The cost. What was the cost? What was the... I can't remember anymore.
Shai Jura stood in the middle of a bustling trade route, saffron silks rippling overhead. The crowd flowed around him like water in a streaming river.
Everything smelled like fermented rice and copper.
Looking down at his hands, he turned them over slowly.
Smooth, and clean. No more binding marks put onto him.
I'm free.
He thought happily, yet immediately his vision plummeted sideways. Sand meeting his face as he collapsed onto the ground, the world spinning, and his cheek pressed against the earth.
"Damn drunk."
A boot accidentally caught his ribs, a merchant stepping over him without looking down, balancing beeswax cakes in his arms.
He gasped as his body went into a seizure. His muscles spasmed, and his spine arched against the sand, jaw clenching so hard that his teeth felt like they were going to crack.
Memories. He saw memories.
Not one life, but two, crashing together:
Acceptance into the Imperial Academy.
Rejection from the Imperial Academy.
His hands using forbidden spells.
His hands trembling, unable to summon even a small light.
Blue Desert Oasis kneeling before him.
Him kneeling before Blue Desert Oasis.
Two lives, and yet, two failures. In one, he'd possessed power but lost his freedom. In the other, he had all the freedom but no power.
He willed himself.
The perfect existence would take both, and discard the weaknesses of each life.
When the convulsions finally stopped, his fingers found a glass bottle. Still in his hand, half-empty.
He let out a small chuckle at the sight of it, before laughing hysterically while he was still on the ground.
Passersby looked at him with pity, disgust, and enjoyment.
"So this is my life now, isn't it, you drunkard?!"
His sense of humor died down.
As Shai Jura lay in the sand, letting travelers curse him with their contempt, he looked up at the sky and pondered in thought.
Who am I?
He thought.
Identity was a tool. The drunk man's life made him invisible to the empire's hunters, while the demon's memories gave him knowledge no academy could teach. As long as he could weaponize both, it didn't matter which one was real.
I can be anything I want.
He stood, brushing sand off from his robes. The bottle thrown into a gutter with a clink, its purpose already served.
He'd learned cultivation at thirteen. Started late even then, but royal academies opened doors that talent alone couldn't. Now he was thirty-three, starting from nothing, and memories already fading as if he woke up from a dream.
If he didn't learn cultivation soon, then all of his previous memories may be lost forever.
Three days.
He calculated as he walked: no money, no food, and no way to defend himself. Not that it mattered. What could bandits take from someone who owned nothing?
He remembered traveling the same roads with artifacts worth more than entire cities. Enchanted robes that could turn away the desert heat itself.
Now all he had was cheap clothes.
His stomach growled.
A fruit vendor's stall sat ahead, the merchant negotiating with a customer. Both stood in the shade while produce baked outside in the sun.
Shai Jura picked up an apple, casually inspected it, then walked away.
No one called after him. It had only been a few minutes since his revival, yet he had already committed his first crime.
A true thief at heart.
The trick was simple. Conduct yourself with the utmost confidence. Even if you let the smallest hint of insecurity, people would know.
Others hesitated because they feared consequences. But fear required belief, belief that consequences would come. Shai Jura during his stay at a cultivators sect had once learned a demon's trick: if you convinced yourself you'd already paid for the apple, then guilt could never materialize. And without guilt, nobody could tell the theft ever happened.
Smiling, he bit into the apple. Sweet, and warm from the sun.
Moving past the stand, he continued forward into the stream of people.
Ahead, the crowd suddenly parted, people dropping to their knees, heads bowing as a figure passed through.
Paying it no attention, Shai Jura kept walking, shoving past the kneeling masses. He needed a cloak, something light-colored to reflect the sun. There was a clothing stall just ahead, white fabric hanging in the back.
The white cloak hung forgotten in the back. Every customer reached past it for crimson and azure silk, drawn to vibrancy that trapped heat against skin.
Idiots purchasing their own suffering, unaware that their vanity is meaningless in the desert.
White reflected light while dark colors absorbed it. This was a simple fact, yet city merchants sold conceit over function, buyers paying for the privilege of sweating.
As he went to grab it, a voice cut through the market, preventing Shai Jura from grabbing the cloak.
"You there. What are you doing?"
