Author's Corner:

A shorter chapter this time around, folks. As I get better, I plan to release chapters of at least 5k words each. But for now, I'll make due with this

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The sun had begun to set, the visibility of the forest dropping to eerie levels. The burly gray clouds tumbling through the sky finally decided they had enough and released the rain. The cold droplets woke Johan with a start. He grimaced, his cracked ribs sending a sharp pain cascading through the right side of his body. His mouth tasted of iron, and a searing pain on his lower lip let him know that it was split.

He looked down at the ropes that bound him. They were thick ropes, tied firmly, but not too firmly. Thank God for that.

This was his first day trapped in the forest. The rain sated his thirst for now, but nothing could be done for his hunger. His stomach rumbled, echoing through the quiet, dark forest. The jagged bark of the Oak tree he laid against dug into his back. He tried  to adjust to no avail, his face started to turn red.

"With the weather the way it is, no one will probably come and get me until morning," he thought aloud. If they come get me at all...

His clothes were soaked by now, sticking closely to his body. He struggles against the ropes that bind him, probing for a weakness. The rope is sturdy and his struggles only lead to the bark digging themselves deeper into his skin. He gritted his teeth and flared his nostrils. This fucker really went too far.

On the second day of being trapped in the forest, the hunger set in. The rain stopped, but the thick murky clouds still loomed overhead, threatening another downpour. Johan fell in and out of sleep, shaking and sneezing from the wet that seeped into him. His skin felt clammy and his body felt weak. The rain washed the blood off of his face, leaving only dark red-brown stains on his shirt.

His arms began to chafe terribly. The pain of his injuries and the relentless stabbing of the tree bark made him seethe with rage. He sat there, helplessly, his head hanging down trying to think of a way out of the situation. He began to shout for help, hoping it would echo throughout the forest and attract someone's attention.

After hours of shouting, his voice went hoarse and his throat felt ragged. The hunger set in with a ferocity. He wasn't particularly thirsty, but his stomach kept churning and doing backflips, demanding that he eat immediately. It didn't help that he needed to pee.

The only thing on his mind was Kieran and his friends. He constantly replayed the last scene he remembered: getting slapped across the face three times and threatened. He shook with rage, the feeling of humiliation and helplessness fresh in his mind.

On the third day, he drifted in and out of consciousness. The hunger was painful at this point, and the agitation from the chafing and tree bark sent his mind spiraling. He believed that he would die.

Seeking a way to escape the pain, he began to steady his breathing. Each breath agitated his cracked ribs, sending pain barreling throughout his body like streaks of lightning. But he endured it. He let go of any thoughts of revenge, humiliation, regret, or anger. The only thing Johan desired was to escape the pain and hunger. His body began to numb and the solitude of his mind occupied his full attention.

After a few hours of silence and deep breathing, that familiar whooshing sound resounded in his ears. He left his body.

His astral form descended in front of his physical body. He was shocked by his current state. His body looked like that of a tattered doll. The bones of his face were clearly exposed at this point, his face was still swollen and discolored in some areas, his shirt was torn and painted red and brown from blood and dirt. Someone  passing by might mistake him for a corpse. He shuddered. He felt the connection to his body growing weaker by the day.

He heard heavy panting and grunts around him. He flinched hard, making his body rimrod straight. Taking a deep breath, he slowly turned around. The ghosts surrounded his body at a respectable distance, panting. They crouched low and had a manic gleam in their eye, as if staring at a priceless treasure that they're willing to fight to the death for. However, they still didn't put him in their  eyes; no matter where his astral body moved, they never even turned around to look.

It's out of my hands.

He found a spot next to his body, and sat down. He began to meditate in the presence of the ghosts; it was his way of fighting his fear of them. That oddity in the air gleefully presented itself to Johan, causing his mouth to quirk up. This is at least one thing I can look forward to while I wait for the end... He sat for countless hours focusing on that oddity, understanding it's quality, letting it flow inside of him, and letting a little of it blow out with each breath. He quickly lost track of time.

Johan spent several days in deep meditation, gaining insight on the essence he sensed. It made him feel whole again; he wasn't disturbed by the hunger and pain that plagued his physical body. He felt his connection to his body growing dreadfully weaker. Being in this meditative state slowed his bodily functions, helping to maintain his life, but that could only work for so long.

His astral body felt strong and supple now; it was a rich warm red color, glowing  healthily. It illuminated the faces of the ghosts around him, revealing their  ghastly looks of rage and determination. They were in a frenzy now. There were around 20 of them, each a different size and color, staring at his body ravenously. They got dangerously close to his body, whispering insanity into his ear.

"Let go, child..."

"You're not needed in this world, give in to us..."

Johan shuddered. He lost all hope of living. He walked over to the founders grave to sate his curiosity before the end. Over the grave, a middle aged man sat cross legged, watching the approaching Johan with amusement. His body shined a bright sky blue. His hands rested in his lap and a smirk on his lips.

