Death was not what Leo expected. There were no pearly white clouds with angels singing praise, no fire and brimstone. It most certainly wasn’t the end of consciousness, for he could think now. It was empty and cold.

Leo had awoken upon a cracked and barren wasteland, his head swimming as he tried to process what had happened. He remembered dying but his mind just refused to believe that had actually happened. There was no way his life could be snuffed out so easily, right?

The frigid air made him shiver and he huddled in a ball to try to preserve what little warmth he could, wishing that his clothes had followed his soul to this plane of existence. There was nothing around he could use to keep the chill at bay. Not a single plant or blade of grass grew in this dark and desolate landscape. It all made him feel so alone, vulnerable and afraid.

What more is there to fear besides death? The sardonic thought flitted through his mind. He had always used humor as a way to mask his own insecurities, and now would be no different. He tried to force his body to move and get up; he would adapt and make the most of this place too. Except his body wouldn’t listen.

While a small part of his mind pushed and prodded him to start moving, to help fight the chill and get a look around, the rest was coming to grips with his death and what he had left behind. The guilt of abandoning his sister back on Earth, and knowledge that he would never get a chance to make things right were like lead weights chaining him down. What was the point of moving fruitlessly forward if he could never get back to her?

A noise like water dripping on rock drew him away from his thoughts. He lifted his head to see a hulking mass of multi-colored flesh dragging itself across the wastes. In its wake, the monstrosity left a purple viscous ooze as it slowly edged across the barren clearing in front of him. Its body appeared to be a tangled mass of creatures clumped and fused together into one huge abomination. Claws reached out of the monster to slowly pull its way forward, the mouths of its many victims releasing soft, painful moans while protruding limbs that weren’t unified in helping the creature move twitched sporadically.

Feelings of pity and disgust rose in the back of his throat as he wondered what kind of cruel gods could allow such a vile existence. He watched it slowly cross the clearing, wishing that he had either the courage or the strength to confront it, to release the imprisoned souls from their suffering, but it was all he could do to stop from trembling.

He found himself praying to the very gods he had just condemned that the creature would pass by without noticing him. It was all too easy to imagine himself alongside the souls trapped in the horror, stuck in an eternity of torture that slowly broke his sanity. How many years would he last until his eyes held the same hollow gaze as its other inhabitants?

Unfortunately, his prayers went unanswered. The head of a brown-haired girl who couldn’t have been more than ten turned her cold, lifeless eyes in his direction, and immediately the entire abomination froze.

Each of its many heads swiveled to where he sat, their eyes holding the same pain he had known before coming to this plane. Anger sparked in those pain-filled gazes, anger at the unfairness that he wasn’t confined to the same hellish existence they were.

Move, damn it! he yelled at himself, but his body was rooted in place, too terrified to respond.

“No please…” Leo pleaded as the creature slowly inched closer, the entombed souls both screaming and cursing him for his help. Unable to look at the horror any longer, he closed his eyes, wishing that this nightmare he had woken up in would finally come to an end. The voices of the monster became louder, and he knew it was only a matter of time until it was upon him. There was no escape, no hope left.

A hand gripped his shoulder and he looked up, his eyes a vacant gaze of acceptance, ready to be drawn into the nightmarish creature. It took him a moment to realize the hand resting on his shoulder didn’t belong to the gruesome horror but a woman. Her auburn hair and gentle face shone with a ghostly glow.

She looked at him and did the unthinkable, she smiled. In the face of the approaching horror, in the plane of existence they were confined to, she defied it all with a smile. It was such a small act, but the tenderness of it filled him with a seed of warmth that slowly pushed back the despair threatening to swallow him.

Once again, he tried to stand and this time his body responded, rising shakily to its feet. The slowly approaching mass was still several yards away, and it seemed to grow more agitated at his movement, as if it could sense the forbidden emotion of hope budding within him.

Leo met the gaze of the brown-haired girl who had first spotted him. His heart ached with the look of murderous rage that had no place on such a youthful girl’s face. He might be too weak to do anything now, but as long as he didn’t give up, perhaps one day that would change.

