Among the ten major races, Goblins get a bad reputation. The major characteristics of goblins are their short lifespan and a fast maturation period. We, longer lived races, take for granted that we have years to grow before our hormones kick into high gear, and the wisdom of our parents. Take away this for a few generations, and you can imagine how hard it would be for a goblin. It is no wonder that so many travelers have complaints from their meetings with goblins.

  Scribbled in the side: Your mom didn’t complain while she was gobblin-g me last night!

  -Remarks on goblins from a Travelers Guild guide to races of the multiverse

  I wake up stiff in the morning from sleeping the night in my cramped hole. When I dug the ditch in the ground, I prioritized keeping my sleeping space small to prevent discovery; now I am paying the price for the extra camouflage.

  I stretch, uncurling myself in the pit, trying to work my achy limbs and limber up. I inhale, breathing deep the smell of damp soil from the mix of clay and the intrusive sand lining my underground hideaway. As soon as the sun hits my face, my mind comes into focus, and hazy memories from the day before trickle in. Under the awe of seeing the creatures from the night before and magic, is the stark reality that I’m being hunted.

  I scan the area through the shrubs to see if any danger is waiting for me. Only the melodious chirping of birds greets me on the warm, humid morning. I look where the predators gathered the night before, and not even the skeletal remains of the lizard remain. I slowly lift myself up, taking extra care not to make any sudden movements, while taking care not to trample the plants hiding my sleeping space.

  I walk down to the stream, dipping my hands in the cool, flowing water to wash the last vestiges of sand and sleep still clinging to me. I take some time to tap into my full mana pool, to exercise my water magic. I focus my will to manipulate the water: causing the water to spiral, then I create a loop like a roller coaster, and finally oscillate back and forth, so the water creates waves on the once smooth surface. I am rewarded with a level in aqua kinesis for my effort.

  Not wanting to neglect my shadow magic, I flex the mental muscle to manipulate the shadows and see what I can accomplish with a little experimentation. I focus on the shadows in the bed of the stream; I want to use the shadows to see if I can manipulate the stream by raising the bed.

  After a few successful attempts that are visually lackluster, I idly wonder about using the two magics in concert. Through my will, the shadows push the water up from the bed of the stream, and then my water magic lifts it higher. Since my ability to manipulate each is weak, my goal is to see if both affinity-type magics together will have more success. The feat of magic doesn’t require more mana than if I had done each individually, but does require a lot more mental effort, concentrating on two magics at once. I hear the subtle ping of a notification, so I pull up the message to see how much progress I have made in developing my skills. My eyes widen in surprise when the new ping isn’t the skill level up prompt I was expecting.

  I smile as I notice a little piece of ice, no bigger than the last digit of my pinky finger, float up from the bed of water, before floating down the river. I am broken from my awe when I hear voices in the distance. The plants are sparse around the little stream, so I back away as quietly as I can manage to find some foliage to hide behind. If I had my backpack, I would just run as far away as possible, but I left my pack in my little den. Without the rations, I don’t want to travel far, but I’m close enough to the den that they would see or hear me if I try to run away, and grab my pack.

  I pull out my knife but wrap my shirt around it, so the blade doesn’t reflect the morning light. I see two squat, wrinkled green goblins emerge from the weeds to waddle up to the flowing water. It’s surreal seeing the creatures from myth. I had seen elves on the island, but they could’ve passed off as human if not for their ears.

  The goblins have their bows slung over their shoulders and crude stone weapons on their belts. I watch them drink water from the stream when I have an idea. As one goes to drink, I reach out with my magic and grasp the water entering its throat. It’s surprisingly costly, almost causing me to fumble from surprise, as I feel my mana drain rapidly. The goblin on the right coughs as he chokes; the water lodged in his throat with my aqua kinesis.

  This is far more difficult than anything I had practiced, despite only trying to control the volume of a golf ball. My ploy does little harm to the goblin on the right but distracts it by sending it into a coughing fit. The other goblin turns to his buddy, gesturing and shouting. While both goblins are occupied, I make my way out from cover to sneak attack the goblin checking on his friend, rushing him from behind so he can’t see my approach. As I surge forward to strike, he notices me at the last moment, far too late to do anything. I slam into him, bulling him over and knocking him off his feet. When I body slam him, I slide my knife into his back.

