The sound of bird calls filtered in through the fuzz of my returning consciousness. Last night seemed like a bad dream, but I was sore all over. Shakily, I pushed myself up off the ground and onto my knees, tail snaking behind me. Belatedly I realized my lower right arm should be broken. While it still hurt, the limb was whole, albeit bruised and scabbed. The gashes all over my body that I knew must have been deep had all scabbed over and now ached dully, while my lighter cuts and bruises seemed to have disappeared.

I’d heard that demons were unnaturally tough, but I could hardly believe how much I’d healed. Is this kind of regeneration normal? Without it, I’d be dead for sure. I inspected my remaining wounds more closely and a small flow of mana altered my vision. Now, I could see a crimson glow within and around me. Like my fire the night before. An aura.

Aura sight was something I’d heard about from Abby’s nan. A rare thing in humans, it was highly sought after by the Church to identify demons and other magical creatures. Anyone with awakened mana had some amount of glow to them, but depending on the strength of the person with aura sight, it may not be visible. Demons in particular were said to have a distinct signature to their aura. Untrained as I was, I had no idea what that could be.

There was no way to know if the magic I now possessed was strong or not without a point of comparison. Keeping it active was hardly a strain on my magical reserves, but a deep ache and a fugue over my thoughts told me I must be low on mana. That feeling at least was familiar. I’d tried to practice my magic many times during my adolescence and my extremely limited potential quickly led to this same feeling.

Carefully and unsteadily, I stood. My body was covered in dirt and my own dried blood. I looked a mess and I still felt tired. Hunger and thirst gnawed at me. During the fight, I’d completely lost my bearing and the canopy above didn’t offer a clear view of the sun at all.

As carefully as I could, I begin to make my way downhill. This time, I tried to keep my senses open for threats. As I walked, the sounds of the jungle around me quieted down.

Come to think of it, the jungle was silent last night. But was it silent for me or for the beast that attacked me?

I hoped the quiet right now was due to me and not another predator as I was in no shape to fight that cat monster again. While my vision was much sharper, my other senses, except perhaps hearing, seemed to be the same as when I was human. The jungle smelled of wet earth and plant life, though the metallic, acrid smell of my own blood persisted. That fight last night scared away any other would-be predators. I was passed out for several hours and came to no further harm, after all.

I sated my hunger with a few fruits that other creatures seemed to be eating from the leavings around the tree and continued my walk to the coast. After a few minutes of walking, I heard the sound of moving water ahead of me and I cut through the thicker undergrowth toward it. Sharp thorns and stinging insects seemed unable to pierce my skin, and despite the sticks and rocks of the jungle floor, my feet felt no discomfort. During the walk my aches and pains had subsided, though my head was still in a fog from mana depletion.

Ahead of me, the stream I had heard tumbled down the rocks from above into a pool before resuming its journey downhill. I took a brief look around for any threats, still mostly unsure what to look for. Hoping all was safe, I stepped onto the pebbled shore of the pool and bent down to drink.

The moment I saw my reflection in the water, I froze. This is me?

The crimson face in the water was distinctly feminine in shape with sharp features, high cheekbones, and a moderately-sized nose. The most striking feature were my eyes. The irises were somehow the exact same shade of blue they’d always been. The one part of the old me that I liked was still there. This is me: Zarenna. I’m still me!

The color of my irises, however, was where all similarity to the old me stopped. My pupils were slightly fat vertical slits, and my sclera were black as obsidian. On top of that my irises glowed faintly. They’re actually glowing! My horns were the same obsidian color as my sclera and claws, lightly ridged, and half as big around as my forearm at the base.

My smile gave me shivers. How had I not noticed the fangs? Not terribly long, but quite visible nonetheless. All of my teeth looked sharp and when I smiled with my black lips, they gave my expression a menacing quality. Behind those teeth, my tongue was forked and quite a bit longer than it probably should have been. It all felt so normal that I somehow hadn’t noticed.

But most of all, my face was recognizable as mine. Feminine and gorgeous and smooth and everything I ever wanted except the horns and teeth. But they were part of me and I somehow felt no discomfort with that. Those terrifying eyes of mine were crying now. Clear tears formed and dropped into the pool below disturbing the image.

I stood back up and felt my face just to make sure it was still there. Abby was right. I’ll make the most out of this life somehow granted to me! People will learn to deal with my appearance. I bleed and cry and eat and drink like anyone else. Plus, the other bodily functions that result from eating and drinking. The morning had been an impromptu anatomy lesson.

Before I resumed my walk, I drank my fill and then waded into the pool to wash myself. Four arms made the task much faster, and I dared for a moment to enjoy myself. The whole experience was different and new, but some parts of it felt calming and right. I never in a million years would have even considered bathing naked in a stream, and yet here I was, comfortable doing so but still on edge from leaving myself vulnerable. There was no embarrassment, though if others were present, I suppose that might change.

My scabs washed off, leaving fading scars behind. Even my once-broken arm was mostly healed, albeit sore and weak still. I wondered if I could heat the water, but didn’t want to risk trying. Unconsciousness was no substitute for sleep; my mind was still tired, even if I was no longer suffering from mana depletion.