He turned back to the woman who had saved him from the agonizing screams, but she was gone. Where she had been standing, a small red flower bloomed with an ethereal light, a Radiant Heart. Its glow was the only light that could be seen in the shadows that blanketed this place. Distant cries in the darkness all around him rang out as he approached the flower. Reaching out a trembling hand, he touched the beautiful object.

Would you like to use Radiant Heart? Yes/No

The shouts and noises drew closer as Leo selected ‘yes’. The abomination gave out one last gut-wrenching cry as a swirl of light engulfed his figure and everything around him vanished.

* * *

Zeldorth watched grim-faced in his favored armchair as the remains of the boy he had found slowly pulled themselves back together; the flower he had so preciously stored was working hard to perform its miracle.

When the first agonized cries had shattered the garden’s stillness earlier this morning, it had already been too late to save the young man. The corpse left behind after the poison had run its course was so grotesque, it had churned even his hardened stomach.

Using the flower was a risk, one larger than he liked to think about, but if this foolish youth was what he expected, then it was one he needed to take.

Zeld waited as the repairs finished, fingertips tapping anxiously against the pommel of his blade while he stared intently at the corpse sprawled over his dining room table. Any second now, a soul from the afterlife would claw its way back to the realm of the living and inhabit the newly minted vessel. Just thinking about the possible nightmares that might escape from those abysmal depths was enough to send his aged heart hammering harder than it had in a decade.

There was so much inner tension building that he nearly took the boy’s head off when the body suddenly sat up, lungs struggling desperately to take in air like a drowning man gasping for breath. His fingers tightened around the pommel of his sword, barely keeping the instinct to strike first at bay as the boy’s brown eyes blinked into focus, confusion marring its face as it looked around the interior of the small cabin it had awoken in.

Zeld didn’t sense any malevolent intent emanating from the revived soul, nor did the being feel particularly powerful—that was either a very troubling or very good sign.

Not wanting to waste any more time on the hypothetical, he leaned forward, the movement drawing the lad’s attention away from his alchemical workbench tucked away in the corner of the room. “Can you tell me where we are?” Zeld asked the befuddled youth, angling his scabbard ever so slightly toward the creature in question in preparation for a quick draw.

The vessel’s mouth opened and closed in an attempt to answer. Zeld could all but see its mind working to push past the rust its time in the abyss had caused. Unfortunately, time to reorient itself was not a luxury he was willing to give the potential nightmare.

“Eth-eth.” The boy struggled, no doubt sensing the dangerous tension that was starting to build in the room. There was any number of skills that might be able to divine the name of their location, and the longer Zeld waited, the more time it gave an intelligent fiend to find it.

His knuckles popped as his hand clenched harder around the hilt of his blade. He rose to his feet, voice dropping to a dangerous undertone. “I’ll ask you one more time, where are we!”

Zeld let loose a bit of his killing intent, hoping it might jolt the boy into answering. The young man flinched as if he had been physically struck as the intent washed over him, carrying with it the deadly promise of what was to come should he fail to answer. Please don’t make me do this.

A croaking sound came out of the young man’s voice, eyes wide as the new body once more failed to produce an answer, but just as Zeld started to unsheathe his blade, he heard the name he had been praying for. “Gurdns ove Eteria!” the brown-haired boy slurred out, his whole body trembling.

Zeld couldn’t help the sigh of relief that escaped his lips, and he sheathed the few inches of steel he had pulled from his scabbard. “I guess that’ll have to do.”

Walking over to his alchemical table, he picked up the beaker of yellow liquid he had left to simmer earlier, and poured the concoction into a small cup. After a brief stirring to ensure the contents were thoroughly mixed, he handed the medicine over to the lad. “Drink this; it’ll help get your body settled.”

The young man hesitated before taking the offered cup in a trembling hand. The yellow liquid inside continued to pop and bubble like it had never left the flame, releasing a small puff of acidic fumes with every burst. The boy gagged as soon as the foul-smelling concoction tinged his nose, giving Zeld a look of incredulity over the rim of the cup that was comedic enough to draw out a soft chuckle. “That would be the imp blood,” he said with a slight knowing smile. “Either drink it or spend the next week fumbling around in your new body. For what it’s worth, it doesn’t taste as bad as it smells.”