  The strike is only a surface wound, cutting a few centimeters deep. The blade catches on the goblin’s ribs, blocking the blade from going deeper. I curse, as I continue stabbing the goblin: jabbing the knife with short, rapid thrusts on the goblin’s unprotected back. It’s face down in the water, making it almost impossible for the green creature to fight back as it panics to breathe. It’s a small stream, so he only needs to raise his head to catch his breath, but as he does so, I move my weight, so I push his head under the current.

  I have always heard drowning is a bad way to go, and despite the life-or-death struggle, I don’t intend to drown the creature. Maybe it’s a mercy, maybe foolishness, but I hope it’s the right decision. It panics, struggling for air, instead of trying to dislodge me from my position on top of it. I try to make its death as quick as possible with a fresh flurry of dagger thrusts. As I plunge the dagger up and down on his unprotected lower back, I find a spot under the ribs where the blade slides in and out without restriction.

  While most of my concentration is on my opponent in front of me, I try to maintain my magic, distracting the other goblin. I feel my control slip only moments after I tackle the first goblin. Despite only being a few seconds, my mana has bottomed out, and my head burns like I have a bad hangover. I release my hold on my magic, as if I’m burned. In the corner of my vision, I mentally summon my resource bars: health, mana, and stamina, so I can see how much mana I have. My health bar is full, the stamina bar is slightly depleted but only a flashing red sliver of my mana pool remains.

  I turn to find the other goblin coughing while holding his sword with bleary eyes. I had just seen him drinking water, so I try to reach for any water inside him to distract him, if only for a split second. Pain lances through me, a warning that it’s a bad idea. Despite not being able to use my magic, I get just enough of a sense to know, even if I had succeeded, there is nothing my magic can grasp onto. I had no trouble manipulating the stream earlier, and I know the goblin has some water in his stomach. There’s something I’m missing that’s preventing me from manipulating the water the goblin drank.

  Putting aside the magic mystery, I pull my sword out. The goblin pushes me before I can get off my knees, and my half-drawn sword catches, so I lose my grip, and it goes flying. I’m not weaponless, though; I’m able to hold onto the bloody knife in my hand. The goblin shakes his friend, trying to rouse them, while I recover from being knocked over.

  I curse as I’m now facing an angry goblin, this time with a short sword in his green, gnarled hand, and I have only a knife. We circle each other, and I subtly reach out to grasp his foot with my shadow magic skill.

  The burning sensation returns intensified, and I instinctively let go. The goblin sees my distraction and swings his sword. I fail to dodge his swipe, and a hot lance of pain blooms on my chest. As I feel the hot blood dripping down my chest, I realize that I am dead unless I close the distance; I jump forward. The lanky goblin fails to interpose his sword between us in time to ward me off.

  Knocked to the ground, it flails, trying to get up; I pin down its sword arm and stab it in the chest, hoping I hit something vital. I hold on with all my strength, stabbing and cutting as I feel warm red blood coat up to my arm, making my grip on my weapon slick. The goblin rocks, trying to get out from under me. I desperately reach out with my left hand to grab onto him as I stab with my right. He bites my left hand, and pain radiates from my fingers as I feel his teeth crunch on the bones.

  Blinded by pain and panic, I focus everything on stabbing; afraid I might let go and get a blade in my back for my trouble. It takes me a minute to realize the goblin is dead; the shaking I feel is no longer his struggling, but the corpse is rocking from the force I use to stab it. When I see the goblin isn’t struggling, I roll over panting and exhausted. A hysterical laugh erupts from me as the adrenaline courses through my veins. I know it’s the wrong thing to do; I shouldn’t be laughing, but the absurdity of the situation is too much. A few days ago, I was working at a boring desk job, and now, I’m being hunted.

  The pain in my fingers and my chest throbbing as a reminder of the wounds I took. I crawl over to the river, washing off the blood and cutting strips of cloth to wrap around my chest. My fingers ache fiercely, but it’s only when I am trying to wrap a bandage around them that I realize, under all the blood, I’m missing three fingers. Below my index finger are three bloody stumps from the middle knuckle. A dawning sense of horror comes over me as I realize I lost a small piece of myself. My breath comes fast.

  “It’s ok, you have magic now. Losing your fingers isn’t permanent. You healed wounds before; you can do it again.” I say to comfort myself. I look over to Morgana and her silent stare creates a disconnection with my panic. I tear my eyes from the emotionless ghost and focus on the tree in the distance, and controlled breathing.

