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And it had claimed me.

I wanted to scream. To cry and rage and beg or simply tear myself apart if all else failed. It was a far better fate than what awaited me here.

Worse, I was even more cognizant than the last time around. My soul felt… thicker, more condensed, weightier in a way I couldn’t define. This weight let me cling to my sense of self, as corrupted and twisted as it may be.

I knew it would only make what was coming all the more painful.

I tried to prepare myself for the pain, to force my mind to welcome the slow eradication of my sanity, since it meant an end would eventually come. Yet, when I felt that hungry presence loom over me, I still tried to hurl myself away from it, like a pig frantic to escape the butcher.

It was pointless, of course.

Just like that pig, I felt bonds close around me, holding me still and pulling me closer. I couldn’t even squeal as the proverbial knife drew near. I could only wait, helpless, for the first blow, the eventual chip against the very essence of my being.

It never came.

Amidst my panic and pointless thrashing, for the first time, I felt a glimpse of… warmth.

It’s an insufficient description for what I felt, yet I have no other word for it.

It was the warmth of a gentle summer afternoon. The warmth of a cup of hot chocolate, prepared by loving hands and pushed into your own after hours of playing in the snow. The warmth of a comfy bed or bath at the end of a horrible day, when you’re exhausted and resigned and just done. The warmth of a mother gently pulling you into her embrace so she can chase the nightmares away.

I couldn’t resist it. The pain that would surely follow didn’t matter. Gradually, reluctantly, I surrendered, even as my bonds inexorably dragged me closer to the presence that had once tried to consume me utterly.

Except, this time, it was no longer so hungry, nor so cruel.

Oh, even as I sank into it, I knew the hunger was still there. The presence longed to lash out, to consume, urged on by the ravenous void within itself. Yet, none of those vicious desires were directed towards me.

Instead, it cradled and held me close, secured against all that might try to snatch me away or devour me. It sent waves of soothing emotions into me, driving out all my fear and rage until they were nothing but an unpleasant memory.

I beheld it, then, in its entirety. A twisted spiral made of countless layers, big and small, complex and simple, linked and severed. A world, a hungry beast, a mother, and so much more. Its beauty startled me into awe. Its base nature shook me to my core.

And I loved it, because it loved me in turn. Possessively, protectively, with unfailing intensity that filled my being with conviction.

Not all was well, however.

For all the bonds the presence had woven around me, there was another harness attached to my core, stretching away into the distance. It was thick and powerful and just as insistent in its claim on me.

It fought hard to tug me away, to join my soul to itself. But it did so with all the dispassionate arrogance of a bored social worker, trying to wrest a child from the hands of a loving relative because of an estranged parent. A social worker who didn’t give an inch of care about where the child might end up, or what it wanted.

And yet, the tether’s claim was strong. Strong enough to make me whimper, caught as I was between the two forces.

My new parent wasn’t going to tolerate the tug-of-war for long, though. More bonds lashed out and secured me more tightly, and then other strands of the presence manifested. These new strands sank into the foreign tether attached to me, piercing, tugging, sawing.

Pain filled me, threatening to tear me apart from the inside. I panicked. Then, some ineffable sense gave me a perfect view of my current self.

I was a glass-like figure, shot through with sealed-over cracks, the results of an effort to mesh together pieces that wouldn’t quite fit. In some areas, the cracks had almost entirely faded, as the features of what used to be two people smoothed out into a new whole. Other cracks lingered, prominent and barely holding together. But now, caught between two opposing forces who both sought to claim me, the cracks were spreading. My glass self was splintering.

What would happen if I shattered?

I didn’t know. And, for some reason, I didn’t care. All that mattered was the one question pounding through my consciousness:

If I did shatter, would my new parent still want me?

Terror, pure and overwhelming, gripped me like a vise. Instead of scattering, my focus tightened, and I did what had become instinct to me over the last several weeks.

I lashed out.

I’m not sure when it appeared in my hand, but suddenly, my sword bit deep into the harness that stretched off into the distance. The first blow made it quiver and spasm. The second increased the strength of the tether’s pull to the point that, in those few moments, I felt like I really would shatter entirely. The third severed the connection, and it snapped, fading beyond my senses.

I couldn’t pant or sweat, but I still felt waves of fear and exhaustion rolling through me like the tide of an angry sea. Then the attention of that looming presence focused on me fully again, and its love and approval lulled me back into a state of pure bliss.

This time, there was nothing to mar those feelings. No conflicting claims. No distracting thoughts. In that moment, I experienced perfect contentment. If it decided to devour me then and there, it would have been worth it.

But it didn’t eat me.

Instead, a single tether unfurled from the presence I was curled up in. It stabbed gently into my chest. The feeling of warmth and safety redoubled, this time accompanied by a profound sense of belonging that lay claim to me utterly.

I let it, elation singing in my heart.

Faintly, through a haze, I was somewhat aware of a voice whispering to me.

Connection forged.

Permission to proceed with ascension granted.

