The next couple of days went by the same, a council with Elden to go over the ritual circle. Training and understanding my skills, I was closer to realizing how to fix Animate, but I still wasn't there yet. And there was still the issue of finding a crest. I could use the one that I had worn in my previous life, a badger snarling. But that fit my father more than me so I threw away that idea. I was clueless on how I was supposed to find one that would cause the souls to associate it with me. Until I fell asleep that night, with Grigori returning in the morning, and discovered another interesting effect of my passive skill Limbo.

  I stared out into the void, a place filled with spectral energy flowing in waves across everything. I felt peaceful here, like I genuinely belonged to these cascading waves. I reached out and the wave parted around my hand like water would've. Except I could feel it filling my bones, a comforting cool sensation cascading through me. Souls stared at me from within the waves, I could not see them, only feel their gazes boring into my back. And then the scene before rumbled, shaking loose the cobwebs of stasis.

  And it melted before me, solidifying into some kind of gelatinous scene before easing into the real image. Or perhaps a fake one. I knew not the true appearance of the place before me. But what I saw, I did know. A humble realm, a small town on the verge of becoming a city one day and a quaint holding sitting atop a hill. High walls encircling it and its towers standing guard over the denizens below.

  "Hello home," I said softly before starting to walk down the road leading to its gates.

  My feet thudded hollowly against the packed dirt, kicking up pieces of it in the more worn places. The town gates opened before me with no hesitation, the guards posted above on the small wall nodding their greetings to me. There was idle chatter through the streets, people going about their daily lives.

  Washing clothes in small basins, hauling carts full of produce or wood. Smiles painted their faces and brought light to the world. It was nice, for lack of a better descriptor. But I felt nothing, their warmth could not reach me. I was beyond their grasp. In both location and being. Still I smiled warmly, hoping that the simple action would instill the feeling I missed all too much. It did not.

  I continued my ambling, my end destination was unknown but eventually I knew I would end up at the castle. All roads lead there at some point or another. Until then I would enjoy watching the people of Yerlin go about their lives, and ponder what mine would have been like had I not perished.

  "Mornin Grubtin," A middle aged man greeted an older man, "How're the fields coming along?"

  "Eh," Grubtin replied, congestion heavy in his voice before he spat, "Right as ever. Did you hear the news?"

  "What news?" The man asked, putting down his polishing brush.

  "The Lord's son," Grubtin continued, "He passed in his sleep yesterday afternoon."

  "Oh no, Patrick is dead?" The man asked aghast.

  Grubtin frowned, "No no no," He waved his hands, "The Lord's oldest, Crowley."

  "Crowley?" The man raised an eyebrow, picking up his polishing brush, "You mean that crippled fellow?"

  "Aye," Grubtin nodded.

  "That's a shame," The man returned to his polishing, "But better 'im than stout Patrick."

  Grubtin frowned, "You younger fellows have no respect do ye? A mother and father just lost a child."

  "We all lose children Grubtin," The man replied, "Better the infirm than the ones capable of doing work."

  Grubtin shook his head and parted from the polishing man.

  I lingered, unsure whether to agree with the man or seek retribution for his callous dismissal of my life. I chose to agree with the man. Better my death than Patrick's. I turned and continued through the town.

  "Oi," A voice called out.

  I turned slightly and saw a young man running up to me, I recognized him but his name eluded me.

  "Can I help you?" I asked, halting my advance.

  "You look new around here," The man panted and stuck out his hand, "Need help getting around?"

  I took his hand, "No, I've been around here before."

  He nodded, "Mind if I walk with you then? Just for a while, I try to talk to people I don't recognize."

  "Why do that?" I inquired.

  He shrugged, "My brother told me that's the best way to get to know the people of the area, and the best way to learn new things."

  I nodded slightly, "It's a good way to learn, though you should be careful with that. Too many people with bad intentions."

  He gestured towards the short sword strapped to his belt, "That's what this is for."

  "Fair enough," I chuckled, "What's your name?"

  "Oh sorry, I'm Warthwick. Yours?" He waited almost impatiently for mine.

  "Crowley." I replied.

  "Really?" He asked, "Well that's a startling coincidence, I had an older brother with the same name. Though he died a few years ago."

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  I frowned, "A few years ago?"

  "Yes," Warthwick replied solemnly, "I got to meet him a couple times but he was so out of it I doubt he would even remember that I existed." He started to walk and I matched his pace.

  "I'm sorry to hear that," I answered, deciding to not turn attention to the time discrepancy and just go with it.

  "It's all right," He shrugged, "I just hope he's in a better place now. From what I understand it must've been a hellish existence."

  "What happened to him?" I nodded a greeting towards a fruit stand and the man behind it.

  "He was sick, and couldn't really do anything besides sleep. Mother doesn't like to elaborate on it." He stopped a few paces ahead as I bought an apple. Do I know where I had the money? No, but it was there when I needed it.

  I bit into the sweet fruit and savored the taste before continuing with Warthwick.

  We didn't talk much, he seemed to be dwelling on his brother's death. But the people talked, the closer we got to the castle the more I heard about the tragic but ultimately merciful demise of Crowley the Cripple.

  "It's a shame," An older woman said, "I remember when the lad was running around town causing mischief or helping us out with the harvest."

  A man chuckled, I recognized him when he started speaking but he seemed older than earlier. "Aye, I remember him causing a ruckus chasing chickens. He couldn't catch them to save his life."

  Grubtin laughed.

  Another man spoke, "There were such high hopes for the lad."

  "And now we have Patrick, though that was inevitable I suppose." The woman said.

  "Aye, the succession had already been changed long before the lad's death." Grubtin agreed.