  “In four… hold four… out four…” I say aloud, narrating my own breathing.

  I want so badly to reach out to my magic, but I can still feel the ache in my head as I instinctively reach out to my magic. If I try now, I might pass out. Instead, I cut another strip of cloth and wrap the finger nubs. I move beneath a nearby tree, sitting out of the way as I try to staunch my bleeding and wait for my mana to recover.

  Despite the pain, loss of fingers, and absurdity of fighting goblins, I focus that I won, and I am alive. I should be more remorseful; I just killed living creatures, but the rush of battle is keeping me mentally above water. I take deep breaths to calm my heart rate and steady my nerves. Then I realize I killed two sentient beings, goblins who probably had families. Remembering the fight and the way the goblin tried to shake his companion awake, I wonder if they were friends. As an EMT, I had seen people die. I had seen terrible trauma and other situations, but bile rises in the back of my throat as it’s hammered home: I did this. I killed them.

  I empty my stomach and then crawl over to the river to wash out my mouth with my blood-stained hands. I taste the faint copper despite trying to wash them before taking a sip. Needing distraction, I look at the notifications subtly flashing at the corner of my vision. Two level up notifications appear in my vision, and I whistle.

  “Just like a VR game, I just need to keep going,” I whisper to myself, trying to keep down the acrid taste at the back of my throat. They aren’t human, but they also aren’t animals. I turn to the notifications to distract myself from the questions of morality bubbling up in my mind.

  I put six into wisdom, three into strength, and the last point into Intelligence. I have a total of four skill points to distribute now, but I will save them until leveling skills becomes more difficult.

  Once I place the points, there is a moment of regret as I feel changes crawl under my skin. I get an itchy feeling all over and the twinge of a blossoming headache, which is easy to ignore, but the sudden intense vertigo accompanied by the intensity of my senses isn’t. The world around me swirls, the lights turn blindingly bright, and the soft rustle of foliage becomes shrill like nails on a chalkboard. I also taste the sharp tang of my morning breath, smell the dirty, unwashed bodies of the goblins over my own pungent body odor; I feel the wind pulling at my hair and the grittiness of the coarse ground pressed to my feet. The sensations are overwhelming, but as suddenly as they overpower me, they dissipate into a manageable and more tolerable feeling.

  I pull up my stats, dissociating from my situation's ethical dilemma only moments ago, to think of the gaming implications: the stat increases are awesome. My base regenerations have boosted, and my mana capacity has received a nice bump. I want to try to meditate, in hopes it’ll increase my mana regeneration further. If meditation does increase my mana regeneration, it’ll be a valuable tool in training and for recovery between fights. I sit down beneath the tree, trying and failing to reach a meditative state.

  Once I’ve recovered some of my mana, I immerse myself in the small stream to heal the wounds I took during the fight. The cold water rushes over my fingers and chest, and the searing sensation of the wounds returns. Even though my mana is low, it only took a few minutes to get off a few healing spells. I focus on the chest wound first, making sure the large wound won’t worsen. After it closes and the flaking blood is washed away, it takes a long time to fully heal the chest wound.

  I decide to prioritize looting the bodies before healing my fingers, so my mana can regenerate, and if I’m interrupted by more goblins, I can grab and go.

  I look over to the closest dead goblin and frown as I see him bleeding into my only clean water source. I haul him back and hope the stream will wash away any foulness from the body in a few hours, so I’ll still have potable water. With their bodies off to the side, I take their weapons and dried trail rations before putting them next to where the lizards were last night. Hopefully, the things that ate the lizard will take care of the goblins for me.

  With the bodies looted, I walk back to the stream and focus on healing my fingers. The fingers take far longer, and to my dismay, the fingers do not regenerate. I feel the smooth nubs that grew over my knuckles and curse. With the healing done, I only have a sliver of my mana bar remaining.

  I look over the bushes to the hole in the ground nestled just a few feet away; the location I slept in is compromised, killing the goblins makes it too likely that anyone looking for the goblins will stumble on my resting place. I need to get out of the area soon and need to find another location to sleep in tonight. I gather my stuff and start to scout further inland.