Zeld let his body sink back into the cushions of the armchair as the youth eyed the liquid once more before tossing the whole cup back. Immediately, the boy’s face contorted in pure disgust and he fell into a fit of coughing. It might’ve been a little dark but Zeld couldn’t help but continue his chuckle at the accusatory glare thrown his way. The liquid in fact tasted a lot worse than it smelled, but he wasn’t going to risk losing a week of potential training because the lad’s sense of taste turned out to be too dainty.

After the fit subsided, the youth turned to him, color having finally returned to his previously pale face. “Well, you weren’t lying,” he said with a bitter smile. “Thanks…I guess, now do you mind telling me what the hell happened?”

Zeld sent a thread of mana into his storage ring, mentally retrieving a pipe to his right hand before taking the time to pack and light the bone-carved object as he pondered how best to answer that question. Reveal too much and the kid might run away screaming, too little and he wouldn’t understand the gravity of the action done. After a long draw of the conjured item, he decided to go for the simple approach.

“You got yourself killed trying to get your hands on the same ingredient I brought you back to life with,” he stated behind a plume of white smoke.

His answer was met with an arched eyebrow that seemed to say, ‘No duh.’ Before the boy could open his mouth to put further voice to his complaints, Zeld held up a hand to forestall him. “You answer my questions, then I’ll finish answering yours. Fair?” After a brief consideration, the youth gave him a silent nod of affirmation.

“How did someone as weak as you manage to get on this island, and how did you come by that blade?” Zeld jerked a thumb at Aveth, which he had tucked in its scabbard and left resting on the doorframe of the cabin’s entrance.

True to his word, the boy began his explanation without any hesitation. Perhaps he had been feeling a need for human company, or maybe it was the fact that Zeld had just saved the youth’s life, but the lad didn’t omit any parts to his story. It was a level of honesty and ignorance that would’ve seen him dead or captured in any town on the surface below. Candidness only those who had yet to experience the full cruelty of this world were able to speak.

By the end of the explanation, Zeld’s lips curled up in a ghost of a smile at the refreshingly open tale. How long had it been since he had held a conversation not layered in deceit or partial truths?

He habitually fiddled with a particular golden band around his finger, mind momentarily lost in the past before realizing a lull was forming in the present. “I’m not sure if you have the worst or best luck of any Arrivals before you, and the place where you found the sword checks out your story,” he said, breaking the silence before it thickened. “But you left off one key part—What’s your name, boy?”

The boy looked baffled by the question. “It’s Leo. And you’re taking the whole I’m from another world thing rather well. Just how common are Arrivals here anyway?”

Zeld gave a noncommittal shrug. “I’ve met a few Arrivals in my time, but it’s a rare occurrence and those meetings are few and far between. That being said, don’t go bragging to the world what you are. Arrivals tend to possess unique and powerful Traits that ostracize them from the masses. Most nations will even offer quite the substantial bounties for anyone able to turn one in, clipping a bud before it blossoms and all that.”

Leo’s gaze turned reclusive when he mentioned the last part. The emotions on the young man’s face were so plain to read that Zeld couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped his lips. “Don’t worry, boy, my days of gold and glory are all behind me. I’m not going to turn you in. You also might take comfort that there’s no way to tell if someone is an Arrival without them playing the fool and giving it away,” he said with a wink before going back to his pipe.

“You left out an important piece of information yourself,” Leo stated.

“Oh ho, what's that?” he asked curiously, starting to enjoy himself.

“What's your name, old man?”

Zeld couldn’t help the hearty laughter that followed as his own quip was used against him. “My name is Zeldorth, but you can just call me Zeld.” He motioned across the table to Aveth. “And that sword you got there, that used to be mine.”

The boy’s eyes widened in confusion, but Zeld forestalled him once again before the conversation was sidetracked. Some topics he wasn’t ready to dredge up just yet. “All in due time, boy, we aren't in a rush and there's much for you to learn. Your lack of knowledge will be the easiest way to expose what you are to others.”

