Today is my naming day.

I'm about to cross my first hurdle in this world: child mortality... I'm 3 years and 8 months old and am on my way to get the blessings of the Gods at the Temple. Time in this world flows a bit strangely: years are longer yet people age slower.

This isn't Earth this is Erendia, as it is called around here. I don't really know how or why I got here.

I died on Earth, of that I'm sure. My third line of chemo was a failure and cancer got me for good. I was reborn while strangely preserving the memories of my former life and spirited away to this other world.

A reward for my good karma? That remains to be seen. I believe I was part of « the good guys ». I've never harmed anyone and tried my best to be of help wherever I could, yet I was no saint either.

And this new world looks nothing like a reward.

Erendia is harsh, as one can guess from the child mortality being high enough to warrant a celebration for surviving 3 winters... Underdeveloped, they seem to be at an early middle-age stage. I've seen some iron and mostly bronze tools but no steel, nor high-end technology.

I'm born a commoner in a quite poor family. My parents are common workers, life is tough but we make do better than some.

Last but not least it is dangerous: there are monsters roaming the wilderness outside of the city walls.

So definitively not a nice, welcoming, cosy world. Though I firmly believe I've never been evil enough to deserve purgatory. This rebirth feels like neither a reward nor punishment, it's very confusing.

On the plus side: there seems to be some magic going around.

I haven't seen much of it yet but its existence is commonly accepted. The city is protected from monsters by powerful mages that we are to revere.

There is also a thing called Chi that allows for enhanced physical performances. My grandfather has some and my father a little bit too, so maybe I'll get that too. I hope there is some heredity going for it and that I'll get some superpowers as I grow up.

The gods are a real thing in this world.

Just like in all the mythological stories I've read back on Earth, they meddle with mortals' daily life. Their priests are bestowed some holy powers by the god they worship. It is different from magic though, as it is more borrowing someone else's power, with his permission, rather than genuine magic. The effects are impressive nonetheless and the few « miracles » I've spectated till now made a huge impression on me.

Finally, Humans aren't the only sapients around.

There are other sapient races, supported by the gods. Some can be seen in this very city. I've already met a few Elves. They aren't as beautiful as one could expect : they are the slender androgynous type, with long ears, lean noses, delicates features, and all, but they aren't the pale archetype. They range from suntanned to dark-skinned and their faces are too angular and awkwardly stretched to be considered beautiful by Earth's standards. They look more like sunburnt aliens than the beautiful blond and pale models any fantasy aficionados would expect.

There are also some Beastkins. One of the girls in my house block is a catgirl. Again she was quite the let down as she looks like a mix between a human and a Persian cat: with a chubby round flattened face and nose. Her ears, whiskers, and tail are nice though but no sexy catgirl in sight for now.

The last race I've happened to meet till now is also the strangest: Trollkins.

They are quite fun: 1,5m tall piles of rocks, round short limbs, gravel-like skin, and 6 drill-like fingers that can crush rock like soft butter. They mostly work as miners and since mining is one of the big activities in this city there are a few of them to be seen around.

There are many others races. Grandma's stories talk about the 8 god chosen races but I have yet to encounter them.

My journey isn't as ideal as those transmigrations stories in which the hero magically appears out of nowhere and is 16 to 18 years old from the get-go, filled to the brim with skills and cheatlike powers and tasked with a holy mission.

I'm facing a true rebirth, starting from scratch and with no shortcut to success in sight. What's worse is that my condition as a commoner makes even my survivability questionable. We fare better than the servs who are living in slave-like conditions but life isn't easy either.

I sigh as I remember the hardships of my early days in this world.

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Hearing me sigh, Mom asks me if I'm anxious about the ceremony. I shake my head in denial and tell her I'm just tired because it's late, which is true: nightbell rang just earlier meaning it's already past my usual bedtime and my young body is still short on stamina.

I'm also cold. We are in early spring, nights are still crisp enough to make our breath condense. My cloak isn't lined with fur or anything fancy and barely helps to stay warm.

At least it's not raining, my feet are only wrapped in simple leather and cloth strips, so walking in cold puddles would be the worst.

In the summer I'm barefoot most of the time, shoes aren't an item for commoner's children. I just stand closer to mom to warm up a little. She puts her arm upon my shoulders, covering my back with her own cloak to shield me from the cold bite of the northern winds.

Tonight it is easy to walk the streets: it is “daynight”. On the 24th of each month, the twin moons are both full in the night sky.

They cast an eerie pink light on the streets: the white radiance of Jalea's moon mixes with the red-ish glow of Arteus's moon to make for a permanent sunset setting. It will last until dawn.

On these Daynights it is customary to celebrate one of the 15 Gods of the Pantheon. This month is Tupu's celebration. She is the goddess of time, growth, change, and ageing and is thus used as the marker for one's civil age. Since it's my fourth spring and Tupu's fest, it is time for me to thank the gods for surviving till now and pledge myself to them.

But first, let's start this story from the beginning, the transmigration:

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   Back on Earth, I was a veterinarian.

I've always felt a deep connection with animals be it dogs or birds, sheep or ferrets, tarantulas or dolphins. I must admit snakes weren't on my « to pet » list but otherwise, I was drawn to every animal.