  As I scout around, I look over to find Morgana still silently hovering just over my shoulder and give her a thumbs up. I am not sure the gesture has a positive effect on my stoic familiar, but the human -or well, ghost interaction does make me feel a bit better. I gauge her reaction, interested in whether she’ll maintain her cold demeanor. She just stares back at me with an emotionless expression. I’m not sure what I’m expecting, but I’m surprised when her right hand comes up mechanically with a thumb pointing upwards. I chuckle at the ridiculousness of the scene, her gesture contrasting with her emotionless face.

  I hope the scavengers on the island will take care of the goblins and remove the evidence. As I walk away, a few lizards come out from hiding to pick over the fresh corpses. I know there are many lizards on the island, but I doubt they’ll be able to pick the corpses clean before someone else stumbles on them: they’re just too small to devour the large goblins. I consider throwing the bodies into the ocean or burning them; it’ll require a significant amount of work to make any effort to hide the bodies. After a few moments of contemplation, I comfort myself with the knowledge that bigger predators will come for their bodies if they are left alone long enough.

  As I look back, I think about the gear I found on them. Their gear was crude, but it was clearly crafted. Being as well-equipped as they are can only mean they were part of an organization, or they are ready to ambush someone. I have little doubt that they’re related to the elf woman who escaped.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  I make my way inland, slipping between the shadowed canopy of the trees. A few hours of scouting the coast reveal I am on an island, and it’s a lot smaller than I thought. I continue the trek around the sandy coast until I see a rough wooden palisade. I huddle down and observe the fort for a while, and see a few elves, but most of the inhabitants manning the fort are goblins. The experience rewards from killing the goblins earlier make killing more of my pursuers tempting, but I push the bloodthirsty thoughts out of my mind.

  Ambushing a few unsuspecting goblins and barely getting away with it is very different than assaulting a fortified location, alert for enemies. I pause and wonder about the bloodlust I felt when I first looked at the fort, and if this island is changing me into something more monstrous. No, the bloodlust is a symptom of all the mental stress. I haven’t had a dull moment since I got on the island, and my erratic thoughts are just stress. If I have some time to decompress, I will go back to my normal non-bloodthirsty self. I repeat the thoughts resolutely, willing them to be the truth.

  I stay in the tree line, as I edge as close to the waterfront as I dare. The walls of the fort extend to the beach, where they open to the ocean, to give space for a dock. I see the end of a sloop as I crane my neck to look around the wall.

  In my youth, I once went on a sailboat with my father. The captain taught me how to steer the boat, how to raise the sail, lower it, and even how to sail with the wind. That was decades ago in another life. I’m not sure how much I can bring to bear from a day of sailing so long ago, but I’m grateful for the little knowledge I have from that experience.

  I feel the familiar sting of loss I am familiar with from my last life, as I think of my dad. Even after being reincarnated, traveling to another world, and being under the constant threat of attack, I still felt the familiar hollow ache when thinking of him. Shaking it off, I look back at the boat. It would be far better to have a boat than try to swim beyond the blue horizon in search of another landmass.

  My magic gives me better swimming and night vision abilities, making night the better time to try to scout about. I move inland and find a nice hiding place to practice my magic while I wait for night to fall. Maybe I could get a boat and escape this place. I still have the quest to stop my pursuers; maybe I could just sail far enough away that they would never find me. I try to comfort myself with the delusion that I can get off this island without any more blood on my hands.

  Pondering, I turn to Morgana, who is looking at the fort pensively. For a moment, I forget she is a ghost. In this moment, I reach out to grab her, to pull her down. As my hand touches her intangible form, I feel a link between us come alive, and my vision goes black.

  -

  A little girl sits on a dirty wooden floor with her mother standing over her in a rustic kitchen. Around the room is a collection of hewn, crafted wooden furniture, hand-woven fabric, and improvised tools. The home is simple and without the finery of a house made from industrial societies, but despite the apparent squalor, the little girl smiles as she tries to mimic her mom cooking. When her mother cuts up carrots, she picks up a piece of grass and mimes cutting it with a stick. I try to look around the room, but as I concentrate anywhere besides the girl, the vision grows hazy. The little girl looks over to her mom, and I see a smile appear on her face as she calls for her mom to look at her imaginary grass-cutting skills.

  The vision blurs, and the little girl is now older, right on the cusp of puberty and out in the field. In the distance, I can see the outline of the house. She toils as she wipes the sweat from her beet-red face. By the looks of her state, she’s been working in the field for hours and has many hours left in the day to continue planting. The girl looks at her father, who waves at her, and a smile spreads across her face. Dark clouds roll in, and they both run back to the house, racing the incoming rain.

