Death is never final. We all come back. Somehow, somewhere, at some point. Maybe it's not always thanks to a Goddess of Life. Maybe it's based on what you believe. Or want to believe.
Death is all there is at the end of things. It comes in different gestalts. Here, it's dragons. Nothing but dragons. Coming for me when I've trespassed into their power levels so that I'll be a challenge, but statistically the loser. Maybe it's a challenge they want, but not from those of similar shape or type of power. They're Spirit users, after all. Whereas I use Might.
Death is all I think about. Whether it's my turn today or not. Every battle might be stacked in their favour, but to me – everything is a coin toss. Either you win, or you lose. Either you survive or perish.
I just wonder where I'll end up when it lands tails. For the second time.
I don't know how long it's been. It just feels like I've been alive for longer here than I succeeded with in the last world. My body isn't an indicator – I barely age. I've gained more draconic features than wrinkles. But I know it's been more than a decade, based on the saplings I planted that have now fully grown to trees. Ironic – you'd think modern society would allow for me to live longer.
Every battle is a blur. It's all muscle memory – the only difference is that after every battle, I find that thoughts have sped through my mind. Bursts of memories, having seen blind spots, registered their preferred attacks. Then I'm off again – slashing, piercing, bludgeoning or blocking, evading. Or maybe all that's because I'm barely conscious when the dragons finally fall.
Every once in a while, I run into a dragon that would rather not fight me. They hunch down, bare their fangs as if begging. Those, I let go. I always loved reptiles in my previous life – that much I remember. That's about the only memory I can dig up from my subconscious.
In the end, it's always life or death. Nature's unending balance rope. Either I fall off, or those that hunt me do.
I don't like not having a choice. So, every few days, I find myself here – on the peak of the tallest mountain in the safe zone I've designated. The cliffside beneath this plateau shaped like a crescent moon. If I was to jump off, I would fall a thousand kilometres. In the past, I used to contemplate on this as my end – will I die, or live another day? Now, this place offers only a reminder of those times – back when I could die from this height.
But the Chromastorm seems weaker these days. Maybe, someone will pierce it soon.
So I can finally leave.