I wandered the rest of the day, and stopped during dusk to rest. I found big old hollow in a massive tree and burned it out with my magic. Curled into a warm space that smelled pleasantly of wood ash, I wrapped my tail around myself and let sleep take me.

***

The next morning, I felt better than ever in my new form. I grabbed some of the same fruits from nearby and resumed my walk while eating breakfast. As I ate, I thought about the nature of my “condition” as it were.

I was completely myself despite my demonic form. I had no odd desires and seemed sound of mind, though maybe a bit more accepting than I probably should be of the situation. Besides the anger, which seemed to be in held in check by my strange tattoo, I felt totally rational: something I was certain was Abby’s doing and that I will be eternally thankful for.

That said, the fact that anything had changed about my own mind had me worried. Was the anger something external, or was I changed as a demon? Anger was clearly tied to my magic and my new nature.

I won’t let my anger rule me.

If anger, rage, wrath, or whatever was part of my power as a demon, then I’d just need to control it. I thought about Finley and the man who killed Abby. Rage, raw and fresh, bubbled up inside me. Scenes of them burning alive flickered into my mind.

I focused on staying calm and my symbol pulsed, but stayed unlit. I kept the scenes going in my head and kept my breathing steady. I tried to see things from their perspective, just to see if I could stomach it. It wasn’t that I wouldn’t like revenge, of course, but if I could remain calm thinking about something I had every rational right to want to come to pass, I’d be better prepared for whenever I got off this island.

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Guessing, I pulled on my magic. The images of Finley burning gained clarity and focus. I fought back against my wrath. To my relief, after a tense minute, I won out. My symbol flashed several times, but I was mostly certain I’d done this on my own.

I let the scenes play again, phantom screams echoing through my imagination. This time, I felt like I was in control. If I could manage this, I could manage going forward at the very least. I'd deal with the physical changes. I was still me in my head, and that was what mattered most.

That got me thinking. If I were human, what would I look like? Surprising myself, I found that I didn’t really care to look completely human any more. Perhaps I never did? Despite that, if I could, it would be massively convenient when I got off this island. I didn’t even consider failing to leave here. I’d find a way.

I supposed I’d look a bit like myself now and a bit like my sister. The thought of Tania running off to an uncertain fate made my heart clench. I hoped she was okay. I felt that she was, but I don’t know if it was just optimism.

“Tania, I’ll find you.”

I spoke aloud for the first time. My voice had a feminine tone to it. Only slightly higher in pitch than my old voice, but I wouldn’t mistake it for being masculine.

“I’ll get off this island and find you. I’ll bring those responsible to justice…somehow.”

Despite my wonderful new voice, my speech pattern sounded off. I’d never truly practiced before, but Abby did make an attempt to teach me. I’d have time to practice, but I had no one to talk to. Not yet.

I imagined my life as it could have been. The image of the woman I would have become had my body been the right one flashed into my mind. Similar to my sister, but distinctly different with slightly sharper features and a taller, larger build. A face that matched my current one, too. A large draw on my mana drew me out of my daydream.

I stopped to look down at myself and saw lightly tanned skin and pink nipples, stiff in the breeze. I stood up on unsure legs and looked myself over. I looked human. No extra bits. I could still see sharply and I still felt strong, but my movement was a bit slower, a bit more awkward. Like something was between me and the world around me. My arms felt constrained, my tailbone hurt, and my forehead ached slightly. On top of that, I could feel a slight, but constant drain on my mana. Somehow, I’d managed to cast a glamour on myself.

I knew from Abby’s nan that some magical creatures, mages with strong bloodlines, and demons could use limited complex magic instinctively. I never imagined I’d be one of them. I’d learned of a name for this kind of ability only recently. Her nan had told me the name when I asked how a demon could hide in someplace like a city. I couldn’t be sure that’s what this kind of illusion was, but it matched the description I’d been given.

As I walked on with my glamour, sticks and leaves now poked into my feet, but still barely scratched them. The sounds of the jungle which had been mostly silent ever since I awoke returned in full force. I looked down at my body and tried to use my aura sight, but I found I couldn’t. Casting a quick flame in my hand, however, revealed that I still had magic. However, pulling mana with the glamour active was like sucking through a straw. The flame I conjured still had the same slight crimson tint as last night, however. I couldn’t see the aura, but I had to assume it was the same as without my glamour.

I smiled at my accomplishment. It was uncomfortable, and I didn’t know how long I could hold it, but I could look human for at least a while. With one last look at my tree shelter, I walked back to the stream and continued along its path.

I tried to stay in human form as I walked. All around me the jungle teemed with life. Lizards, monkeys, and a dizzying array of colorful birds moved around me, uncaring of my presence unless I got too close. A quick flame scared off the more curious individuals. Insects, too, seemed to take note of my new form, though the mosquitos couldn’t get through. I definitely cut myself more easily in this form, and I was forced to go around the thicker brush lest I add to the collection of scratches I was acquiring.