Shai Jura turned. A boy stood there, blonde and beautiful, dressed in silk that definitely cost more than everything in this market combined.
Royalty. Shit.
How can I use this to my advantage.
He quickly masked a shock and stupefied expression.
"Me?"
Shai Jura raised his hands.
"Yes, you. What do you think you're doing?"
"I was simply leaving, that's all."
"Before paying your respects?"
The boy's frown was genuine, like Shai Jura's existence without submission was personally offensive.
"To who? And why should I? Are you a prophet of God?"
The boy's face flushed red as he heard Shai Jura's mockery.
"You dare—"
His voice cracked. He was seventeen, maybe eighteen. Still growing into his authority.
"Do you know who I am?"
"Should I?"
Shai Jura spread his hands, playing innocent.
The boy's jaw tightened.
"I am Sindra Imuat, fourth son of—"
"Ah, fourth."
Shai Jura interrupted, nodding sympathetically.
"That must be difficult for you. So far from the throne, yet still expected to act like you matter."
A muscle twitched in Sindra's cheek.
"Your brothers must be impressive. What was it? Three ahead of you? All more talented, I assume."
"You know nothing about—"
"I know you're seventeen and desperate to prove yourself. I know you need these people to kneel because nobody at home takes you seriously."
Sindra's hand began to glow.
The crowd had gone silent, a circle forming around them in their conflict. Shai Jura saw merchants backing away, and mothers pulling children close.
Good.Witnesses.
He thought. The more people who saw a commoner stand against royal tyranny, the better odds of his sect recruitment.
"I'll make you regret your impertinence!"
The boy's palm shot out a condensed sphere of light.
Sindra Imuat. Solar Cascade. 4th in line for his father's sovereignty. That's why he's here. To feed his arrogance and anger against his brothers.
This was a test.
If he could provoke Sindra into attacking civilians, if he could play the role of hero, he'd gain attention.
Cultivation sects recruited those who displayed courage.
This was a gambit he would have to take, as with memories fading and no cultivation base, he needed to accelerate his path to power.
Shai Jura's body moved before his mind caught up, rotating sideways as the spell barely rushed past him, wind roaring around him, his robes and long brown hair flying back.
"Solar Cascade? Really?"
He looked disappointed, before pointing a finger.
"And you mean to do me harm with this?"
He rushed forward, no techniques, just momentum.
Although Shai Jura was currently a powerless wretch. What good was sorcery in the hands of a pampered child?
He opened his palms flat, striking the boy's stomach while driving his arm deep.
Silk tearing beneath his fingers, expensive fabric, worthless armor, it was the same.
Have a taste of reality.
Shai Jura thought coldly as air exploded from Sindra's lungs.
His eyes going wide with shock, then his finger twitching reflexively.
Another spell erupted, spiraling wildly towards the defenseless crowd.
This is it.
Excitement flooded him.
Was it morally wrong to use innocents for your benefit?
The thought flickered, but Shai Jura didn't care about such a question, throwing himself into the spells path, his hands raised to intercept and block the attack.
"Are you an idiot?! Are you trying to kill all these people?!"
Shai Jura screamed accusatively, frantically going head first into the ball of light.
"Get out of the way you peasant! That's not a normal spell!"
What.
The sphere detonated, Shai Jura's arms disintegrating in the process as blood sprayed across sand and silk in a horrific shower.
Staggering backwards, he stared at the stumps where his arms had once been. Blood pumping out rhythmically.
What the fuck.
Shai Jura thought horrified, looking at Sindra with a look of pure disgust, and hatred.
He'd miscalculated, badly.
This was supposed to end with the royal being indebted to him, him playing the part of a hero, even if fake.
Yet nothing in this life can be taken for granted.
Saavi'Agita's memory degradation was worse than he had realized.
He would've never made such a stupid mistake if his brain was clear.
In the distance, he heard shouting. The boy screaming for healers while looking horrified. The crowd erupting into chaos. Someone yelling about guards.
He collapsed.
Sand rushed up to meet him for the second time today.
As his vision began to blur, the last thing he saw was a yellow snake slithering to him, its crimson eyes glowing as it observed him.
It didn't come for salvation. Saavi'Agita never came to help. It was judging him.
This fucking snake. A demon such as myself? Dying like this? On my first da—
Everything went black.