Arjun was barely conscious. The world was a dull, thrumming roar of pain and static, and the only thing keeping him from slipping into the cold embrace of the void was the sheer, jagged weight of his own memories. As his mind drifted, the present dissolved, replaced by the ghost of a life he had once lived.
********
The air in the Song Clan's private training hall was thick with the scent of floor wax and sweat. It was years ago—back when Arjun's body was whole, and his future was a tapestry of untapped potential. He had requested extra training sessions as early as the masters would allow, driven by a quiet, gnawing ambition.
His parents hadn't been born into the Great Clans. They were civilians from Falcon Scott, simple people who had lived through the terror of the gates opening. But after they Awakened, their talent had caught the eye of the Song Clan, and they had been absorbed into its hierarchy.
As Arjun ran through his forms, a soft cough echoed through the hall. He turned to find a boy with messy brown hair leaning against a wooden pillar. He looked to be about Arjun's age, but his eyes held a restless energy.
"Well," the boy said, a small smirk playing on his lips. "You're training quietly. That's a shocker for this place. Everyone else usually wants an audience. Can I spar with you?"
Arjun wiped the sweat from his brow and nodded. "If you think you can keep up."
After an hour of intense clashing, both boys were lying flat on their backs on the training mats, staring at the high, vaulted ceiling.
"Silas," the boy panted, extending a hand.
"Arjun," he replied, gripping it firmly. "Nice spar, Silas."
********
Years bled into years. Arjun continued to hone his skills, but the atmosphere of the world was changing. The tension of the Nightmare Spell hung over every youth like a guillotine.
One afternoon, he saw Silas walking toward him. The boy's usual smirk was gone, replaced by a grim, focused mask.
"Nightmare Spell?" Arjun asked quietly.
Silas nodded. "The call came this morning. I go in tonight."
Arjun felt a pang of apprehension. "All the best, Silas. You're one of the best I've fought. You'll make it through."
Silas stopped and looked at Arjun, his expression softening. "I have a favor to ask. I'm asking on behalf of the Sorrow Clan, but really, it's just me asking a friend. If... if I don't come back. If the Nightmare claims me... take care of my sister, Luna."
Arjun didn't hesitate. He grabbed Silas's shoulder. "Don't talk like that. You'll survive. But if it puts your mind at ease—I promise. I will look after Luna."
A week later, the news arrived. Silas had died in his First Nightmare. He was the first friend Arjun had lost, but he wouldn't be the last.
******
The memory shifted, turning cold and frantic. Arjun remembered running through the corridors of his living quarters, his heart hammering against his ribs. He burst into the main room to find his parents packing heavy tactical bags.
"Are you joining the Antarctica First Evacuation Army?" he gasped, his voice cracking.
His mother looked up, her eyes filled with a weary, desperate determination. "Yeah. Sorry to inform you like this, Arjun. We didn't want you to worry until the orders were finalized."
Arjun's blood ran cold. "Why? It's a suicide mission! How did the Queen even allow it? The Song Clan isn't participating officially"
His father stepped forward, placing a heavy hand on Arjun's shoulder. "We made a deal. We've officially quit the Song Clan. We are going as independent volunteers. You... you will remain here. You're still a ward of the Clan. You'll be safe."
"Why go this far?" Arjun screamed. "You're throwing your lives away!"
"Falcon Scott is our native place, son," his father said softly. "Our people are there. We are going to save as many as we can."
Arjun wanted to scream the truth—that he knew what was coming to Antarctica. He wanted to tell them that they wouldn't survive the winter, that the First Evacuation was a meat grinder that would swallow them whole. But how could he explain the memories of a life that wasn't his? He pleaded, he begged, he wept, but they didn't listen.
They died in the frozen wastes of Falcon Scott. They were the only parents he had ever known, in either life. And he had been powerless to save them.
*******
Days after the funeral—the empty casket funeral—Arjun stood on a high balcony overlooking the Song Clan's sprawling estate. He was a non-Awakened teenager with no lineage and no future. He expected to be kicked out of the clan any day.
A shadow fell over him. He turned to see a pilgrim whose beauty was as sharp and cold as a diamond. It was Ki Song, the Queen of the Song Clan.
"Queen," Arjun muttered, his voice hollow. "Why are you here?"
