Juliana Woods died.
No one noticed—not for two whole days. By then, the stench of her body had begun to permeate the bandits' filthy den, and even those who barely regarded her in life couldn’t ignore her passing. She was unremarkable in every way: a gardener before her nation fell, frail and quiet, with no family or allies to mourn her.
Her homeland, a small and nameless nation nestled in the rolling green hills of the eastern territories, was sacked by orc hordes. The devastation was swift and absolute. The men—warriors, farmers, merchants alike—were slaughtered. The women and children were taken in chains, their cries echoing into the wilderness.
But Juliana had not fallen to the orcs. No, her fate was crueler still.
In the chaos that followed the invasion, bandits rose to power, filling the void left by her nation's collapse. They prowled the outskirts of ruined villages, scavenging what the orcs had left behind. Juliana, hiding among the roots of a great oak tree, had thought herself safe. But the bandits found her.
Her captors stripped her of what little remained of her dignity. Servitude became her new existence, her body a tool for venting their anger and desire. She was fragile, both in body and spirit, and did not last long in their brutal hands.
Lying on a bed of filthy straw, she stared at the cracked and dirt-smeared mirror propped in the corner of the dim hut. A phantom of the girl she once was stared back. Before all this, she’d been plain: dark brown hair, pale skin, a smattering of freckles across her nose. Her average looks had been a quiet blessing, sparing her the worst of the attention some of the prettier captives endured. Those women were prized by the bandits, used and broken over weeks or months.
Juliana, by comparison, was disposable.
Her wounds—infected, festering—had long since numbed. The pain, once unbearable, had dulled to a distant throb. Hunger gnawed at her stomach, but she had no strength left to eat even if food were offered. She was fading, and part of her welcomed it.
This world, she thought, had offered her nothing but suffering. If given a second chance, she vowed, she would never let herself be weak again.
When death came, it was not with fanfare or drama. It was quiet, cold, and absolute. She felt the tendrils of darkness coil around her, pulling her soul from her broken body. Relief washed over her as the last threads of her mortal suffering slipped away.
But death was not the end.
Juliana awoke in a vast, empty space—a realm of eerie silence and faint luminescence. Before her stretched endless rows of archways, each unique in design. Some were ornate, carved with celestial symbols or intricate patterns. Others were plain, weathered, and unassuming. They stood suspended in the void, anchored to nothing yet immovable.
Her first thought was that she’d been taken to some divine afterlife, though she quickly dismissed the notion. There was no warmth here, no sense of peace. Only purpose, though she couldn’t yet grasp its meaning.
A voice—a deep, resonant tone that seemed to echo from everywhere and nowhere—spoke.
“Juliana Woods, your mortal life has ended. Your soul has been weighed and deemed worthy of another chance. A path lies before you, should you choose to walk it.”
She turned, searching for the source of the voice, but found only the infinite doors. “Another chance?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Why me?”
The voice did not answer her question directly. “Your destination is Ultima, a realm untamed and wild. Few have survived its trials. Fewer still have conquered its secrets. You must forge your path.”
The words filled her with a strange mix of dread and hope. Juliana clenched her fists, her pale fingers trembling. In life, she had been powerless. A victim. A shadow of what she could have been.
Not this time.
She stepped forward, drawn to a particular archway. At its center was a sigil: a great tree, its roots twisting into a labyrinthine pattern. Something about it called to her, resonating deep within her soul.
When she placed her hand on the glowing portal, a warmth spread through her, and she felt it begin to suck her into this new world. Into Ultima Juliana stepped through.
She awoke in a dense forest shrouded in mist, the air thick with the scent of earth and decay. Massive, gnarled trees loomed overhead, their branches twisting like skeletal fingers. Her reflection shimmered in a nearby pool of water, and she gasped.
This was Ultima, the voice had said. A realm of untamed wilderness and ancient magic. Juliana clenched her fists.
She was no longer a victim.
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Juliana’s eyes fluttered open, and the first thing she felt was cold—a biting, bone-deep chill that wrapped around her like a shroud. Her breaths came in shallow gasps as she pushed herself upright, the damp earth clinging to her skin. The place she found herself in was not remarkable at first glance.
No, it was worse than that.
It was terrifying.
