POV: Ulah
My stomach hurts…
My stomach hurts so much…
I rolled inside the outdoor bathroom, writhing in pain. It wasn’t just the pain—I felt an unbearable thirst clawing at my throat, an emptiness gnawing at my insides.
So hungry…
Forcing myself upright, I clutched my belly as a fresh wave of agony rippled through me. It felt like something inside was moving.
Lifting my shirt, I inspected my stomach. A few scars remained from when I’d fallen as a child, faint white lines against my dark skin. But nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The sensation was still there, shifting beneath my ribs, yet I saw nothing.
Was it the bread roll?
Did I eat something bad?
“Mommy…” I tried to call out, but even that hurt.
Gritting my teeth, I struggled to my feet and pushed against the wooden door. It creaked loudly, the sound sharp in the quiet night. Bugs skittered away, startled.
I staggered toward the house, each step slow and unsteady, like an old man leaning on a cane. The bathroom was just behind the house—only two meters away—but it felt much farther.
My feet dragged through the low-cut grass. It was longer than usual. Did Mom forget to cut it this week?
She always used a machete for that. I could picture her gripping a handful of grass, slicing it cleanly—over and over again—unless the cutlass was too dull.
A sharp pang twisted my gut. So hungry…
My breath came in shallow gasps as I stepped on something small and hard. A wooden toy pyramid.
I recognized it immediately—it looked like a pyramid communicator.
I stepped past it. Once my stomach stops hurting, I’ll ask Mister Paul if it’s Jenny’s. He had made one just like it for her.
Maybe he’ll make one for me too… this time?
I hesitated.
“Tell your father to give me my damn money!”
That was what he had said last time I asked.
I thought my father had hired him to build a cabinet, but he never paid him. It didn’t make sense. Dad usually built everything himself. Why ask for a cabinet?
I remembered when Paul had come to the house, machete in hand, demanding his money. People had gathered, watching, whispering.
"Caren, just give the man his bloody money."
"Paul’s too nice. If it was me, I would’ve fucked you up already."
"Paul is too stupid to do a job for Caren of all people."
Mom had said nothing. She never did when drama unfolded. Her face remained blank, unreadable. She only checked on Vernisha, then left to fish with Palia and sometimes Mary.
A wave of dizziness washed over me. So hungry…
Mom had told me she didn’t bring back any fish because it sold well in Portrum. But she was probably lying.
Maybe she saved some…
Maybe she preserved some for tomorrow…
Maybe…
Right now, I would eat anything. Drink anything.
I reached the back of the house and slumped against it, leaning heavily on the wooden wall. With what little strength I had left, I forced myself along the side, dragging my feet toward the front.
“Mom…”
<hr>
POV: Vernisha
As always, I floated in shifting darkness, a fog that pulsed and twisted like something alive.
I hated this dream. I wanted something better—something like the ones I had back on Earth.
The clean ones this time.
So weird… I wonder how this brain works. I had been around twenty-one when I died back on Earth. Or rather, when I took my own life.
I hadn’t had a good reason to, I supposed. I was sure that when my family and old friends found out, they would have reacted with shock and disbelief.
“You’re lying… No way Nelle took all those pills.”
“But why? She was never involved with anything weird. Had no children, no abusive boyfriend, no drugs, nothing.”
Funny.
I had nothing to look forward to. Not even something as simple as interacting with others.
You know how life goes. In high school, you''re close with all your buddies, excited over the prospect of going to the same college. But different majors mean never sharing the same classes. Never sharing the same classes means spending less time together. Conversations on WhatsApp slow down and eventually die.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
Friends become acquaintances. Acquaintances become strangers.
Make new friends? That’s the obvious thing to do. But I hadn’t had the drive for that. I hated economics, and that led to me hating everything about that damn college. So once a class was over, I moved to the next. Once all my classes were done, I got the hell off campus.
I would take a taxi home, throw my clothes onto the couches in the living room, maybe consider cleaning that Kool-Aid stain on the armrest, then collapse onto my bed—sweaty, dirty, not caring. I would turn on the AC, maybe nap, wake up, do some homework, scroll through TikTok, get bored, switch to Webtoon to read my favorite series but suddenly feel nothing for it. I would check Royal Road, Ronobes, or whatever pirate sites were available for novels, only to realize I had no energy to read.
So I would put on Invincible, give up, try a random anime, give up, then try rewatching a nostalgic series—Adventure Time, Teen Titans, something.
Nothing stuck. Nothing brought joy. Nothing made me excited.
Food I used to love tasted bland. My favorite YouTuber, MoistCr1TiKaL, seemed unbearably dull.
I had no desire to look forward to anything.
I thought it was just a bad day, but the feeling lingered for weeks. Months.
I couldn’t think of anything worth living for.
So I overdosed on painkillers.
I cracked the pill cap open, poured some into my hand, stared at them, got anxious, tried to think myself out of it, gave up, threw them into my mouth, and lay on my bed, waiting.
The slowed breathing.
The sluggish, erratic heartbeats.
The loss of consciousness, then cardiac arrest.
A pathetic way to go out, I supposed. But what do you know? For some reason, I got reincarnated as a baby in a fantasy world.
I didn’t believe in random luck, but I also didn’t care enough to question it.
Anyway, the dream finally faded. The shifting darkness dissolved, and I woke up.
I stared at the ceiling. I couldn’t see it in the dark, but I knew I was facing up.
My stomach hurt.
I sat up, but the pain surged, forcing me to stop. It felt like I was being kicked from the inside.
What the hell?
