The rain had stopped a few hours ago, but drops were still falling from the leaves and needles of the surrounding trees. It had lasted a long time, and the ground was soaked and muddy, with large puddles forming everywhere. Especially in the deep tire tracks where the earth had been compacted by the weight of the vehicles. Thick clouds of fog crept steadily overhead. The large claws of the carrion crow deftly clung to the fabric of the soaked jacket. It wasn't interested in the numerous earthworms that had been pushed out of the ground by the wetness. It had found something better. The bird puffed up its white and black feathers as it stalked over the lifeless body to better withstand the rising cold wind. It made a low croaking sound. When it reached the collar of the jacket, it began to peck at the body's neck, gradually tearing small pieces from the grayish flesh. It devoured them greedily, pecking deeper and deeper into the hole until its beak was full and sticky with dark blood. Minutes passed and the bird suddenly stood still until it began to shake uncontrollably. Panicked, it spread its wings, flapping and screaming, then rose from the corpse and flew a few meters until it fell to the ground like a stone. Lying in the mud with its wings twisted, it twitched a few more times until the life drained from it.

Another day passed, and another night, until the rays of the morning sun broke through the darkness and touched the corpse. Light. Warmth. A piercing pain, so deep and piercing, so intense and powerful, as if it came from another world. The corpse trembled. The cold, dead heart beat once and then again. It lurched and stumbled erratically from one movement to the next. A muscle that seemed to have found eternal peace long ago woke up against all the laws of nature. Sergey slowly raised his head, lifted his face out of the dirt, and with difficulty spat out the mud in his open mouth. Then he gasped for air. It burned as if he was breathing liquid fire, a feeling as if his chest would burst at any moment. Life had returned to him. He wanted to scream out the pain that was raging inside him, but he couldn't. Only a gurgling groan escaped his throat as he slowly tried to sit up. He struggled to get up and staggered as if he had just learned to walk. Sergey tried to take a step when his knees failed him and he fell forward into the mud again. Everything was spinning around him, he was suffocating. Half an hour passed before he tried again. This time he was more successful. The dizziness had subsided, his heart beat more evenly, his breathing calmed, and he could see more clearly. He finally stood, awkwardly wiping the dirt from his face and arms. Then he was startled to see his skin. It was gray, blotchy, and his fingertips were almost black. What had happened? How did he get here? It wasn't a dream, it felt too real.

"Good morning," he heard a soft voice behind him and was startled again. Turning, he saw a slender figure sitting on a large stone. The body was blurred, almost transparent. It seemed to be made of dull light. There were no facial features. Sergey couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman, and the voice didn't allow him to draw any conclusions. He narrowed his eyes, and although the figure was only a short distance away from him, he still couldn't make out any details.

"Who are you?" asked Sergey, slurring his words. It was terribly exhausting to speak. His tongue felt numb and heavy. He wasn't sure, but he had the impression that the figure was amused by the question.

"You need names, don't you? Just call me Stella," the figure replied, continuing to sit quietly.

"Stella?" Sergey repeated, wiping the long, sticky hair from his face. It sounded like a woman's name to him, but obviously it meant nothing in terms of gender. It was more like the figure had just made up a name for itself.

"What's your name?" Stella asked as a counter question. Sergey thought about it. His name... It took him a few moments to remember it.

"Sergey. Sergey Gromov," he finally answered. That was his name, wasn't it?

"You must still feel bad, Sergey," Stella said, examining him closely. In response to the question, he spat a mixture of dirt and blood onto the ground, which had just come up from his stomach into his mouth. His clothes were soaked with mud, and small lumps kept falling from him. He looked like a fresh bog corpse.

"Yes," he confirmed, thinking again. "How did I get here?"

"What do you remember?" Stella replied.

"I remember driving. With... With something. Or on something. Then there were colors and a flash. A flash that hit me..." As Sergey tried to remember, his right hand inevitably slipped to his stomach. There was a hole in his clothes. He took off his jacket and let it fall to the ground. In this soaked state it was of no use to him anyway. Then he lifted his shirt and felt his skin. There was a scar, like a bullet hole. Could it really be that he had been shot? He felt his back and felt a scar there as well. It was a little deeper than the one on his stomach. "What happened? What happened to me?" he stammered, stunned.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"You were dead. It took a lot of effort to make you functional again," Stella replied as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

"You... what? I was dead?" he gasped.