The forest around her was dark, suffocatingly so, with thick fog curling around the twisted trunks of ancient trees like ghostly tendrils. The branches clawed at the air above, black and gnarled, as if they sought to scrape at the heavens. Fear bubbled in her chest, sharp and immediate. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she tried to suppress the panic.
“I won’t be a victim again,” she whispered to herself, her voice trembling. Yet the truth weighed heavy on her shoulders. She was still weak. The frail girl who’d been tossed aside like garbage. Her magic—such as it was—was a feeble trick of plant growth, barely enough to coax a weed to bloom.
Here, in this forsaken forest, that magic would not save her.
Rising to her feet, Juliana became painfully aware of her vulnerability. She was naked, exposed to the biting air and whatever dangers lurked unseen. The fog pressed in closer, muting the world and twisting every shadow into something menacing. She stumbled forward, her arms crossing over her chest in a feeble attempt to shield herself from the cold and the oppressive feeling of being watched.
She spotted a long, sturdy branch half-buried in the soil and seized it. Dirt clung to her hands as she lifted it, testing its weight. It wasn’t much—a crude walking stick at best—but it gave her a sense of purpose, however small.
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Time slipped by, though she couldn’t tell how much. The forest seemed to stretch endlessly, the fog clinging stubbornly to the air like a veil. The ground beneath her bare feet was uneven, sometimes damp, sometimes sharp with hidden stones or gnarled roots. The trees creaked and groaned, as if protesting her intrusion, and every so often she caught a flicker of movement in the corner of her vision.
Each time she spun around, heart pounding, there was nothing there.
The oppressive silence was broken only by the sound of her own ragged breathing and the faint rustling of unseen things.
After what felt like hours, Juliana stumbled into a clearing. She stopped, her breath catching in her throat. At its center stood a solitary tree.
It was massive, towering above the surrounding forest with branches that stretched skyward like skeletal arms. Its bark was dark, almost black, and seemed to writhe as if alive, twisting into unnatural shapes that hinted at screaming faces or clawed hands. A faint pulse of energy radiated from it, tugging at something deep within her.
Her instincts screamed at her to turn back, to flee into the safety of the endless fog. But she couldn’t move. Something about the tree commanded her attention, drawing her closer. Her magic—weak and insignificant as it was—stirred faintly within her, resonating with the ancient, oppressive aura of the tree.
“This is no ordinary tree,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. She took a cautious step forward, then another, her grip tightening on the makeshift staff.
The air grew colder as she approached, the dark energy surrounding the tree becoming palpable. It was a weight pressing against her chest, a whisper in the back of her mind.
Then, the voice came.
“A body for the taking.”
It was shrill and piercing, a sound that cut through the fog like the wail of a banshee. Juliana froze, her blood turning to ice.
Before she could react, the tree moved.
Its branches lashed out with unnatural speed, twisting like serpents as they wrapped around her wrists, her legs, her waist. The bark was rough and cold, biting into her skin as it hoisted her into the air. She screamed, struggling against the impossible strength of the branches, but it was no use.
The tree’s trunk began to split, a jagged fissure opening at its center. It yawned wide like the maw of a beast, revealing an inky darkness within. A pale, spectral figure emerged from the shadows, its form flickering like smoke. It had no discernible features—only hollow eyes that burned with a malevolent light.
The specter shrieked, its voice echoing with a chorus of pain and rage.
Juliana’s struggles grew frantic as the branches pulled her closer to the gaping maw. She screamed, her voice raw, but the sound was muffled as the branches wrapped around her throat.
“No!” she choked out, thrashing wildly.
The specter surged forward, merging with the tree as the darkness within its trunk began to swirl. Juliana felt a coldness unlike anything she had ever known, a terrible, invasive presence clawing at her mind. It wasn’t just trying to kill her—it wanted to take her.
Her vision blurred as the tendrils of shadow enveloped her, pulling her into the heart of the tree.
Her scream was the last sound she heard before the darkness swallowed her whole.
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Juliana’s senses began to flicker back into focus, though she wished they hadn’t. The suffocating darkness pressed against her, damp and heavy, as though the very air inside the tree was alive and intent on crushing her. The eerie sound of the tree groaning around her filled her ears, a dreadful chorus of creaking wood and whispering shadows.
I survived the horrors of my old life for this? The thought clawed at her mind, despair threatening to overwhelm her.
