allow it.” Celina quipped, rolling her eyes as she placed down the tray atop a small dresser tucked in the corner of the room.

Baron Marwood laughed heartily as he stood in the door frame. “I think that’s exactly why she hired you all those years ago!”

Stroud flinched back from the bombardment of noise and enthusiasm, shrinking further into his bed as the Baron’s rather large presence quickly filled the small servant’s quarters.

“Maybe so…” Celina smiled knowingly. “But let’s be on with it, my Liege. The prince’s agent should be arriving shortly.”

Baron Marwood’s face contorted into a dark scowl. He didn’t speak any further as he rolled up the sleeves of his pine green doublet and sat in the chair beside Stroud’s bed.

Moving lightly, he pulled down the heavy wool blanket and placed a hand over Stroud’s exposed gut. There was a lengthy, jagged wound marring the otherwise soft and pale skin. It reached up from just below his navel all the way to his ribcage, almost like someone had tried to slice him in half from the waist up.

Stroud sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth as he saw the injury for the first time. His memories of the event that had left him in such a sorry state were hazy and disjointed at best. But as he strained himself to recall, they flitted through his mind like the projection from an old movie reel.

He saw flashes of Maeve. Her long red hair billowing in the wind. A defiant smirk was plastered on her face as she stretched her arms out wide.

She spoke to a man. A gaunt man with blotchy skin and curly black hair.

He sat atop a dark steed, gazing down upon the vague silhouettes gathered behind the girl with contempt. The air around him seemed to bend and flow at his will, leaving the onlookers cowed.

Only Maeve had stepped forward to confront him, while Stroud hung just a tad behind her.

The man grew increasingly upset the longer he argued with Maeve. Spittle and curses spewed from his mouth as he raged. And right when it seemed as if he’d had enough and sought to depart, the man suddenly turned back. In the ensuing moment, he gathered the wind around him into his palm and sliced his arm through the air with a devious glint in his cold, deep-set eyes.

Reacting on instinct, Stroud jumped in front of Maeve to intercept the gleaming blade of verdant light that the man had shot forth. It connected with his body, but surprisingly, he felt no pain. In fact... it was warm?

Stroud’s mind entered a state of utter confusion as he sank to his knees. The dream world around him slowly drained of color, until all that was left was the bright crimson guts and blood spilling into his hands.

So why was he feeling warm? It should’ve been cold as his life slipped away...

“...Stroud. Stroud—!” The Baron’s voice snapped him out of his reverie.

With wide eyes, Stroud looked down again at the wicked scar, feeling a blissful warmth spreading through his stomach as the vibrant green glow that poured forth from the Baron’s hands seeped into his skin.

Magic. There was no other way to explain the phenomena he was currently witnessing.

It was not a completely foreign concept to him. Both Shep and the previous iteration of Stroud were familiar with it to varying extents. To the former, it was the thing of fairy tales, but to the latter, it was a very real existence. One to be feared.

The men and women who wielded it did so with near impunity. And they cared not for pitiful existences like himself. At least, that was the impression of Magi Stroud had. He viewed the Baron as more of an exception to the rule than the norm.

Many times, he had seen the few Magi that dealt with the slaver exert their power on a whim. And the same could be said of the principality official that had lashed out at Maeve with a spell.

It’s all in the past… Emotions churning, Stroud forced himself to take a deep breath so that he wouldn’t spiral downward into those particular memories again.

Instead, he thought about the mystical aurora of energy he had seen inundating this galaxy.

Was magic a direct result of its presence...?

Unfortunately, Stroud wasn’t afforded the time to think upon the topic at length.

“There. All done!” Baron Marwood exclaimed as he clapped his hands. Sweat dribbled down the man’s forehead and he looked quite weary, but a jovial grin had graced his pudgy features once more. “It went much better this time,” he said, glancing over at Celina.

“Wonderful! I’m glad to hear it.” Celina clasped her hands in front of her chest and shot Stroud a meaningful look.

He picked up on it quickly and dipped his head as he addressed the Baron, suppressing his unease and embarrassment, “Thank you, my Liege. I will do everything I can to repay you for your generous care.”

This manner of speaking was unfamiliar to the present Stroud, but it was deeply engraved into his predecessor’s bones. He had showered his Lord’s family with flowery words for four long years, and the master his entire life before that.