  When I follow them into the house and look back, I see she’s aged again. Now she’s back in the house, cowering as she watches the closed door rattling fiercely. A young Morgana is no longer a child, but maybe sixteen now. Despite her maturity, she hides in the corner with her mother holding her to her chest. The door bursts down, and dark silhouetted figures storm the room.

  The scene blurs again to a hazy day on a dirt road. Morgana is in chains. Around her neck is a metal collar with chains linking her to her parents. Her mother’s and father’s clothes are ripped, but the haze of the vision keeps me from seeing any details. Her mother and father stare at the ground in submission, but they still try to keep her close as though they have not given up hope and look for a chance to save her.

  Her father blurs away, as though turning to dust, and my stomach turns as I feel her innocence of her youth bled from her. Between her visions, her hope fades, and now she knows she will never go back to that farm she grew up on. The stark change between her youth from only a few moments ago to this despondent woman is wrong in a way I cannot describe, but it stokes a cold, righteous rage in me. I stare defiantly at one of the figures on a horse as though I can defend her from whatever they hope to do. At the last second, I see the vague outline of an elven face.

  Suddenly, the elven face resolves into much greater clarity, but the scene around me has changed. In front of me, Morgana is tied to a table. Leather straps wrap around her head, waist, arms, and legs. Bile rises in my throat as I start to take in the cloth in her mouth. Tears, she thought she no longer possessed, ran down her face as she stared up at the elf. A moment of dark portent rises, and I know I don’t want to see what comes next, but I feel it’s important.

  The elf in the room is in a rough cloak, and his head turns as another elf enters the room. This new elf is resplendent in his fine robe, incrusted with gold filigree, jeweled necklace, and gloves studded with dark jewels. The new elf comes across and lays his hands on Morgana’s head. The action seems mundane, but it causes the memory to shake violently, and I feel him reaching into her mind, cutting away parts of her that wouldn’t serve their desires. I watch and feel mounting horror as he cuts out parts of her, so she will be obedient and complicit to whatever commands she receives.

  I rip from the vision to heave, trying to and failing to throw up an empty stomach onto the ground. Seeing and feeling something so depraved is too much for me. I look up from the ground to see Morgana stare down, still as emotionless as the day I met her. Too late, I realize I haven’t broken the connection, and I am sucked into the next vision.

  I close my eyes, trying to stop the cascading images, but I’m not really using my eyes to see, and so the colorless visions march on in relentless vileness. The images that only seem to get worse as I muster the strength to break the connection.

  I open my eyes to see I have fallen to the ground, and I dry heave a time as I look at the ground. I can’t meet her cold gaze as the memories are fresh in my head. Despite no longer being in the vision, I can still feel a link between us.

  Through your link with your familiar, you have seen a glimpse into her life on Hortus.

  I cuss and wipe my mouth.

  Congratulations, a recent event of significance has given you the opportunity to awaken an affinity

  Choose to awaken the affinity of Light, Fire, or Mind

  I choose mind. It may seem like a bad choice considering what I’ve just seen but in the visions, I could piece together bits of how each element was wielded to horrible ends. At least with mind, I hope to guard against mental attacks. It takes more effort than it should, but I muster the motivation to mentally confirm my choice.

  I leave the area and head back into the forest a bit. I make my way to a nearby stream to wash my mouth out. In my rush to get away, I don’t look to see if Morgana is following. She has never parted from my side since I arrived on the island, except when I asked her to.

  I should’ve known she would follow, but some small part of me thinks she might run and hide. I know I want to get as far away as possible, and they’re not even my memories. As I start to process what I saw and the elves chasing me, horror dawns on me as to what the elves are capable of. Thoughts of what might happen to me if I’m captured flash through my mind.

  My mana has recovered fully; I distract myself with something practical: practicing magic. The first thing I try to do is to combine mind and water. I combined water and darkness with relative ease. Mind and darkness automatically unlocked due to my connection with Morgana. I suspect that water and mind must be able to do something. I struggle using the new mind affinity first, but after a couple of tries, I feel the mind affinity mana being manipulated even if there is no tangible result.

