Chapter 5: Awakening in the Womb of Nature
A dull pulse.
Rhythmic. Slow. Faint, yet persistent.
It wasn't a sound, not exactly. More like a vibration—something deep within, pressing outward.
I slowly regained my consciousness as I tried to move. My body resisted, stiff and unresponsive. I wasn't weightless like before, drifting through the void. No, this was something different. Something physical.
I was buried.
The thought struck like a hammer, sending a spike of panic through my mind. But no—not buried. Enclosed. There was space, but it was tight, confined. The walls around me were soft, damp, pulsing with a warmth that wasn't my own.
A womb.
The realization settled in, heavy yet surreal.
I was inside something living.
I reached out. My fingers sank into the fleshy membrane surrounding me. It gave way slightly but held firm, like thick, fibrous roots woven into a cocoon. The air was thick with moisture, carrying a faint, earthy scent. It reminded me of damp moss after a heavy rain.
I needed to get out.
I pushed harder, fingers digging into the surface. It flexed, resisting for a moment before beginning to tear. A wet, sinewy sound filled the enclosed space as the cocoon split apart. Light poured in—not blinding, but enough to sting my eyes after what felt like an eternity in darkness.
Cold air rushed in, slamming against my bare skin like a wave of ice.
For the first time since my rebirth, I breathed.
The air was crisp, sharp with the scent of pine and frost. It burned down my throat, filling my lungs with something real. Something alive.
I staggered forward, falling to my knees as I pulled myself free from the remnants of my cocoon. My body was weak—newborn, yet familiar. I glanced down.
I was small.
A child.
Seven years old.
The same face, but younger. My limbs were thin, my skin paler than I remembered, but everything was still me.
And I wasn't alone.
As my vision cleared more, I saw them—others like me.
Some were still in their wombs, their forms barely visible through the pulsing organic sacs that lined the chamber walls. But others had already hatched, their small, childlike bodies trembling as they took their first breaths.
We were all children.
Seven years old, reborn into fresh, young bodies, yet our minds were far older.
Some stood in confusion, their gazes darting around as if struggling to comprehend what had happened. Others sat curled up against the cold stone floor, arms wrapped around themselves for warmth. A few whispered to each other in hushed voices, their faces pale.
A group had already gathered near the staircase leading upward, their bodies tense. They looked hesitant, unsure whether to climb or wait for more of us to emerge.
I turned back toward the unhatched wombs.
Hundreds of them.
Each one pulsed softly, holding another soul inside.
For a brief moment, I considered breaking them open. Setting them free before they were ready.
But something deep inside told me not to.
I had to claw my way out. So would they.
This was part of the process.
If I intervened, I might do more harm than good.
Instead, I turned and took a slow, shaky step forward.
The cold stone floor bit into my bare feet, rough and uneven. My legs trembled with the effort, my muscles weak but functional.
One step. Then another.
The others who had hatched before me watched as I moved toward the stairs. Some looked curious. Others indifferent. A few simply too lost in their own thoughts to care.
I didn't speak.
None of us did.
We were all processing. All trying to understand.
I climbed the stairs, my hands trailing along the worn, moss-covered stone walls for support.
The womb chamber faded behind me as I stepped into the grand hall.
The ceiling was high, arching like the ribs of some great beast. Light spilled in from gaps in the stone, casting long shadows across the worn floor.
And the others—those who had awoken before me—were here.
A dozen or so children stood scattered across the hall, their faces unreadable. Some were examining their new bodies, flexing fingers and rolling shoulders as if testing their strength. Others sat on the ground, staring at nothing, lost in thought.
A few stood near the open entrance, peering outside but unwilling to step beyond the threshold.
I followed their gaze.
The world stretched before me, vast and untouched.
A mountain range, endless and snow-covered, loomed in every direction. Tall, jagged peaks pierced the sky, their tops swallowed by heavy clouds. Below, a dense forest of pine trees stretched toward the horizon, their dark green needles dusted with fresh snow.
The wind howled, carrying the scent of ice and wood, sharp and clean.
I wrapped my arms around myself, the cold finally sinking in.
I was standing at the peak of a temple, its foundation carved into the very bones of the mountain.
A stone balcony-like platform extended outward, giving a full view of the landscape. The temple itself was ancient, its walls cracked with age but still standing strong.
And near the center of the hall, stacked neatly, were supplies.
Crates, sacks, dried rations. Just enough to keep us alive for a short time.
Someone had left them here.
But it wouldn't last long.
Even if we rationed carefully, the food would run out.
And then what?
I exhaled slowly, my breath fogging in the cold air.
I had a body. I had air in my lungs. I had a chance at life.
But this was no gentle rebirth.
This was a test.
A challenge.
And it had already begun.