Reborn From the Cosmos

Khan’s tomb was cold, dark, and silent.

A fitting metaphor for the death Lou promised him.

If he were above ground, he might marvel at his punishment; there existed a point where another’s madness became so outrageous, the sheer scale of it was something to admire. Victory was a place of war but never torment. They embraced pain; it fueled growth. But their suffering served a purpose. Never had a knight of the north endured torment for torment’s sake. They didn’t fear death, because when it came, it came quickly. The few times it didn’t, it was when the snow claimed them, gently guiding them into a peaceful slumber.

Khan wasn’t prepared for an assault on his mind and didn’t blame himself for his initial panic; he’d wager his meager wealth that even the bravest souls would react the same after being buried alive. He recovered quickly enough and refused to let the noblewoman’s ploy distress him. It had been an unsettling experience, but in the end, it was nothing to get worked up about.

She called her punishment a glimpse of death, but it was far from. Cut off from the world, there were still things in his earthly prison, like the pounding of his heart and the damp of the soil. The worst storms beyond the peaks erased reality, whiting him out with the rest of the world. Here, there was plenty to ground him.

Being immobile was uncomfortable, but it was a matter of perspective; if he relinquished the want to move, it didn’t matter whether he could or not. Khan told himself that he wanted to rest, sucking down air as he relaxed every part of his body. It didn’t matter if there was no light if he closed his eyes, purposely resigning himself to darkness. The earth beneath him perfectly contoured to his body and warmed him like the best of blankets. He told himself that he was taking a nice nap and the madwoman would wake him when she was done making her point.

He fell asleep, a smug smile on his lips.

But the strangest feeling woke him.

He dreamed he was lying in the snow with Little Water, something he knew had happened often though he couldn’t remember the content of their conversations. Several things gave away that it was a dream, the most obvious clue being he was stark naked, a death sentence beyond fantasy. Another clue was the lizard woman’s narrowed pupils had an affectionate curve to them, a trick of the light that gave warmth to the cool blue gaze.

She stared at him as she spoke, her claws gently tracing his thigh. He didn’t know how his mind conjured the feeling, as he’d never been in a position to experience it, but it was enjoyable nonetheless. Until the slightly ticklish feeling changed. The chitinous claws became softer and uncomfortably wet; the closest he could compare the new sensation to was when he’d played with his brothers and they’d seal their youthful pacts by spitting on their palms before shaking.

At first, he ignored it, unwilling to let go of his pleasant dream. But it continued, a thorn in his perception that nagged until his discomfort gnawed at the edges of the dream. It couldn’t withstand the assault and, eventually, came apart.

Normally, waking from a dream came with light and depth of color that no dream could properly emulate. Even when he woke in darkness, it was rarely complete, softened by some celestial body or nearby artificial light. That was the case for his entire life, a truth he took for granted.

That’s why it shook him to wake to complete darkness. Fear flooded his mind, stark and primal. He instinctively wanted to get away, to find the light, but moving his limbs did nothing, magnifying his fear.

It took several deep breaths to calm his racing heart; the memories of his entombment, violet eyes looking down on him as the dirt rushed in, filling him with bitter calm. Yet, the fear lurked under his reason; it whispered to him that he would wake to darkness again, over and over, for the rest of his life. That this was life now. The whole of his existence.

That and the wiggling.

He could feel it now; whatever was touching him didn’t move in straight lines, but curled and swayed. It was wet and slimy, leaving trails on his skin as it made its way up his legs. The minute movements he was capable of did nothing to dissuade it, the creature moving in confused circles.

Khan did his best to ignore it; it was a small, harmless thing that he had no reason to care about. Except, he did. In the void of sensation, the thing’s presence was magnified. Every time it wiggled, he felt its slimy skin all over. He imagined its touch becoming more annoying; perhaps the thing had teeth or maybe its slime would erode his skin. Ridiculous leaps devoid of logic. Except nothing seemed so ridiculous in the dark.

He fought them, but the thoughts were persistent. They burrowed into his mind before moving beyond, eating him from the inside out. Feeding and multiplying; the worms were covering him from head to toe. Possibility warred with reason.

He demanded sleep to rescue him, but his mind remained agonizingly alert. He tried to breathe but each brush of the worm’s skin broke his concentration. He hummed, muttered, and he prayed, but what little peace the actions offered was broken by the thing on him.

It was maddening, but he grit his teeth and endured. He was a northman. Suffering was nothing new. He’d been alone, if not in the dark, most of his life. A bug making itself a nuisance was nothing compared to walking through the night, dodging roaming monsters.

He grit his teeth and endured.

-

This wasn’t death.

Death was rest. The end of all things good or bad. Oblivion.

There was too much in this hole. The darkness was alive. It breathed his air, leaving only scant amounts for himself. The worm, his constant companion, had summoned a friend, one that enjoyed coiling around his toes. The slight damp of the earth filled his nose so completely, he could taste the fertile soil.

He felt so much, too much. The unrelenting pressure of a body denied. The shame of losing control of himself combined with the discomfort of wet pants clinging to his thigh. The itch as the piss dried, making the fabric stiff.

His heartbeat sounded like never-ending thunder, pounding inside his head. He spoke to try and cover it, but it only grew louder. He screamed; that overcame it for a time, but his throat soon became dry and hoarse, another discomfort to contend with.

Thirst joined hunger. He had been peckish when he was put into his early tomb, but the pressing events made it easy to ignore. It soon became an ache. Then it gnawed.

His hunger transformed into a beast, one that didn’t appreciate being caged in his stomach. It bucked and twisted, becoming less agreeable with every moment. It yowled into his thoughts, destroying any attempt at calm. If he managed to doze off, it was never for long, as the beast dragged him back to his dark reality soon enough; if it couldn’t know peace, neither would he.

He told himself that he could endure. That it was only a matter of time before Lou fetched him; she said herself that she didn’t want him dead.

He told himself that he would feel the earth shifting in the next second. But then the next second came and he was still stuck. He lied to himself again, desperately clinging to the fabricated hope. Each repetition was that much harder to complete, the hope growing thinner until it was barely there.

She would come, he didn’t doubt that. But how long would she make him wait? Days had already passed. Weeks? Months? She could do it; the creatures she kept at her side were imminently capable. They could keep him alive, prolong his agony. Indefinitely?

His eyes stung at the thought, but he fought back the tears. They cut thin trails down his cheeks regardless.

-

The light, when it eventually pierced his prison, burned.

Fresh tears wet his eyes, but they were fueled by an overwhelming surge of relief; he was truly starting to believe he’d been forgotten. Khan didn’t care about the north. He didn’t care about Little Water. He didn’t care about the James and their crazy traditions.

All he cared about was breathing in a lungful of fresh air. He couldn’t remember it ever tasting so sweet. In that moment, he felt that all he needed in his life was fresh air.

A form crouched at the edge of his grave, peering down at him. The light at their back and the dark spots swimming in Khan’s vision obscured everything but the figure’s violet gaze. The anger they inspired couldn’t break through Khan’s powerful relief; he would be happy to see a titan if it was responsible for his freedom.

“Yeah, that’ll do,” Lourianne Tome said, the words as beautiful as bird song. The earth shifted; the stone holding him in place became loose, flowing like water before swelling, carrying him up. His savior/enemy’s face came into focus as she grabbed him by the front of his shirt, hauling him to his feet. He collapsed the second she let go, his numb legs unable to support him.

She grimaced at the pitiful sight of him but reached out her hand again, standing him up and dragging him toward the large estate.

“Time to meet your future.”