  I can’t get mind and water affinity to work together, and I feel I’m missing something to make them sync. Ice affinity needed water to form, but I also needed shadows. Maybe I need to find a creature with a mind that lives in water? I’m not willing to spend my afternoon swimming in the salty ocean to track an intelligent creature down to try to unlock that magic affinity, so instead I return to practicing with ice.

  I’ve watched enough shows and read enough books with magic in them to get a few ideas of tricks I want to try out. Ice has the unique ability to form solid material out of a fluid. Images of me summoning walls, swords, and shields of ice come to mind. I’m nowhere near that level of power or control right now, but I can start with something much smaller first. A dagger of ice can be an unexpected weapon at an opportune moment, and with my ability, I can turn them into flying projectiles.

  I start by creating a sphere of ice and then pushing ice magic into it, trying to shape it. The ice resists my actions and shakes in my magical grip. After a few tries, I realize that I can’t shape ice once it’s formed, but I can shape the water before it forms into ice. The trick is to shape the water into the form I want before freezing it. I push the water into a point and freeze it, but the flowing water doesn’t stop, to form a sharp point, instead I get an oblong ball of ice.

  The water doesn’t like staying in the form I want it to hold it in; the water bucks at my control, only relenting when I allow it to flow. With a great effort, I can hold it completely still for a split second, but even that causes the water to shake, as it resists my grip. Forming the water into a blade is beyond my level of control. Through experimentation and practice, I get the point. I freeze the core of the water, instead of freezing it all at once. I continue to run water over the icy surface while slowly freezing the running water into a point. When I’m done, I smile as I see the pointy ice floating in front of me. It’s not the dagger I hoped for, but it’s more than I had when I started.

  Unfortunately, when I turn to find Morgana at my side, always just out of sight, and a little too close for comfort, I lose concentration. The ice falls onto my leg, leaving a shallow gash. The wound isn’t debilitating, but it stings, and I mentally scold myself for losing control of my magic.

  I look over to Morgana, who stares at my bleeding leg without any emotion. I’m about to curse her for scaring me and acting so unempathetic, but the words catch in my in throat as I think back to the visions. With a second attempt, the words come out, but they’re not the same words I was originally going to say.

  “Morgana, I am so sorry…” I whisper.

  She just stares back at me. She looks so cold and unfeeling. I slowly reach out across our link.

  After the vision, I can feel a deeper link to Morgana. It was always there, but now I’m starkly aware of it. I can feel intuitively what she is thinking and feeling. With a little relief, I can feel that her spirit is whole, and despite having her mind altered in life, in death she is no longer bound by the mutilation that was forced upon her. As I continue to concentrate, I can feel a permeating cold from her, as though she is heavily drugged or has no will of her own to act. It’s not a side effect of what the elves did; it’s the cold, pervasive emptiness of death, only kept away by a hair’s width by our bond.

  I wonder if the lack of emotion is a curse or a blessing, considering how much she went through. How would I react? I’m rattled from just seeing a glimpse of her life’s journey under the elves. Everything she feels is heavily muted, but I can feel one thing clearly: resentment for all elves. Though I feel resentment after what she experienced is normal, it’s not active anger. It’s as though her mind is stuck on a feeling and unable to move on from its current state. She can’t mourn or go through the stages of grief. Though her emotions are muted, and hate is too heated an emotion for someone dead to feel, she feels a distaste for elves and all they did to her in life.

  I catch my breath as I blink away my watery eyes, trying to process. Even though she’s no longer able to feel in the way a living creature can, I feel hatred for the elves on behalf of her. Magic is a wondrous thing, and the fact that the elven magi bent it to depravities unimaginable on Earth, stokes a cold fury in my heart. I look over in the direction of the fort and spit. I won’t be sneaking off with the boat. Those in the fort were complicit in the atrocity, and I will see the fort fall.

  Even as I rage inside underneath, I know how desperate my situation is. Despite the absurdity of taking on a fortified position, I realize it’s my only choice. If I did create a raft, the ships from their fort would cut me down before I made it a mile. If I did run off with the ship, the risk would still be too great. They might have more ships to catch me in the attempt, or they can send out a message to look out for me. Most of all, I have no doubt that the goblins and elves in that fort are the same ones hunting me. They won’t relent, and I need to take my foe down; I‘m not about to live a life in fear of being hunted.

