The weight of the world pressed down on me, crushing my limbs beneath an exhaustion I could not escape. My mind buzzed with thoughts—questions I could not answer, memories that did not belong to me. My body was broken, and it seemed fate had thrown me into the deepest abyss, leaving me to rot in this forsaken ditch. Every breath I took felt like fire scraping my lungs, and the unbearable thirst clawed at me like a ravenous beast.
But as I lay there, waiting for death to claim me again, something changed. My wounds, deep and festering, began to close. The pain that had once burned through every inch of me dulled ever so slightly, replaced with a strange, tingling warmth. It was as if the body—this fragile shell that now housed my soul—was responding to my presence. Was it because I had taken over? Did the boy's death give this body a second wind? Or was it something else entirely?
No matter the reason, I could feel my wounds knitting together, albeit slowly. It wasn't enough to save me, though. My lips were still cracked and dry, my throat an endless desert that ached for even the smallest drop of water. My vision blurred, my strength waning by the second.
I was going to die here.
*Again.*
Just as I began to surrender to that inevitability, something miraculous happened—a cool sensation, barely noticeable at first. It struck my lip. I flinched, unsure if it was real or if my mind was playing tricks on me. Then, another. This time, it wasn't my imagination. A tiny droplet of water, cold and sweet, fell from above, landing on my parched lips.
I blinked, my eyes widening as I realized what it was.
Rain.
The sky had opened up, and rain had begun to fall. Not just any rain—a storm. I could hear the distant rumble of thunder, the sharp crack of lightning illuminating the dark sky above. The downpour was steady, relentless, and it was my salvation.
I summoned what little strength I had left, forcing my mouth to open. My cracked lips parted, my tongue dry and swollen, but it didn't matter. The rain was falling, and with every drop that made its way into my mouth, I felt a small surge of life. The droplets tasted like heaven. Cool, refreshing—better than anything I had ever tasted in my life as Leon Winter.
I strained to keep my mouth open, forcing my body to cooperate. Each drop of water was precious, and I could not afford to let them go to waste. The rain poured through the cracks in the broken, tangled roots above me, slipping through the jagged edges of the ditch. It wasn't much, but it was enough. My throat, once raw and dry, began to feel the relief of hydration.
The storm raged on above, the sound of rain pounding the earth around me. Thunder shook the sky, lightning crackling like a warning from the gods themselves. But I welcomed it. I welcomed the chaos, the noise, the fury of the storm, for it brought with it the gift of life.
I swallowed the rainwater greedily, desperate for every last drop. My body, once too weak to move, began to feel the faint stirrings of energy. My lips softened, my throat loosened. I could almost murmur now, my voice weak but present. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
For hours, I lay there, mouth open to the sky, letting the rainwater drip into me. Each drop renewed me, if only slightly. My limbs were still too heavy, my muscles too weak to properly function. But I could feel my arms twitch, just a bit. I could move, albeit slowly. My hands, once numb and useless, began to respond to my commands, though it took great effort.
And then, as the storm began to wane, the thunder fading into the distance, I felt the warmth of the morning sun creeping over the horizon. The air grew lighter, the oppressive weight of the night lifting. I had survived the storm, but survival came at a cost.
I was still starving.
My stomach twisted in pain, gnawing at itself with a hunger so intense that it nearly drove me mad. I had no food, no sustenance to keep me alive, and my body, still fragile and weak, demanded it.
That's when I heard it—the sound of movement beside me. Something was crawling in the dirt, the soft skittering of tiny legs against the earth. My ears caught the sound of an insect, scurrying just inches from my face.
I swallowed, my throat still raw but now capable of small movements. The thought of eating an insect should have repulsed me, should have driven me to nausea. But I was desperate. In this moment, pride and dignity no longer mattered. Only survival did.
I turned my head slowly, painfully, to the side, my eyes searching the ground for the source of the noise. There, in the shadows of the ditch, I spotted it—a beetle, crawling along the dirt. It was small, insignificant. But it was food.
I reached out, my hand trembling as I moved, each inch of movement taking an immense amount of effort. My fingers grazed the insect, and with a final push of willpower, I snatched it up, holding it in my palm.
I stared at the creature, its legs wriggling in a futile attempt to escape, and without hesitation, I opened my mouth. The beetle was small, its body crunchy between my teeth. The taste was bitter, earthy, but I swallowed it down with a grim sense of satisfaction. It wasn't enough, but it was something. And for now, that was all I needed.
As the morning light grew brighter, I let out a small, shaky breath. My body was still weak, still broken. But I had survived the night. And as I lay there, rain-soaked and filthy, I could feel the smallest flicker of hope stir within me.
I was not done yet.
The world may have tried to bury me, to crush me under the weight of its indifference. But I was Leon Winter.
And I would rise again.