Callia's Redemption

The cold sting of the rain is battling hard for me to acknowledge, while I lie in the warmth of this large crater my body has made. The rain seems to be winning by the time I close my eyes, trying to catch my bearings, while the crater cools. I’m slightly sheltered by the trees, keeping most of the water off me, but that is of little comfort. My exposed skin is covered in goosebumps and mud, and I’m still confused about where I am.

Everything feels different. Maybe because I know it is no longer the world I once fought for. I gave up everything, even my life, so that they wouldn’t win. It didn’t matter in the end since I still lost. Due to my failure, I’ve spent the last century in Purgatory. Did I pay off my sentence? Is that why I am here?

Shouting in the distance causes my groggy mind to stir, snapping me out of my numb state. The sound of their growing calls gives me enough motivation to roll my head, putting only half my face in the mud. Through the blur of water and mud on my face, I can make out the faint glow of torchlight. Judging by the urgency in their voices, they’re looking for someone.

Considering I’m lying in a smoldering crater, most likely, they’re searching for me. I don’t want them to find me, and I have no desire to be found. There is no explanation as to why I’ve been suddenly released from Purgatory, but I know it can’t be without a catch.

Shakily, I stand up while my mind tries to recall how to move. After letting my mind reconnect with my body for a brief second, I start running through the dense forest. The cold rain is clinging to my bare skin, leaving sharp stings on my flesh when a tree limb cuts against it. It’s easy to ignore by letting the pain fuel my adrenaline while I race through the dark, silently praying the whole time that no wolves want to eat me, because at this point, I might let them.

It’s easy enough to explain my morbid mood. Besides that, I’m fresh out of eternal torture. Naively, I trusted someone who was not to be trusted. I should have known he would have backed out and caused this, but I didn’t. As a result of his cowardice, this world has been left to fall into the hands of Gstalt.

Okay, I need to stop playing the victim and start living again. No reason makes sense why I am alive, but I’m not wasting it, and I’m sure as night not looking to see if a mistake was made and the wrong soul was released.

I have no idea where I am. I first started waking up while falling from the sky, in a magic shield to protect my body. I landed in a crater during a rainstorm, completely nude. My body feels new, but it fits like my old one.

The rain lets up after a few hours. When it does, there is a small village that comes into view. It does look familiar. There is a small house at the edge that appears dark, suggesting that it’s empty. Lights are hovering over the bridge that leads into the town. There is a distinct sound of people laughing and chattering, combined with a sweet, melodic melody, indicating that a festival is in progress. Some Demigod must have summoned a shield to protect the town during the festivities, since the town is dry.

If I remember correctly, this city that is famous for its tumbling show, is Canture. This means, if I am right, I’m at least on the same continent I grew up and died in. That is a good thing, and a bad thing. Good thing since I’m familiar-ish with my surroundings. Bad because this is the same continent that Gstalt is on. The city is also close to his kingdom, so I was likely reincarnated by someone close to him. I can’t think of a reason Gstalt would want me. Unless…It might have worked.

Shaking off that disturbing thought, I aim for a goal that guarantees warmth. Cautiously, I open a sliding window at the back of the house I had spotted earlier, and crawl in. A low growl greets me the moment my feet touch the floor, causing me to look up. There is a beautiful reddish-brown dog that comes up to just below my hip, less than a foot from me. Slowly, I put my finger to my lips while I remain calm.

The dog whimpers slightly and comes to lick my face in a sweet greeting.

“Such a good boy,” I tell him while I gently pet him as I stand up.

With the dog trailing behind me, I look around. There are several beautifully hand-done paintings nearly covering the walls. The paintings feature mainly daisies, but there are other flowers that stand out. I’m currently in the kitchen, which has a stove, a tiny table, and six chairs. It must be crowded. There is a room to the left with a bassinet at the end of the master bed. A ladder leads upstairs, where you can just make out four little beds.

I go into the master room and go through the woman’s closet. Finding nothing I like, I grab a pair of black pants and a red-and-white top. The top clings around the waist in a corset style, and the sleeves are short, just shy of covering my shoulders. The pants are tight and lace up at the waist. Excitedly, I grab a pair of black flat boots that reach my knees. I refuse to wear heels when I’ll be hiking through mud. After I’m dressed, I grab a brown canvas backpack and shove some bread and a waterskin in there. I’ll take what I need—no more.

***

After peppering the family dog in kisses, I leave through the front door and close it quietly behind me. Curious, I walk through the town to see what festival is going on. There are several lanterns of various colors and flowers in every direction. Vendors from all over are trying to sell a variety of things, from clothing and jewelry to foods from foreign lands to random trinkets I’ve never seen before, and even weapons, from stalls covered by white tents to shield them from the elements.

If I remember correctly, this festival is the Warming Festival. It celebrates the death of winter and welcomes the warming spring, in hope that the heating season gives good life to the upcoming crops. This festival lasts for a week, and I guarantee it’s to give people a chance to thoroughly thaw out. Winters are long and harsh here, so the chance to be free from the biting frost needs to be celebrated.

Awed by the street performers, I go and take a seat at the edge of the fountain in the center of the square. I’m not the only one mesmerized by the performance; many people are engaged with street performers. They’re doing tumbling and have the crowd completely entranced. However, one of the vendors appears to be interested in the crowd, rather than the performance. I can understand why. Since it’s so crowded, I’ve managed to steal a few bits of clothing and some coins just by making my way through the sea of people.

The vendor isn’t hard to look at. His hair is the darkest shade of mahogany brown I’ve ever seen, with loose curls thrown in. He has liquid golden set eyes, which makes me believe he has magic inside him. He has surprisingly full lips and is about half a foot taller than me. He’s standing next to a woman with curls that match his, but they’re grey. She’s definitely older, and her hunched back is proof of that. She’s staring hard at my hair, which is making me a little anxious. My silver, lilac-tinted hair doesn’t appear to be common here, which makes sense since it wasn’t back then. If she’s old enough to recognize me, I’m screwed.

I shift uncomfortably, and move to pull my hair over my shoulder. That was a mistake. The second my hand touched my hair, her grey eyes lock with mine. As if I had slapped her, her mouth opens while a shock and disbelief crosses her face. Surprisingly, she steps an automatic step forward, knocking into the table, and knocking over merchandise.

That’s my cue to go.