Even now, as a servant, his rung on the social ladder was not all that much different than a slave’s. In a time period like this, freedom didn't afford the young much flexibility in their life choices when their access to knowledge was so limited. Stroud recognized these facts clearly, but he still loathed the ease with which subservience had promptly arisen within himself.

Nevertheless, he had a role to play while he was in the care of the Baron. And reflecting honestly, his current position was rather suitable for himself. He’d always had a tendency to fade into the background...

“Repay me?” Baron Marwood scoffed, startling Stroud as he slapped his knee. “It is I who still owes you. You saved my precious daughter’s life. My debt will not be repaid until I make sure the official who wounded you is left to rot in a dungeon.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Stroud saw Celina draw her mouth into a thin line.

“I am already satisfied, my Liege. Everyone is safe, and that is all I can ask for.” Stroud knew why his adopted mother was worried. The only way the Baron would see that official punished — was if he had the strength to enact the sentencing himself. Exacerbating the issue would only lead to future troubles for house Marwood.

“Then you are a better man than I am…” Baron Marwood sighed. The man’s clear eyes gazed deeply at him for a long breath. But in the face of such an intense and inquiring stare, Stroud didn’t allow his gracious smile to waver in the slightest. “Very well. I will not pursue this matter too assiduously, for the time being. If there is another way I can make it up to you, just let me know.”

Stroud nodded, and in the moment of silence that followed, Celina swooped in.

“Here.” She placed the tray of food down in his lap. “You still need to eat well and rest if you are to recover your strength.”

“Thank you, Mother.” Stroud waited patiently for Celina to usher the Baron out of the room before he dug into the meal. He hadn’t realized just how hungry he was until the sweet and buttery smells wafting upward had tickled his appetite.

Lost in the pleasure of food after so long, he paid little mind to the new visitor who had poked her head into the room.

“S-Stroud?” A hesitant query finally reached his ears as he devoured the last piece of toast and licked his fingers clean, still greedy for more.

His gaze flickered over to the doorway where he saw Maeve wringing her hands as she chewed on her lower lip. Stroud kept his voice level as he replied, “Yes? What can I help you with, Miss Marwood?”

Maeve frowned as she heard his conventional address. He knew that she preferred speaking openly and informally with each other, but no matter how much she pestered him to drop it — he never would.

For one, Celina would be irate if she found out. She was insistent upon remaining professional at all times. And furthermore, Stroud had never seen himself as her equal.

She was a Baron’s daughter, destined to immerse herself in the world of the Arcane. Maeve would amass her own power and influence, achieving great things. Whereas he... he would have been considered lucky to even make his way into the ranks of the Marwood’s knights. The weak body he’d been born with still hounded him to this day.

Thus, until a time came that Stroud felt he was deserving of standing on equal footing — she would always be the young Miss Marwood. His renewed aspiration told him such a day would come, so he was content to wait until then.

“Stroud?” she asked again. “Can… C-Can you forgive me?”

Stroud met her gaze, causing her to flinch. But even so, she didn’t look away.

“I already have,” he replied, gently.

“Do you really mean it?” Maeve’s thin brows furrowed as she tucked her hands behind her back.

“How could I even be angry with you?” Stroud sighed. “You were only standing up for your people. I can find no fault in that.”

“B-But I—!”

He cut the girl off with a pointed look before she could spiral any further into self-loathing. “That official’s greed and lust were plain for all to see. After failing in his coercion, he was merely looking for an excuse to vent his frustrations.”

Maeve looked away, attempting to discreetly wipe her wettened cheeks. “Still… I’m sorry, Stroud.”

“I’m humbled by your kindness, Miss Marwood.” Stroud allowed a sly smile to creep onto his face.

When Maeve saw it, she stamped her foot in anger. “You—! Do you take my apology as some kind of joke?”

“Not at all,” Stroud chuckled, his gaze softening in the next moment. “But it pains me to see you saddened, Madam. Please, do not allow the events of the other day to cast a shadow over your heart. And know... that I truly do not place any of the blame upon you.”

The fiery-haired girl puffed out her cheeks, whimpering pitifully. “Thanks… I’m really glad you’re okay…” Maeve blushed before darting out of the room in a hurry, leaving her grief lingering in the air behind her.

***

In the weeks that followed, Stroud continued his recovery as the estate settled back into a peaceful lull.

