Second chances are rare, especially when it comes to life and death. Javan found himself lying on a makeshift bed inside of a large tent. Around him stood a group of around thirty people, some staring down at him, others talking among each other in hushed tones as people entered and exited. At first, Javan thought he had arrived at a tent hospital by the grace of God, but the clothes the people wore soon cleared up that misconception.

Their fit could be considered Hawaiian. The women wore what looked like hula skirts along with a flower bikini top. Necklaces made up of pearls and seashells wrapped around their necks. Their frizzy dark hair, likewise, was adorned with shells, stones, starfish, and other objects one might find at the beach. The men were shirtless, though they wore shorts made out of linen. All of them were barefoot.

Each person was armed with either a spear or club. Dark tattoos depicting mythical creatures appeared on the people’s chests, arms, and legs. They all had a good deal of muscle too. Despite the lack of armor, they appeared to be a platoon of sorts.

Javan was most surprised at how tall the people were. All the people he saw there looked to be at least six feet or above. Their arms and legs were longer than the average human, even considering the height differential. Everyone there looked like an NBA star in the making.

The exception to the rule sat closest to him. She was about his height, 5’9, with green marble earrings. On her arms were tattoos of a large snake devouring a spear.

“Have your wounds healed yet, traveler?”

Javan looked at his chest. Much like yesterday, the wound had healed except for this time a red circle appeared on his chest. The circle felt warm.

“Goodness, it’s done. I was worried that my blood wouldn’t be effective on you for some reason.”

She yawned and a forked tongue the size of a tree branch emerged. Javan nearly jumped out of the bed. If he had any more energy, he would have gotten out of dodge quicker than Usain Bolt. The other people in the tent looked at him with worry. Everyone besides the forked-tongue girl backed away.

“What in the world is that?” Javan asked

“What do you mean?” asked the forked-tongue girl, swishing her tongue to and thro. “Do I have something in my teeth?”

Javan wondered if he had entered some type of snake cult who had access to some weird prosthetics. At this point, anything goes. What worried him the most was this could be the afterlife. If so, he was deeply disappointed.

“What’s going on? Where am I? Who are you? Oh, God.” His voice was a mixture of desperation and confusion.

“Oh, no. I hope my blood didn’t disrupt your emotions.” She placed her hands over Javan’s hands only for Javan to pull back. She shook her head.

“The blood from the left side of my tongue is a cure, you see, but maybe for people like you it might have some negative effects.”

It took too much energy for Javan not to yell.

“So you're telling me you healed me...with your blood. You healed my implement, the gaping hole in my chest, by biting your tongue.” She nodded.

“Correct, the blood from my left side of my tongue is an antidote for almost any wound, but the blood on my right is a deadly poison.’

“Right.” Javan wanted to take a nap. Only a couple minutes after waking and he was already exhausted.”

“What’s all this commotion?” A voice bellowed from outside the tent. At the sound of the voice, all the other people in the tent bowed their heads.

A woman entered the tent who put all the others to shame. A Ms. Goliath, at minimal seven feet tall, with curly black hair that nearly touched the roof of the tent. She wore a flower crown adorned with emeralds. Red war paint covered her arms and face with her forehead, large and prominent, showcasing the image of a fire-breathing dragon.

Her demeanor matched her intimidating appearance. She spoke with vigor to the others around her, issuing out commands and instructions like a drill sergeant. Her walk reminded Javan of a stampeding elephant. Anyone with a brain would get out of the way.

“Stheno, has our special guest healed yet?”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“Yes, Empress.” If Stheno bowed any further, her head would have punctured the dirt below.

The large lady touched Stheno’s shoulder, and she rose.

“I told the Serpentines to make camp here for the day. I judge that we would be safe here.”

“I think this is true.” Stheno opened her mouth to say more but instead shook her head, her eyes not daring to meet the Empress.

The large lady turned her attention to Javan.

“What say you, traveler? Do you have the energy to stand?” Her ruler-sized finger pointed directly at Javan’s face. The gesture was off-putting, but Javan thought it best not to get offended. She seemed like the type not to take crap from anyone.