I didn’t care about the words. I cared only for the presence, its warmth and its approval. I wished to stay there forever, content, safe from the universe and its demands. Free from panic. Free from despair. Free from the constant drive to be better, to become more, just so I might live.

The euphoric sensations intensified, winding tighter around me as the Presence spoke directly into my mind.

Welcome, my child. You are now my own. My flesh, my blood, my soul, my will.

Then a blemish appeared in my world of bliss.

A pouch was hanging from my hip, a simple drawstring purse that I knew contained souls. It annoyed me. I didn’t need an object that would separate even an inch of me from the presence. The sword was irritating enough, even if it had helped me. Two more items appeared, slowly, almost hesitantly. Another pouch, then a fancy book whose covers glowed with an inner light.

My frustration briefly surged, then it was banished by the soothing attention of the presence.

The items were heavy. They tugged on me, trying to drag me away from the loving embrace. The purse, in particular, felt like a rock tied around my waist. It was pulling me, causing me to sink lower and lower, away from the place I wished to rest.

I fought it, but I found no purchase as I scrambled. There was nothing for me to grab or cling to. Even worse, the presence no longer held me. Ever so slowly, its bonds unfurled, letting my gradual fall continue.

Bitter remorse shot through my being. If I could have wept, I would have. What had I done wrong? Why was I being sent away?

The further I fell, the heavier I became. Energy unlike any I had ever felt or wielded before swirled around me, seeping into my translucent form and giving me substance.

It started from my fingertips. At first, it looked like little flakes of ash had somehow manifested there. Then the flakes clumped together, whitening and forming into skin. Flesh, blood, and bone followed, slowly transforming my ill-defined proportions into a real body.

A body that dragged me down, pulling me away from the one place I felt I truly belonged.

I regained my ability to cry, and tears unabashedly streamed down my cheeks. My mouth was open in a soundless wail that slowly became audible as my lungs formed. My heart, my core, were the last to form, almost simultaneously. Then mana was coursing through my veins, sealing my fate.

My back slammed against something cold and hard, followed almost instantly by my limbs. I barely noticed. I was too caught up in the agony of existing, too angry at my pathetic body that tied me down to life and all its suffering.

Not even the discomfort that speared through me a moment later could snap me out of it. The sensation of overwhelming heat and unbearable cold all at once, of every minor ache being amplified several times over, tugged at something in the back of my mind, but I dismissed it out of hand.

All my attention was fixed on the fading impressions of that perfect moment of existence, and the faint red glow far above me. It reminded me of the Presence, of its benevolence and love, and only made me more miserable.

Gradually, I became aware of the familiar discomfort, along with other sensations. I caught snippets of voices, of sounds I couldn’t interpret in my dazed state. I made no effort to understand or react, content to be lost to the world as I was.

Maybe someone is going to kill me, or maybe I’ll just die of the cold, or heat. Then I would get to go back…

Disapproval surged in my chest, jerking me away from the idle thoughts. Though the emotion was foreign, I could recognize its source. It came from a tether connected to the center of my being, tying me to the Presence I so longed for. The message was clear: if I tried to get back through self-neglect or self-harm, the Presence would not be pleased.

But I would be there again.

Hope bloomed in me, and for the first time, I tried to move my limbs.

They were a twitching, uncooperative mess, and I only barely managed to push myself onto my side. As I blinked my eyes rapidly to get rid of the tears, the world started to resolve itself into more than just vague blurs.

The first thing I saw was red stone, cut into precise squares and adorned with fanciful demonic engravings.

Then I saw the people.

Just like me, they lay collapsed face-down on the ground. They were barely sensate and utterly naked. I recognized plenty of them, on account of the fact that I’d had a front-row seat when Mercutio decided to shorten them all by a head.

An unpleasant jolt of worry snaked through me.

I groaned and tried to move, blushing furiously at the sight of my own naked body. Apparently, I was not an exception to the general state of undress. Twitching my limbs more insistently, I struggled to recover my control over them as quickly as I could.

The sudden sound of confident footsteps added fear to my embarrassment. None of us currently lying about seemed capable of recovering so quickly from our apparent resurrections, so whoever was approaching was probably not a recruit.

Then I thought of the mutated individual who had tried to kill me, most likely on Mercutio’s orders. He was probably up and running by now. Recruits could be a threat too.

As was typical of my luck, I wasn’t even close to forcing my body into submission when the steps paused just a short distance away from me.

"You look like a mess, kid," drawled a familiar voice. "Need some help?"

Exerting all my strength, I managed to push myself onto my back so I could look up at the speaker.

There, standing in all his pinkish glory, was Bronwynn.

I didn’t expect the flood of emotions that surged through me. Regret over not being able to warn him in time. Sorrow at losing him. Profound gratitude for helping me, for giving me the information I needed, for healing my arms when he didn’t have to…

So potent was the cocktail, it even banished the lingering cobwebs of my experience in the void, at least for a while.

In the end, I could only squeak out two words in response.

"Yes, please."