  "I hope wherever he is, he's doing better. Life gave him a cruel hand in this journey." The other man said.

  "How are things up at the castle Trisha?" Grubtin asked.

  "Same old, same old," She replied, "The Lady is still mourning the loss of her son. The Lord hasn't been the same since either." She sighed sorrowfully, "And I heard the most interesting thing."

  "Do tell," Grubtin and the man ushered her to continue.

  "I heard the Lord had just stumbled upon a healer capable of curing young Crowley but was waylaid on his return journey. Really adds to the sting of loss to have been so close." She whispered conspiratorially.

  "Aye that is a real kick in the balls," Grubtin agreed.

  "That feels like something you should've kept to yourself," The other man said.

  "Oh hush now Reg," Trisha reprimanded, "Talk happens."

  "But must we really gossip about this particular subject?" Reg questioned.

  Trisha shrugged, "Beats talking about yams or wheat."

  "Or the laundry," Grubtin agreed with a chuckle, "Though I believe Reg has a point."

  "Not you too," Trisha mourned, "Gossip is the way of things boys. If I don't talk about it then someone else will."

  "Perhaps someone else will feel a bit more sorrowful about discussing the death and delayed rescue of someone else's son." Reg scowled.

  Trisha huffed and walked away from her little gathering.

  "People can be so insensitive," Warthwick scowled, "Talking about my brother in such a way."

  I nodded my agreement and continued walking.

  He hesitated to follow but did so.

  "Did you have a particular destination in mind?" He asked me.

  "The Castle," I replied, "I have an appointment."

  "Oh?" He asked, "With who? Maybe I could arrange it."

  "With the lord." I responded.

  "My Father?" He frowned, "I don't remember seeing that on his schedule today. And your name would've stuck out to me."

  "It's been a long standing one, it would appear I'm a little late for it."

  "Well that's not proper at all, to keep the lord waiting like this." He reprimanded me, "Come, this way is quicker."

  I followed Warthwick absently, my thoughts rotating around what I had just heard. My father had gone out in search of a healer. I had always assumed he had just given up on me when I didn't see him again. Why had no one told me?

  We arrived at the castle far sooner than expected, there was no route that fast. I looked around for Warthwick but he was nowhere to be seen. I might have wondered about it in different circumstances but it was dismissed then and I entered the castle. I was greeted by a pair of guards.

  "Hold there, state your name and business," One of them said.

  "Crowley, and I have a meeting with the lord of this land." I replied.

  "Bad time to be having that name," The guard frowned, "Let me check with the Steward."

  He left me with the other guard who stared at me, or rather through me. His eyes were distant and sorrowful. It took me a minute to recognize my old training partner. Richard, he was a good friend to me. I hope he found fulfillment in this life and didn't have to wait for the next.

  "Um, sir," The other guard returned, "The lord will see you now in the reception hall."

  I nodded and began walking, "Allow me to show the way," The guard said, not finishing his sentence before I was through the door.

  "I know the way." I said. Disappearing into the folds of the castle.

  When I arrived in the reception hall my father was sitting in his chair at his large table at the head of the room. His eyes bore holes into me.

  "What business do you have here?" He asked heatedly, "I do not have long for someone sharing the name of my son."

  "I came to ask some questions of you, my lord." I bowed slightly.

  "Ask your questions minstrel and begone from my lands," He nearly bellowed.

  My father as I knew him was not an emotional man, and this act of anger caught me off guard. I hesitated to continue speaking.

  "Well, what is it you want?" He continued to yell.

  "I uh," I couldn't find the words. What were my questions?

  He stood, striding towards me, his fists clenched at his sides.

  "Crowley?" A woman's voice asked from behind me.

  I turned to face the origin, it was my mother.

  "Crowley," She said again, "What are you doing here?"

  My father stopped once he was close enough to recognize my features.

  "Son?" He asked hesitantly.

  "I um," I coughed slightly from the lump in my throat, "I came to uh, I came to say goodbye."

  "Goodbye?" My mother asked, water shining in her eyes.

  I nodded.

  My father stepped closer and wrapped me in his massive arms, crushing my bone structure in his grip.

  "I'm sorry my boy," He whispered, "If I had been faster. You'd still be here with us."

  "Don't," I said, extracting myself from him, "Don't blame yourselves. I was gone before we even knew what was happening."

  "But the healer could've saved you," My father whispered.

  "Perhaps," I said, "But healers can only fix, they can't replace what was lost. And I was lost at the end."

  "Where are you now?" My mother asked, "Is Heaven treating you well?"

  I shook my head slowly, "I didn't go to Heaven, mother," I sighed, "Nor Hell." I clarified at the horrified expression on her face, "I went somewhere else. And now, well now I'm living a second life."

  "A second life?" My father questioned.

  I nodded, "A god of some kind offered me the chance to do so. But in another world ripe with chaos and conflict. And I accepted."

  "Why Crowley?" My mother asked, "Why didn't you just rest? You've already been through so much."

  I frowned, this felt weird. This whole thing had felt weird. But I was only now realizing it, so caught up in the nostalgia.

  "I didn't want to rest." I replied, "I've done enough resting."

  "Son, it's all right to rest," My father put his hand on my shoulder, "Abandon your foolish crusade, accept your human nature and rest."

  "My human nature?"

  My mother approached me next, I could feel the spectral energy I had witnessed before rumbling beneath my feet.

  "No."

  The dream shattered, cascading shards of glass, reflections of the rest I could've had. I saw my mother and father, smiling at me. And the glowing eyes of a skull staring at me from the void. And not a human skull. The Deor skull I had been drawn to in my first days in my new home. I had found my crest, my new identity in this world. But could I accept it?