I paused and looked around. “Ulah?”
I didn’t want to use my healing skill just to find out he was secretly awake, watching.
No response. As expected if he was fast asleep.
I lightly kicked the space behind me—his usual sleeping spot.
He believed that if a monster ever sneaked in, sleeping behind me would let him escape while I got eaten first. A cruel child.
But it had been funny when he explained his reasoning.
I moved blindly through the darkness, reaching for his blanket. At least it wasn’t wet from sweat—or worse. But where the hell had he gone?
The stomach pain worsened.
Holy shit! Maybe I shouldn’t have said I was glad I didn’t have my period yet. Is this karma?
This was worse than anything I’d felt back on Earth. And back then, the pain had been so bad I always needed painkillers.
I coated my left hand in a red healing aura and pressed it against my lower abdomen.
A faint glow illuminated the room, like a firefly in the void.
The pain dulled.
That meant the source wasn’t something natural. Years ago, I had tested this power and learned it only caused recovery—it didn’t stop muscle contractions. Unless the contractions were caused by some kind of damage or malfunction, I supposed.
I left the bedroom and moved toward the kitchen. The wooden floor creaked under my steps. My foot caught on pens and notebooks Ulah had left scattered across the floor. The room was dark, but I relied on memory.
There were five decent wooden chairs. One rested against the right wall of the living room, another against the left.
The three others—
I slammed my shin against the dinner table’s leg.
Hissing through my teeth, I reached out and ran my fingers over the faded red table runner. Its color had nearly disappeared, worn by time and use.
A merchant from Laskdar City brought this here, selling off old junk to the villages. Caren bought it for cheap—two bronze pints kind of cheap.
One bronze pint less than a hamburger from Sundawn, the capital.
I used the table as a guide, moving toward the kitchen. The woven oil-treated basket near the edge signaled my destination—where all the dishware was kept.
Stretching up, I felt along the face of the small cabinet mounted above the basket. My fingers traced the wood until they met the knob at the center. With a small swing, the cabinet door creaked open. I reached for the last shelf, searching for a small, airtight wooden bottle containing grated Hula fruit—dried for preservation.
Unscrewing the cap, I sprinkled a light amount into my palm and threw it into my mouth.
Gross!
The bitterness was immediate and overwhelming. My stomach twisted as I forced myself to swallow, suppressing the urge to gag. A violent cough escaped me, sending flecks of spittle flying.
That bread. Some fucker must have poisoned it. Or maybe it was just made with shit.
Hopefully, it’s just my piece that was spoiled.
A sudden creaking sound broke the silence—a door opening.
I turned toward it, ears straining. Footsteps followed.
Someone going outside to use the washroom?
I reached for the bludust on the second shelf. It rested on a small metal plate, and I carefully held the edge to keep from tipping it over. Spitting onto the blue sand, I watched as it reacted, sizzling like water on hot oil. A few sparks flickered before a small but steady blue flame flared to life.
The dim light stretched shadows across the room, warping them into eerie, elongated figures. In its glow, I saw the figure that had entered—Ulah.
He was hunched over, clutching his stomach, groaning in pain.
“Your stomach hurts too?” I grabbed the container of grated Hula fruit and moved toward him.
His voice came out weak, strained. “Who’s that…? Vernisha?”
“Yeah. I think the bread was spoiled. My stomach felt like shit too.”
I hesitated, remembering how he always reacted to Hula. He wouldn’t just spit it out—he’d vomit.
“Give me a second.” I turned, heading for the basket of fruit sitting in the middle of the dinner table.
My fingers found the largest pink-terra, half-ripe. There were other fruits—moonpaes, C-shaped grapes that tasted like a mix between watermelon and cherry—but those wouldn’t help.
“What’re you doing?” Ulah asked, his voice tight with discomfort.
“Getting something to make you feel better.”
He fell silent for a few seconds, then groaned. “I’m hungry… and thirsty.”
“I know, I know. You’ll get something to eat soon.”
As I walked back, I split the pink-terra in two. A thin stream of white juice trickled down my fingers, dripping onto the floor. I steadied the dried Hula container in my armpit, freeing my hand. Scooping a thumbnail’s worth of grated Hula, I pressed it between the halves before closing them together.
“Eat this. It’ll help.”
Ulah snatched it greedily and devoured it without hesitation.
Strange… he usually asks why it’s already open. Or at least complains.
Pink-terra was his favorite—mostly because he liked being different. Wow, you guys hate this? But it’s so good! Its bitter taste masked other flavors well, making it perfect for slipping in medicine.
A new sound cut through the quiet.
“Why are you two up?”
Natasha. She and Caren slept in the living room.
I turned slightly. “Ulah’s feeling sick, so I was just—”
“I’m hungry…” Ulah’s voice was hoarse, like a man with a wounded throat struggling to speak.
“Eat everything first, and… I’ll get you something else.”
That was a lie. There was nothing left to eat except vegetables and fruit.
Natasha approached. “Since when is he hungry at night?”
She shifted her gaze to him. “Didn’t you eat all your lunch?”
Ulah hugged his stomach and squatted in pain. “I’m hungry. I’m hungry…”
“Hey. Hey.” I rubbed his back, trying to calm him. “You’ll get something to eat soon.”
“Oh…”
“Yeah, so just wait a little.”
He said nothing for a while, then grabbed my left arm, staring at it.
“What is it? You like my fingernail paintings?” He was the one who had done them, bored one afternoon.
Instead of answering, he sank his teeth deep into my forearm.
Pain shot through me.
Sharp. Sharp teeth!