“Can you at least tell me a bit more of what I went through?” Zeld was happy to sheathe this conversation for a later date, as the boy’s body was exhausted whether he realized it or not. But the eyes staring at him so intently practically begged for at least some sort of explanation, so he relented.

“The Radiant Heart is a mystified ingredient, due to its severe difficulty to find and harvest. That flower and the tree back there, the Creeping Horror, are an example of a facultative symbiotic relationship. Without the tree, the flower would be easy prey and quickly consumed; without the flower, the tree wouldn't be able to live and grow as long as it has.”

“So, the tree protects it, and the flower extends its life,” Leo said.

“Precisely, but the Creeping Horror is much more than just your average tree, it's a horrific monster. It's fully sentient and able to move its vines at frightening speeds. One scratch will inject its lethal poison into you, and if you have a strong body, it’ll take days to finish you off.”

The boy visibly shuddered at the mention of the poison. “How long was I…out for?”

“A few minutes at most. I could hear your screams all the way across the cavern, but I had to be careful not to wake the horror and avoid the vines,” Zeld said darkly. It was a good thing he had arrived as quickly as he did, too, as by the sound of Leo’s story, another minute and he would’ve been just another pile of flesh consumed by the Keeper.

“Anyway, when you die, your soul is first sent to what's known as the Plane of Solitude. It's the first of seven layers of the Abyss.” He took another long puff on his pipe before continuing. “You got lucky—the creature you saw there was a Keeper of Souls, and although terrifying, they're slow and easy to avoid.” Zeld leaned forward in his chair. “However, it never tires, never sleeps, and when it finds prey, it will always know where that victim is, and once it catches you, your soul is damned for all eternity.”

“Holy shit...” Leo whispered.

Zeld gave a bark of laughter, but there was little mirth in the outburst. “And that's not even dangerous compared to what else is out there.” He leaned back against his chair again. “Anyway, I'm not sure what happened with that woman you saw, but I found your body and used the Radiant Heart to bring you back. The flower fully repairs a body, no matter how bent out of shape it gets, preparing it for a soul to enter. It then appears next to where the soul is in the Abyss, creating a link between planes. It’s an open door and any soul can follow the link back. You understand what I’m saying?”

Leo shuddered again; it seemed the message of why Zeld had been so tense earlier had gotten through to him. If one of the more dangerous creatures of the Abyss managed to claw their way into the world of the living…well Zeld didn’t even want to think of the consequences that might follow.

“How were you able to get that flower with the Horror guarding them?” the boy asked, the tone of disbelief enough to prick Zeld’s pride.

“I may not look it but I was considered the Saint of Erreth when it was still a nation.” Zeld puffed out his chest a bit before declaring the title he had fought tooth and nail for. “I'm old, not useless.”

"You realize I came here yesterday and have no idea what that means, right?" Leo said, stifling a yawn while his eyelids began to droop.

Zeld let out an exasperated sigh He should’ve expected such a reaction. “A Battlemaster is a rank given to the strongest warriors a city has to offer. Anybody can become a Battlemaster by defeating one of the current ones. Once every two years, cities send up to five of their Battlemasters to compete for the title of Saint or strongest warriors of a province. And every ten years, Saints compete for being the strongest warrior in a realm, Champion.”

“Why would someone care for something like that?” Leo muttered, letting gravity bring his head down to rest on the wooden table.

Maybe if the boy had acted at least a little bit more impressed, Zeld would’ve mentioned the spare bed in the next room over. As it was, he gave Leo a defeated look. “Who knows, fame, fortune, honor, point is I'm stronger than I look, boy, and if you keep on my good side, I might just show you a thing or two.”

“Whatever you say.” Zeld could barely make out the whispered reply as sleep moved to envelop the young man.

“You just rest, we can talk more in the morning.” Not that the boy needed an invitation. Zeld could already hear the smooth rhythm of Leo’s breathing start to form before he had even finished the sentence.

Zeld sat in his chair a while longer, watching the gentle rise and fall of the Arrival’s chest. Memories flashed through his mind of a situation not so different a long time ago. “A rare occurrence indeed,” he muttered before heading back out to the Garden.