From my earliest age, I was surrounded by them and this only grew as I aged. I was quick-witted, curious about everything, and had a knack for biology. Naturally, I decided to dedicate my life to caring for them and choose to become a veterinarian.

Things were going smoothly for me until I got diagnosed with “Non Hodgkin's Lymphoma” at age 28, just as I was finishing my training.

At first, the doctors were reassuring, it was a “regional” disease and I was young, the odds were in my favour. I've played XCOM, I should have known better.

My family took the news well and was a great support, it was just a hardship to overcome. Treatment went fine and soon, I was in remission.

It was a wake-up call for me. It made me realise I had to do something with my life. I joined animal protection associations, trying to make the most out of this second chance.

As a vet I was traveling across the world, tending to animals on almost every continent, fighting to save their living habitats, and protecting their rights. I've sailed to protest against whale-hunting, cared for gorillas and lions, but also helped sheperds and herders learn to take better care of their herd and even helped in a free clinic, healing pets of poor people and taking care of stray dogs and cats.

It was fulfiling in its own way, I was as busy as I could.

Three years later I was in relapse and this time it was harsher.

The dissident cells were spreading like wildflowers, blooming everywhere on the CT scan, this weed was taking root in every inch of my body.

Mom was in despair, my brother was my light in the darkness: one of the few who could still make jokes on me dying (and they were funny).

At the end of treatment, although successful, my doctors were far more warier this time. Less smiles and walking on eggs when talking about remission.

So I decided to enjoy my life a bit more. When I wasn't tending to our four-legged friends, I was a party animal. I indulged myself in parties, alcohols, women and a few drugs (all legal, I swear), binging on everything life had to offer.

I was right to do so. As spring came back, it brought with it deadly flowers blooming again inside of me. “Third time is a charm,” they say; not for me. Treatments failed, bone marrow transplant failed (sorry bro, you tried), my body was failing.

I was a husk of myself: thinned, drained of life and energy. The cancer was a tick slowly draining me from my essence and I could feel that I wouldn't last for much longer.

As I was in isolation when my blood was running thin on white cells, my last good action was to hook-up my brother with one of the nurses. She was a sunny smiled Colombian and was a great fit for my joker of a brother. If they became an item to last, I'll deserve a toast at their wedding. I was enjoying this spooky prospect: playing the matchmaker-from-beyond-the-grave.

I could sense the end coming: the doctors' frowns were getting deeper and deeper and they were talking less and less during visitation, so I made peace with my life.

Although not as long as I could have wished for, it was a happy one nonetheless, with a loving family, good friends, a fulfilling job.

I wish it lasted longer but all good parties must come to an end and then comes the time for the clean-up.

Mom was the saddest. I was spending more time comforting her than the other way around. Seeing her cry was more painful than what the disease itself could do to my body. I'd rather suffer more and be able to bring her solace than have her cry because of me.

Pneumonia was the culprit, with multiple organ failures, in the intensive care unit.

Per my request there was no invasive respiratory assistance, it wouldn't have changed the final outcome. My agony was a fine one: painless, a bit short on breath but bearable and my family was close by.

It was the first time in my life I saw my dad cry. I told my goodbyes, I had left them some letters too, some things are just too hard to tell and I hoped it would help them grieve and my eyes closed, holding the hands of my kins.

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  My world went black.

Not just black but total void: silence, the absence of feel, touch, or smell.

The strangest thing with complete silence is that you've never experienced it. Normally you end up hearing your heartbeat, the rush of blood in your arteries, or the creaking of your joints but here I was, senselessly floating in nothingness.

At some point the silence would become so unbearable that you'd want to scream, just to hear something. Yet no sound was ever coming out. Worse, your very thoughts end up being loud. So loud that it is maddening.

I don't know how long it lasted: in the void, you cant keep track of time. The only thing I can clearly remember was thinking “I think, therefore I am.” Thank you, Descartes, at least I was “something”.

Yet I would rather be a ghost or a poltergeist than live in the void, it would be less boring. At worst, bring me heaven's judgment and throw me in hell or something. I'll welcome the torments of flames and succubi, anything but the deafening silence and howling of your own thoughts echoing in the void of your mind.

Things brutally changed when out of nowhere, a scorching light burned my retinae (lucky for me I had no eyes).

I felt a hook take a grasp on my soul, followed by a strong pull dragging me towards the light.

As I was getting closer to this searing sun, my senses were coming back: sounds like a thousand roaring jetplanes that would have shaken my bones to the breakpoint (if I had bones), pain like a million red-hot needles piercing every inch of my soul, every kind of tastes running on my tongue (ever ate a plate of shit with fudge and spices on it?)...

All my senses were overwhelmed by the brutal assault coming from all directions. If I could, I would have passed out but without a body, I had to live through it. My torment brutally came to an end as I felt compressed to the point of popping, then squeezed in a tiny shell.

A waft of ice-cold air hit my face and I opened my eyes. I was a newborn and after a slap on the butt to make me wail, I was put in my mother's embrace.

And thus my new life began.