Each morning and evening, Celina would bring him his meals, filling him in on the manor’s affairs while making sure that he kept up with his studies.

She too had realized long ago that his prospects of becoming a knight were slim; and therefore, directed him towards math and literature in hopes that he may fulfill an administrative role in the barony in the future.

The original Stroud had never enjoyed such tedious and dull activities, but the new incarnation took to them with considerable enthusiasm. He did so because — despite inheriting all of this body’s memories — there was still a certain lethargy and spontaneity to his ability to access them. In which case, he felt it was best to paint a fresh picture of the world around him in his mind. It also didn’t hurt that he was limited to his bed, so there wasn’t much else to distract himself with.

Celina was enthused by his newfound passion and happily continued to pass him books from the Baron’s study upon his request. And Baron Marwood, still weighed down by his feelings of guilt and regret, was more than willing to oblige.

All in all, Stroud was exceedingly pleased by the arrangements. It served as a smooth adjustment period for him. He was able to slowly integrate his new knowledge with the old in relative peace, while also growing accustomed to spending his time inside of a living and breathing vessel once more.

The only bother that ever cropped up was the occasional visit from Maeve. She was an energetic girl — someone who was easily bored, and Stroud was her only companion in the manor around her age.

Their backgrounds were too different for them to ever really grow close as friends, but Stroud had always been quiet, making him a great listener in her eyes. And it seemed she consistently had something on her mind to speak about at length.

But even in these circumstances, there was useful information he could glean from her words; knowledge that one couldn’t pick up from books alone. So he patiently lent her an ear, feeling his body and mind recovering rapidly with each passing day…

***

It was another night Stroud sat in his bed, sinking deep into his thoughts as a cold wind blew in through his open window. His eyelids bore the weight of a day’s exhaustion as he leaned back against the stiff headboard. But sleep would not come to him any time soon.

He was restless. With his rehabilitation nearing its end, anxiety had begun crawling through his body in the vacancy of pain and exhaustion. Ignorance was truly bliss because for once, Stroud felt like he knew too much.

There were many old questions left festering inside the emotional wounds plaguing his soul, and many new ones were constantly swimming through the back of his mind.

This world — or the Terram Vagari as the inhabitants called it — felt so surreal. There were humans here, and a culture that was distinctly familiar in many aspects, albeit of a medieval era. Too many connections for him to ignore the events and society around him and only devote himself to his pursuit of reconciling his past in the afterlife.

Stroud felt trapped almost. Like he had landed inside another box. He wanted to believe that he had escaped the Guiding Hand that managed the affairs of the departed souls… but it felt more like he had broken free only to return to the boundaries of its domain. Even with the fresh breath of life filling his lungs, he could still feel its presence festering inside him like a cancerous tumor once removed that was now ready to once again rear its ugly head.

As a soul, he had been fortunate to subvert the Hand's notice long enough to escape. But if died again... would he be so lucky a second time? Stroud shuddered. The presence of higher beings that manage the afterlife aside, the worry that had taken root inside of him the deepest was something much more simple: How did he wind up in the Chasm in the first place? He had no memories from death to arrival.

How did they filter the souls, determining who ends up where?

What if he died again, but was instead sent directly to the river of souls, having his memory wiped?

Questions like those sent Stroud's mind tumbling into an abyss and he was only able to pull himself out at the last moment for one reason: At least here, something existed in defiance. The energy he had seen. Magic.

It could subvert the Hand's will to some degree, and he would do whatever it takes to grasp that power. But he had to stay alive in the process. Death was too great a risk.

“Soon…” Stroud muttered to himself as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. With great effort and the nightstand as support, he pushed himself up into a standing position.

The muscles in his stomach beneath the ghastly scar twisted and squirmed in protest, but he held strong, gritting his teeth. Stroud took his time, exhaling a series of long and deep breaths before he walked with halting steps over to the window hanging above his dresser.

He gazed out at the twin moons that encroached upon each other in the night sky. One pale and full of craters, the other smooth, exuding a warm and youthful amber light.

Orena and Naleen. The sisters that embody the old and the new — or the beginning and the end, as some scholars preferred to phrase it. Life and death.

In a few days, their paths would intersect, heralding the coming of a new season.

Summer.

At that time, Stroud would emerge to seek his answers.