  Despite my burning rage against the atrocities committed on Morgana, I know I can’t assault a fortress by myself. Instead, I look at my skills and consider how I can overcome the obstacle to my freedom. My eyes focus on necromancy as I think about the stories I read on Earth. About wizards who could summon and control the dead, creating legions of soldiers between the necromancers and those foolish enough to fight them.

  My resolve firms as I get back on my feet. I take a deep breath before starting the jog back into the heart of the island forest to find a corpse to practice on. I had trouble using my necromancy before, but after practicing with water and shadow magic, I have a better feel for how to get my magic and affinities to work. I read stories where a set of actions or words would trigger magic inherent in the environment. That’s why I had first tried shouting commands with hand gestures, but all the magic I’ve done so far feels more like a new muscle. I’ll need to exercise my magic skills more to get stronger, not through memorization of magical phrases and gestures.

  I backtrack through the forest to find the bodies of the goblins that I killed earlier. The pungent smell of the dead goblins baking in the sun hits me in the face well before I see them. Their bodies have started decomposing, and a few chunks are missing. As I approach, I catch out of the corner of my eye one of the lizards running between the trees, disappearing into the woods. A braver lizard on one of the corpses hops off to confront me. It lashes out to bite me in warning, but I strike it down in a single stab. I take a few minutes to make sure there are no other critters on the bodies that will ambush me before sitting down to experiment with my magic.

  I reach out to mental muscles where my magic lies and commit as much mana as I can for thirty seconds; I see the body twitch. The small movement quashes my dream of commanding hordes of undead to crash against the walls of my foes. I made an improvement: my magic soaked into the body, but the mana is like a few drops of liquid into an empty cup. It’ll take far more mana than I can control to raise a goblin.

  I’ll need to practice on something smaller before reanimating goblins. The lizard I killed is also a poor candidate to test my magic on. My sword had destroyed the body, so it isn’t viable for reanimation. When I tried to reach out with my magic, the darkness affinity mana washes over the body, the same way it does with inanimate material like rocks. To test out my magical power, I need to find a small test subject, without cutting them into bits.

  I hunt for one of the small lizards, looking up trees and through bushes until I happen upon one as big as my foot. I create an ice shard and skewer one of the smaller lizards, managing not to damage its head or spine. I reach out with my magic, and the lizard’s body twitches. I feel a link form in my mind between me and the animated corpse. I concentrate on the link and feel a second sight; a color-inverted vision appears in my mind’s eye.

  Through my link, I command the lizard to go forward, and it moves on the leftover inherited instincts. I practice giving it different commands to see how it’ll respond, though command is a strong term since its instincts have degraded, and I need to guide every action. It’s awkward trying to get the lizard to alternate using its legs, something the lizard would have done subconsciously in life.

  I command it to run in circles, dash as fast as it can, and then I have it run into the light. As the light hits its form, I feel the connection I have with the undead creature weaken. The projected vision I have through the eyes of the undead lizard starts to blur as the light blinds the undead lizard. I command it to move back into the shade towards me and have it lay within arm’s reach.

  I continue to have the lizard run around, practicing the feeling of instructing the lizard. I then cut the connection and re-establish it a few times to level my necromancy magic and get a feel for the process of raising the dead. During my experiments, one thing becomes clear to me: I realize that I’ll not be able to use one of the goblin soldiers in combat. Using the lizard is so mentally intensive to move the limbs in a coordinated fashion, even with the remnants of its instincts, that it is evident I’ll not be able to control a raised goblin and fight alongside it.

  Morgana watches the lizard flopping and running around for a while, and then, to my surprise, she touches it. I feel pressure on my link as though she is trying to grab the link, but even my meager magical strength is enough to stop her, if I will it. I relax my control and see her ghostly form shimmer before disappearing. The links blend until I feel her through the link, inside the lizard. Strangely, I also feel something in her change. Something about inhabiting the once living creature gives her just a touch of her vitality back.

  Possessing the lizard doesn’t make her feel as though she is back to being alive. If being alive and feeling emotions and desires is like a fire, then this is more like dim coals from a fire that has died. It is as though her life is extinguished, but she has regained a semblance of her empathy, no longer as cold and unfeeling. I shouldn’t be surprised, but in the short time I’ve known her, she’s always been devoid of any emotion. I listen closely as she asks me the first unprompted question since I met her.

  “How will we attack the fortress?” I feel anger, or Morgana’s muted version of it seep through the bond.