“I think so.” He eased himself off the bed and shakily stood up. Standing up only emphasized how short he was to these titans. Looking at their faces was like seeing the heads on Mt. Rushmore. When Javan tried to see eye-to-eye with the large woman, she lifted her chin making the already difficult task insurmountable.

“What is your name, traveler?” Her finger was still pointing at Javan.

“My name is Javan Lambert. Please don’t hurt me.”

For the briefest of moments, a smile crossed the stern lady's face. Only for a second though did it last before her serious face returned with a vengeance as if compensating for her earlier weakness.

“I am daughter six of the Volcanian family, Estreia.” She retracted her finger and replaced it with an open palm. Javan took that as an offer for a handshake. He grabbed her hand and began shaking it, only for one warrior to jump and shove him hard on the bed. Startled, Javan looked around. All the people who were previously bowing armed themselves, their eyes fixated on Javan’s every movement. The man who had pushed him on dangled a sword aimed right at Javan’s neck. The blade was as dark as midnight.

“Enough,” said Estreia. She turned around to give each of them a stern look. The guards lowered their weapons and entered an even lower bow. The man who had about punctured Javan’s larynx fell to the floor and kowtowed, his sword falling to the ground beside him.

“Forgive them,” she said. “They forget that the customs of your people differ from our own.”

Javan shuddered. Whatever these people were, they were certainly foreign. He wondered if he had high-fived her would they have cut off his head.

“My bad. I acted out of line, I suppose.” For extra measure, he bowed his head. That gesture seemed to loosen the tension that had been built as the warriors loosened the grip on their weapons. Stheno even smiled at him.

“Nothing to worry about, traveler.” Stheno said, though her own face appeared worried. “Sorry, even though you’re a special guest, touching the palms of royalty is a bit...well, I think you understand from the response. Especially since the Empress is...”

“Stheno,” said Estreia, slamming her foot into the ground. “You speak too much.”

“My Empress, I dishonor you. Please forgive me.” Now it was her turn to kowtow.

Javan scoured the room, looking at the strange people around him. So many questions flooded his head that he thought his brain would explode.

“Are you guys my allies?” That wasn’t the first question he thought of, but he believed it to be the most important.

“Yes,’ said Estreia. “In fact, we are the greatest allies you can ever find in this world. I can assure you that we protect you to the best of our ability. Isn’t that right?”

The warriors in and outside the tent cheered so loudly, Javan thought a miniature earthquake had struck the area.

“That’s good to hear,” said Javan nervously. “And so actually, that leads into my next question. Where exactly am I?” He was met with silence.

“That’s a bit of a harder question to answer, I’m afraid,” said Estreria. “To say our exact location would likely mean nothing to you since you are a foreigner to our world though you are no longer in danger of being in the ritual zone as you were before.

“‘Our world.’ You keep on saying things like that. Is this the afterlife?’”

“No and yes. You see you are both alive and dead. In one world, the world that you come from, you are indeed dead, killed by a member of the Fatalists. In this world, you nearly bled out due to a stab wound likely by the same organization. If we hadn’t found you, and Stheno used her blood to heal your wound, you would have been dead for good.”

“A different world? Are you saying I died and got reincarnated into a different world? This can’t...” Javan remembered the dream he had, the dream that felt so real but was ultimately, logically, just a dream. But now, he realized the truth.”

“The specifics of how your soul merged with ours is a bit misunderstood as of this moment. Our prophets have been agonizing over your existence for quite some time now. We understand that you have been in-and-out of this world multiple times for a period of about a month. It seems that due to the death of your previous world, your soul has now moved on to this realm.”

“Is there a way I can go back?”

“Uncertain, but unlikely. Although if the chance exists, one like you can only achieve after visiting the capital of the Empire.”

“So I’m stuck with you guys until you figure out the revival process?”

“You will be treated kindly and given a high-class life.”

“And that Fatalist group you mentioned. They entered my world. How?”

“Uncertain.”

“Why do they want to kill me?”

“To satisfy their rituals, I suppose.”

“And the Fatalist guy or whatever who killed me. Where is he now?”

“I don’t…” Suddenly, a man ran into the tent. Scars covered his chest with blood dripping from the freshly made wounds.

“They’re here, My Empress. A clergy of them not guided by an archbishop. The Fatalists. He dropped to the floor and never came back up.”