"Nothing," she replied, her voice like silk over steel. "Just checking on the son of two of my most loyal soldiers."
Arjun narrowed his eyes. She spoke,"Are you angry at me? Angry that I didn't send the Song Army? That I let your parents go to their deaths alone?"
"I am more angry at my own powerlessness," he whispered to himself. If he had been infected by the spell earlier, if he had been stronger, he could have fought in their place.
Ki Song looked out over her domain. "I understand your hatred. I fought for my mother's citadel once. I had to fight because it was my home. I understand why your parents went. You may keep your hatred for me if it helps you survive."
Arjun scoffed, looking at the woman who stood at the pinnacle of power. "I can't afford to hate you. I'm too powerless to even oppose you."
"Powerlessness is a temporary state, Arjun," she said, turning to leave. "Your parents' will remains with you. Cherish it."
*******
The memories shattered.
Arjun was back in the red sand. He was back in the pain.
'Why am I even alive?' he thought, his consciousness flickering like a dying candle. 'I've lost everything. I couldn't save Silas. I couldn't save my parents. I can't change a single fucking thing. Why did I transmigrate just to suffer like this?'
He felt the darkness closing in. He was ready to let go. But then, a line of dialogue from a story he had once read echoed in the void of his mind:
"As long as I am alive, there are infinite chances."
No, Arjun thought, a spark of pure, white-hot rage igniting in his soul. 'I still have a chance. I need to fight. For my parents' will. For Luna, who is still out there in the Solistice. I will do it. Whatever it takes.'
"You have been sentenced to fight against the beasts," a voice boomed from above. It was Damon. "Consider it an honor, you traitor."
*******
The iron gates of the makeshift pit groaned as they were hoisted upward, the sound echoing like a death knell against the stone walls of the arena. Above, the stands were packed with the soldiers of the battalion—men who had once shared bread with Arjun, now leaning over the railings with spit on their lips and hatred in their eyes.
"Kill the traitor!" a voice screamed. "Let the dogs have his other leg!"
Arjun was a ruin. His left hand was a charred stump of bone. His right leg was a skeletal nightmare, the muscle dissolved by acid, leaving the femur exposed to the air. His eyes were hollow, weeping sockets. Yet, his right hand gripped his iron sword with a strength that defied biology.
From the darkened tunnels, twelve Awakened Beasts emerged—massive, six-legged wolves with needles for fur. Arjun couldn't see them, but through his [Fast Learner] attribute, he mapped the air pressure, the scent of their musk, and the vibrations of their paws.
The first wolf lunged. Arjun didn't move until he felt the heat of its maw. He dropped onto his skeletal leg, the bone grinding against the sand, and thrust his sword upward. The wolf disemboweled itself on his blade.
"He's still alive!" Kael shouted. "Finish him!"
The pack swarmed. It was a symphony of agony. Wolves tore at his charred stump; teeth clamped onto his shoulders. Arjun didn't scream. He swung his sword in a blind, lethal arc, optimizing his failures in real-time. He used his exposed femur as a stake, piercing the throats of the beasts that tried to pin him down.
The arena floor turned into a swamp of black fur and gore. Arjun was being eaten alive, yet he was the one doing the harvesting. Finally, only the Alpha and its mate remained. They lunged together. Arjun braced his sword against the ground. The mate impaled herself on the blade, and the Alpha leaped for his throat.
Arjun dropped the sword. He reached out with his charred bone-stump and his one hand, pulling the Alpha's head into his own chest. He bit down, tearing the beast's jugular out with his teeth.
The silence that followed was absolute. Twelve Awakened Beasts lay slaughtered. Arjun sat in the center of the carnage, a broken, sightless ruin.
"It seems spite is overrated," he rasped, his voice a wet rattle.
He leaned against the cooling carcass of the Alpha. He had won. Barely. Above him, the crowd was silent, frozen in a state of primal terror. They had come to see a traitor die; they had stayed to see a monster born.
Arjun felt his life slipping away. The cold was returning. He heard distant screams, the sound of steel clashing, but he couldn't understand what was happening.
Am I finally going to die? Suddenly, a voice—cold, ancient, and resonant—echoed not in his ears, but in the very fabric of his soul.
[You have been Cursed by the Shadow God.]