First-Person POV
"Man, dying sucks. But I guess I got off easy," I muttered, staring at the massive celestial eye in front of me.
The thing was enormous, filling my entire field of vision. Its golden iris pulsed, alive and all-seeing, like it was dissecting every inch of me.
My death had been quick and painless—one moment, I was cozy in bed, dreaming about absolutely nothing, and the next, I woke up to this eyeball telling me I was dead.
Well, since I'm already dead, might as well figure out what this is all about, I thought, trying to ignore the unsettling gaze of the eye.
"AS I SPOKE EARLIER, YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN," it boomed, reading my mind. Its voice had no origin, just a deafening weight pressing into my brain.
I cleared my throat and took a step back. "No, thank you," I said, sighing dramatically. "Whatever you're selling, I'm not buying. So either send me back or send me to heaven. There is a heaven, right?"
"YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO REFUSE," it thundered. "YOU WILL BE REBORN ALONGSIDE TWO OTHERS. BE GRATEFUL."
Before I could argue, I started glowing.
"Reborn? What is this, some cosmic draft lottery? Can't a guy just rest in peace? And why are you telling me this if I don't get a—"
The scene vanished before I could finish.
What a charming fellow, I thought as my vision faded completely.
I had no idea how this reborn thing was going to work. I just hope I get to keep my memories.
Usually, in these scenarios, the chosen individuals are reborn into fantasy worlds. If the title of this book is reliable, we already know where this is going.
---
Third-Person POV
The faint glow of lantern light flickered in a dimly lit tent. The air was heavy with the metallic tang of blood, mingling with the faint scent of sand. A woman lay on a makeshift bed, her breathing shallow and labored.
Despite the pain clawing at her chest, Mei Su smiled. She held a tiny, sleeping baby against her chest—a beautiful boy with a head full of dark hair.
Beside her knelt a tall man, his broad shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. Zhao Lin, her husband, was overjoyed to be a father, but his happiness was overshadowed by the grim reality of her condition.
The midwife had warned him that these would be Mei Su's last moments. Childbirth had not been kind to her, and the harsh life they had led had only made things worse.
Zhao Lin gripped his wife's hand, calloused from years of hardship but now limp and cooling.
"Zhao," Mei Su whispered, her voice barely audible over the crackling of the lantern.
He leaned closer, blinking away tears. "I'm here," he choked out.
She smiled weakly. Her vision blurred, but she could still feel the warmth of her husband's hand and the soft breath of her newborn. It was enough.
"Wei Zhen," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "His name... Wei Zhen."
Zhao Lin nodded, his heart breaking as her hand went slack in his.
He wanted to scream at the universe, to curse the heavens for taking her. But as the baby stirred in her arms, letting out a soft cry, Zhao Lin clung to the fragile sound like a lifeline.
She was gone, but she had left behind a piece of herself—a reminder of their love.
Through his tears, Zhao Lin looked at Mei Su's still figure. The peaceful smile on her face and the tiny life cradled in her arms gave him a bittersweet sense of relief.
Zhao Lin leaned forward, pressing his forehead against his wife's. "I'll protect him," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I swear, Mei Su. I'll protect him."
____
There was a boy sitting atop an empty barrel, his legs swinging idly as he surveyed the small camp around him. He looked about six years old, with dark hair and piercing green eyes that seemed too sharp for his age.
The camp was a cluster of makeshift shelters, battered by the relentless desert winds. Beyond the thin veil of canvas and wood, the endless expanse of the Si Wong Desert stretched out, golden and barren.
The boy, Wei Zhen, was surrounded by a small group of children his age. They sat cross-legged in a circle, their wide eyes fixed on him, waiting eagerly for his words.
Wei Zhen hopped off the barrel, brushing off his worn clothes before clearing his throat. "Alright," he began, his voice carrying an air of authority far beyond his years. "We're all here for one important thing: the final match between Dulo and Xham!"
A chorus of excited whispers spread through the group. This was no ordinary gathering—it was the climax of their favorite game, a creation of Wei Zhen's own imagination.
The game, which he'd named Sand Hardening, was simple yet captivating. Each player would use their hands—or, for the lucky few, their bending—to shape small sand warriors. The goal was to send these warriors crashing into each other at full speed. The one left standing, or at least the most intact, was declared the winner.
Wei Zhen grinned as he watched the children chatter and prepare. His father's decision to join the Shaan Renkai nomads had turned out to be a boon for him. The tribe was full of sandbenders, and their influence had trickled down even to the youngest members of the camp.
Though this camp was just one of many scattered across the desert, all under the banner of the Shaan Renkai, it felt like its own little world to Wei Zhen. And in that world, he had become something of a leader, not through brute strength, but through his quick wit and knack for bringing people together.
"Alright," he said, clapping his hands to get their attention. "Dulo, Xham, step up! Let's see who's got the strongest warrior!"
The two competitors scrambled to their feet, clutching their hardened sand creations like prized treasures. The crowd of children buzzed with excitement, the oppressive desert heat forgotten in the thrill of the match.
Wei Zhen stood between them, his grin widening. For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to savor the feeling—commanding attention, orchestrating excitement, and turning the barren desert into a playground of possibility.