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"Back again, eh?" the man said.

"Yeah. I was beaten bloody and left to starve in the forest." he chuckled. He walked over and sat in front of the man, cross legged.

"You're taking that awfully well, aren't you?"

"Well, there's nothing I can do about it now. The monsters are surrounding my body."

"Monsters?" the man titled his head in curiosity.

"Yeah, those humanoid ghost things." Johan shuddered.

"Ahh, those are world walkers just like you and me."

"World walkers," Johan said, trying the word on his lips. "What is a world walker?"

The old man gave him a hard look for a moment, trying to figure out whether or not Johan was joking. Johan flinched under the intense scrutiny.

"World walkers are those who walk the world in their soul form. Not sure how a person can become a world walker without even knowing what it is."

"Eh, calm down man. I just knew it by a different name is all," he said, trying to avoid the topic. "But why do they seem mindless and... evil?"

The man paused for a moment, looking down at his hands with furrowed brows. He considered his next words carefully.

"Have you heard the saying, 'No saint dies in his sleep?'"

"Saint? Like a nun or something?"

The man stared at him with a frown. "No. Those with red, orange, or yellow Glorys are called mages. Those with green or blue Glorys are called Saints. Those with indigo or violet Glorys are called Gods."

A piercing wail cut through the forest, sending wildlife scattering in all directions. It was a guttural, inhumane howl that no human would be able to replicate. Johan flinched. He felt his physical body being moved. There's nothing I can do about it. I don't wanna see what happens anyway.

"Oh. Well, I haven't heard of it. But how is this relevant?" he said, keeping strong eye contact and ignoring the commotion just now.

"A saint's death is often brutal and tragic. As practitioners of the art, we'll often be used for war, assassination, murder, kidnappings, and more. It warps us, makes us something darker.

"Odd things can happen to a saint at death. A saint's soul can be strong enough to survive without a body for a time. However, the longer they go without an anchor, the weaker their souls become."

"What's an anchor," Johan cut in, leaning forward intrigued by the information.

"Something that ties you to the world. Your soul is normally anchored to your physical body. But upon it's death, that anchor is lost. If one is not practiced in the Mysteries of the Soul, they won't have the knowledge to create a new anchor.

"As time passes and their soul weakens, they begin to lose themselves and what they stood for. All they are left with are the strong feelings they felt before their death. And how many saints die a happy man? The intense feelings that are left after decades, or centuries even, of wandering the world are feelings of rage, hatred, lust, and regret."

"Does this happen to every saint?"

"No. Some saints die happy, some die content, some without even knowing what hit them. Those who die slowly enough to think about the rage, regret, and jealousy in their heart have a high chance of becoming a world walker after death."

Johan thought about this in silence for a moment. "What other odd things can happen at one's death?"

The man paused again, staring deep into Johan's eyes as if looking for something.

"What do you know about dungeons?"

"Uhh," Johan scratched his head. "Nothing?"

"Then... I have nothing more to tell you."

Johan shrugged. "So tell me your story, bud. Looks like I'll be free for the next couple of centuries anyway."

"I died a long time ago, it's nothing remarkable. People saw me as a potential threat and decided to get rid of me before it was too late." he said calmly, clenching his fist.

"That's life for you, man. People would rather destroy others instead of better themselves."

"You say somethings beyond your age," the man laughed.

"I guess. I'm Johan Diedrich. And you are?" he asked, offering his hand.

"I'm Jed. Pleased to meet you." he said, gripping the hand.

Johan frowned. "Jed..."

Suddenly, Johan's astral body was yanked towards the village. Jed just watched him with faint curiosity. He streaked through the sky like a red comet and was sucked into his limp body. He woke in bed with a start. The feeling of pain and hunger slammed into  him, causing him to scream soundlessly and grip the sheets with all of the strength he could muster.

Then a figure by his side waved a hand and a warm energy coursed through his body, easing his pain. He relaxed back into the bed and looked at his surroundings. Adamaris and Baldwin stood at his side, faces contorted in worry.

"Mom, Dad..." Johan rasped.

They sighed with relief in unison. Then Adamaris' body went still; a hard look settling in her eyes. Johan shuddered, and it had nothing to do with the cold.

"How long was I missing?" he asked.

"You were gone for 7 days," she said, her voice choking.

"We asked all around for you, but no one knew where you were. We asked to form a search party, but no one wanted to spend time looking for someone with a red Glory," she said, her face turning red with rage. She paused and took a breath.

"Mom..."

"We looked all over, and found you by chance. You were so quiet and thin that we hardly even recognized you," her eyes started to moisten.

"Was it Kieran?" she asked with a shaky voice, tears tumbling down her slender cheeks.

Johan nodded weakly.

"Jojo comes first, Adie... lets get him cleaned up and nurse him back to health," he said calmly. "After that, we'll go have a nice chat with Arsen."

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