"Of course you were. Sergey, you were face down in the mud for the ninth day. I'm sure there are people who can hold their breath for a long time, but that would make you the sole and eternal record holder. Besides, you've already seen your arms, right? What does a body that has started to decompose look like? By the way, why don't you try your neck," Stella explained calmly. Sergey wasn't sure if he really understood what had just been said. But he obeyed and felt his neck. There was a hole in his flesh, so deep that he could stick half of his index finger into it.

"What...?" he began.

"You don't feel the pain yet, do you?" said Stella, pointing at his neck. Sergey just shook his head. It was true, he couldn't feel the injury. Should that worry him? He didn't know.

"How can all this be and ... why? If I was dead, why did you bring me back? Who killed me and what am I doing here in the middle of nowhere? Where did I come from?" he asked helplessly. "And who are you?" Stella hesitated to answer.

"I can't tell you who I am. Not yet. The time is not right, it would be too much for you now. And unfortunately I can't tell you who you are either. I wish I knew. Unfortunately, we haven't been connected long enough for that," the figure of transparent light nodded.

"Connected?" Sergey asked. "Connected in what way?"

"Yes, connected. Well, if we weren't connected, you'd still be lying in the mud decomposing. I think the way it is now is the better option for you."

"To be honest, I'm not sure yet. But what happens to me now? What should I do?" Sergey kept asking. He was too weak and helpless to be angry about all this. He just wanted answers, and he couldn't ask anyone but Stella.

"You will heal. It will take a while, but your body will recover. I think so. But the question of what to do can only be answered by you. Listen deep within yourself. Maybe you'll remember something, maybe you'll find something. Details from your past. Don't forget that your brain was also dead for nine days, and your memories may be lost forever because of the damage. A human brain suffers enormous damage when it is not properly supplied with blood," Stella explained. Sergey just nodded resignedly and began to think. At first there was nothing, nothing but his name. It seemed to him as if he had never had a past, as if he were a blank sheet of paper with nothing but a single signature on it. Then he remembered the outline of a woman for whom he had positive feelings. But there was nothing more. No name, no place, no voice, no information. He tried again, but to no avail. Suddenly, something dawned on him. He had a purpose before he died. That was why he was here, in the middle of nowhere. He had wanted to go south.

"South," he muttered.

"South?" asked Stella.

"Yes," Sergey confirmed.

"And why?" the figure replied, making a gesture with both hands that was difficult to interpret.

"I don't know. Not anymore, it seems. Where do you get to if you follow this path south?" he asked, nodding in the direction of the poor gravel road.

"We'll see. At least we have a direction now. That's a start," Stella said, her voice more cheerful now.

"Does that mean you're coming with me?" Sergey asked in surprise.

"I will. We're connected now. Forever. It could just be that..."

"That what?" interrupted Sergey. Stella hesitated again before answering, apparently searching for the right words. Sergey at least realized that he would have to be patient if he wanted to find out more.

"Let's put it this way: we'll see how your brain develops," the figure replied. The former hunter didn't know what to think. Maybe everything would work out? But he had a feeling that the chances were slim. But Stella was right: at least they had a direction now.

"Before we leave..." he began.

"Yes?" the figure caught his eye.

"I'm suddenly so hungry, don't you have anything to eat?" Stella looked amused again.

"That's also a good sign, a sign that your body is starting to work again. If you look over there in the mud," the figure rose silently from the stone she was sitting on and pointed to the spot, "there is a dead bird. It's a little soggy, but it should still be edible." Sergey wiped a lump of earth with a few blades of grass stuck in it from his shoulder. A bird, that didn't sound too bad. He stomped over and picked up the dead carrion crow, then took the gravel road south. He shuffled along slowly, limping slightly as he gradually plucked the feathers from the bird in his hands to make it edible. The dull, shining figure floated wordlessly beside him. Only the crunching of stones under Sergey's boots could be heard from the unlikely pair.