  I ponder her question for a few minutes before responding. I look around, hoping an epiphany will dawn on me or a crucial detail, outlining a weakness of the fortress, will appear from my memories of reading too many fantasy stories. As much as I want to bring down the walls of the fort on those inside, I’m not excited about attacking it solo. Not solo, I remind myself as I turn back to Morgana.

  “I hoped to be able to summon a few undead to act as fodder or a distraction. Having you be able to fight will help.”

  The undead lizard looks attentive, though a bit too still, as though it’s a taxidermy statue that has a few spots in need of repair. I draw on all the movies, games, and books I’ve read on warfare and hope that some of it’s true and not just a well of clickbait.

  “I think we should start by scouting out and seeing what the enemy force is composed of. I read or well -um skimmed actually, a book on the ancient philosophies of war. There should be five factors we need to understand: the terrain, weather, enemy’s forces, our win conditions for the attack, and what we can do.” I half expect the lizard to call me out on not properly explaining, but for a ghost possessing an undead lizard, she’s a great listener, and I feel my confidence grow.

  “First, our win condition is the removal of all enemies in the fort. This may be tricky, as not leaving an avenue of retreat can cause them to fight harder. Stealth will be our best weapon, not that I think we could win in a toe-to-toe fight.” Images of what I had seen of Morgana’s life flash through my mind again, firming my resolve. It’s true that my anger over Morgana’s mistreatment is driving me to be less of the man I was in my past life, but in a deep, dark part of me, the greatest driver is my fear. Fear of becoming a slave like Morgana was, fear of being alone with enemies all around me, and fear of being hunted.

  “In our short stay on the island, I’m kind of surprised that it hasn’t rained yet. I traveled to some islands on a vacation once in my old life, and it rained there almost every day. Of course, I have no idea of the geography of wherever I am. I do see some clouds in the distance, and rain would be helpful. I think night would also be advantageous, and an aquatic approach may be best as the trees have been cut back from the walls, so they’ll see an approach from the forest a mile away.”

  “If you can report on what’s going on inside, that’ll give us an idea of what defenses they have inside.”

  “As for us, we have magic, trees, an undead lizard, and a few camping supplies. I really want to practice my necromancy so we can get you a bigger body.”

  I scratch my chin, and an idea comes to me. “Maybe I could create a link to a few undead on standby, and you could attack from different areas. I can place the goblin corpses in the forest so you can use them to attack. As soon as they take one down, you can just jump bodies. Meanwhile, I could attack from the water while they’re distracted.”

  My eyes drift down to the soil as more ideas start to flow. I could try to burn part of their wall, and the fires would be a great distraction, but if the weather does rain the fires will die too quickly to do critical damage. Maybe I can dig a hole somewhere and lure animals into the fort with food. While none of the ideas feel like they will strike a decisive blow, each idea has some merit and will make the attack a little more successful. I look back up to see the lizard’s head tilted like a puppy does when they’re confused, and I realize I had gotten lost in my musings.

  “I have a few ideas, but we have two problems. One is that they know we are here and sent soldiers looking for us. The second is that we don’t know what they have up their sleeves. I want you to go and look around the fort, and I’ll practice my necromancy and try to set a few traps. I was never very good at trap-making, but hopefully we can at least make them weary when traversing the island.”

  The lizard slowly nods, and I feel Morgana reluctant to leave the body. I wonder if the situation would be so bad if she searched the base as a lizard, but we both know a lizard that appeared too intelligent with lethal wounds could tip the elves off. Not only would we reveal that we have undead, but her ability to move through solid material is just too advantageous.

  After a moment when she doesn’t depart, I think about enforcing the order through our bond. I can feel she wants to help in the assault, but possessing the corpse is like being in a warm bed for her spirit. Going back to her spirit form is like leaving the warm sheets to walk naked in frigid air. I ponder commanding her to leave to help her if she can’t muster the motivation.

  On the one hand, I felt forcing her from her comfortable position is a bit cruel, but on the other hand, my need for her to scout in her ghost form isn’t a trivial desire. Her ability to scout the fortress is a matter of survival. Before I can give it a second thought, the lizard slumps as she moves out of the body and flies into the forest. As she moves away, I feel the link strain when she moves too far away. In the end, I’m forced to go into the forest, closer to the fort, to allow her to scout while I hide behind trees. As she scouts, I practice my magic.