Then, she felt it—the roots. They slithered like cold, slimy worms, twisting through her skin and burrowing into her flesh. The pain was immediate and excruciating, an invasive agony that made her arch her back and clench her teeth until her jaw ached. She wanted to scream, but her voice was caught in her throat, swallowed by the oppressive silence within the tree.
The spirit was here with her, its presence unmistakable. She felt it as an icy tendril coiling around her soul, probing and prying, searching for cracks in her defenses. A sharp, piercing wail filled her mind, the banshee-like voice seeping into every corner of her thoughts.
This is my body now, the voice hissed, a hundred whispers layered into one.
Juliana’s vision blurred as the spirit began its invasion. It wasn’t simply entering her; it was unmaking her, piece by piece, twisting her essence to make room for itself. Her memories flashed before her eyes—her garden, the faces of the bandits, the darkened forest. Each one seemed to shatter into fragments, drifting into the void.
But as the spirit tightened its grip, something deep within Juliana began to stir.
It started as a faint warmth in her chest, like the first ray of sunlight breaking through storm clouds. Then, it spread, rushing through her veins with an intensity that rivaled the invading cold. It wasn’t just a spark of resistance—it was something primal, ancient, and deeply rooted in her very being.
The warmth grew into a blaze, and she recognized it. It was the same magic she had always dismissed as weak, the gentle magic that coaxed seedlings to grow and flowers to bloom. But now, it was different. It wasn’t gentle. It was wild and unrelenting, a force of nature that refused to be tamed.
As the spirit clawed at her soul, Juliana’s magic surged in retaliation. The tree, with all its haunting power, was connected to her now. Its roots were entwined with hers, its life force flowing into her. Unwittingly, it had become her conduit.
She felt the centuries of energy the wraith-tree had absorbed—years of decay, torment, and death. The ancient magic of the tree and the spirit bound to it coursed into her like a raging torrent. It was overwhelming, threatening to drown her in its intensity, but Juliana didn’t resist.
If you want me, she thought, her resolve hardening, then I’ll take all of you instead.
Her magic latched onto the invading force, not fighting it but consuming it. The tree’s life force, the spirit’s essence, the centuries of accumulated power—they were hers now. The spirit screamed, its voice growing shrill and panicked as it realized what was happening.
“No! This cannot be!” it wailed, its presence splintering like glass. “You are nothing! You are—”
The voice was silenced as Juliana’s magic devoured it entirely.
The pain faded, replaced by an intoxicating rush of power. The magic she had once thought weak was now a roaring inferno, reshaped and reforged by the tree’s strength. She felt her body mending, her mind clearing, her very soul radiating with newfound vitality.
Time became meaningless as she lay suspended within the heart of the tree, the raw energy saturating every fiber of her being. She could feel the remnants of the spirit’s memories, echoes of its torment and rage, but they no longer threatened her. They were hers to command—or discard.
Finally, the tree’s maw creaked open, its gnarled trunk splitting to reveal the fog-shrouded forest beyond. The roots that had bound her loosened, retracting like defeated serpents. Juliana was unceremoniously spat out onto the cold earth, the damp soil cushioning her fall.
Turning back, she saw the once-massive tree withering before her eyes. Its towering branches shriveled, its bark cracked and crumbled, and its roots curled inward like a dying beast. The ancient titan of the forest, a monument to centuries of power and horror, was reduced to soot and ash in a matter of moments.
Juliana stood there, watching the last remnants of the tree dissolve into the wind. Her body still trembled, but it was not from fear. Something was different. She could feel it, coursing through her veins like a second heartbeat—the raw energy she had absorbed, the power she now carried.
Closing her eyes, she took a deep, shuddering breath. The world around her seemed brighter, more vivid, as though she could sense the life force of every blade of grass, every branch and root.
She had survived.
More than that, she had changed.
A bitter laugh escaped her lips. Perhaps the gods of this realm had looked down upon her favorably. Or perhaps this was their cruel joke, their way of turning her into something new, something terrifying.
Whatever the truth, one thing was certain: she was no longer the frail girl she had once been. Juliana Woods was dead. Julia Wraithwood would rise in her place.
With a steadying breath, she turned her back on the clearing, leaving the ashes of the wraith-tree behind her.