However, as I walked, I became increasingly uncomfortable. Pressure around my temples became a persistent headache. I kept trying to use my tail to balance or additional arms to move brush aside only to realize there was nothing there. On top of that, I could almost still feel the phantom limbs, compressed down somewhere. I hadn’t seen any sign of people (human or otherwise) on the island, so why keep the glamour on?

I wanted my arms and tail back! Releasing the solid illusion felt instinctual, and it dissipated in mere moments. I wondered what the process looked like and hoped returning to my demonic appearance was the simple replacement it felt like.

Wait, why would I be thinking about people looking at me while I shift my glamour? My answer was immediate: because I want people to know what I am.

Immediately I felt more comfortable and my pace picked up. The ground here was almost flat and the stream, now a small river, wound its way lazily through the verdant landscape. Under other circumstances I could easily see this as paradise. Good shelter and removal of the giant death cat would be highly appreciated though.

***

I reached the beach around noon, based on the position of the sun overhead. To my delight, the small river I was following emptied along the beach near the junction of the peninsula and the main landmass. Ahead of me was the bay I saw from the mountain. Farther up the peninsula, however, the beach got rockier. With the tide out as it was, I could see waves breaking around a multitude of rocks. The sand of the beach was mostly light tan, but streaked with volcanic black in whorls of color. Palm trees, one of the few plants I could at least claim to have heard about, dotted the shore line amid other, less iconic plants.

Perhaps most importantly, I saw the remains of a ship out along the spit by the rock at the end. And what a rock it was. My view from the volcano didn’t do the rock’s size justice. The immense chunk of stone was perhaps forty meters tall and sloped up imposingly from its surroundings. The top and lee side were covered in dense vegetation.

Inevitably, however, my eyes were drawn back to the wreck. Bashed by surf on the jagged rocks where it sat, the wreck was hardly more than a hull and wooden ribs. I jogged toward it, feet pounding in the sand and claws digging little furrows in their wake. My tail swung side to side behind me. As I ran, I noticed that its weight seemed to balance out my arms, which would otherwise pitch my center of mass too far forward. I was also aware of my breasts moving around which wasn’t exactly comfortable. I’d want a way to secure them at some point.

Before all this, I wasn’t a particularly quick runner, but I seemed to run at a significantly faster pace than before. With my tail for balance, I tipped farther forward than previously. In only a minute or so, I drew close to the base of the enormous rock that loomed above, and the shipwreck below it.

By the surf, I found a cannon sticking out of the sand and wedged between rocks. Green with age, it nevertheless stole my attention; I’d never seen one up close before. I knew next to nothing about the guns, which seemed larger than I imagined they would be. As I got close enough to inspect it, I could tell the casting was expertly done, something I knew enough about to appreciate.

Importantly there was a name and a date on the side of the barrel: Cardozo. It sounded Cavenish, or maybe Turquoiser. Neither region was part of the empire, but both were in the north. The date on the cannon was 1283 AL, nearly seventy years ago, depending on how much time had passed between my death and my rebirth.

I was only vaguely familiar with the Kingdom of Cavenze. Situated north of the Empire of Ordia and separated by a large area of wild highlands, the region was known for its naval force. If the cannons were from the Turquoise Coast, then the ship could be from almost anywhere. The loose collection of merchant states occupied a peninsula and several islands that jutted into the Central Sea across from Cavenze. Many parts of the Turquoise Coast were known to hire privateers and rumored to harbor pirates. My source for this was a series of adventure fantasy books about a band of Turquoiser pirates with hearts of gold, so I probably shouldn’t try to read deeper into this ship’s history unless I find something else.

Unfortunately, neither region spoke Ordian notably, although I imagine the Turquoise Coast used it frequently for trade. With how long the wreck had been here, there were likely no survivors around unless they’d settled permanently on the island. Even if there were, I might not have been able to speak with them.

I turned from the wreck and headed up the beach toward the rock, searching for any other debris I could use. At the verge of the trees, a sun-bleached wooden footlocker lay half-buried in sand and covered in weeds. The hinges had rusted and the top came off easily enough. Inside were a stiff set of men’s clothes, a cracked spyglass, and a rusty knife. I took the whole chest with me and started for the rock. The top would have the best view and the best chance of being spotted.

People had clearly come here at some point, but with the cannon in the sand and the unopened chest in plain view, I had to assume no one lived on the island. I started my ascent up the most gently-sloped part of the immense stone monolith. With my tail to balance me, the climb wasn’t terribly difficult. My endurance surprised me; I wasn’t winded at all when I reached the top. The top was relatively flat and covered mostly in shrubs. A few trees clung on where the dirt was deeper. The view was commanding; I took out the spyglass and looked over the azure waters at an empty horizon.

The highest parts of the rock faced the ocean and shielded the clearing, although the tops of the trees that stuck into the wind were bent harshly. Ideally, I’d find a way to get myself off this island. Otherwise, I’d have to hope for a passing ship and make myself a place to live until then. I turned back and faced the spot I’d claimed: it was time to get to work.