Rianna: Mage in the Beastworld

Awakening

The deluge had been merciless, a tempest of destruction that spared no corner of our tranquil village. I could still hear the haunting echoes of screams mingling with the roar of the rushing water. The once serene mountain landscape now lay transformed into a chaotic expanse of debris and sorrow.

As I gasped for air, my lungs burning with the effort, fragments of memories flickered through my mind like distant lightning in a stormy sky. Had I been here before, in another time, another life? Or was this merely a cruel trick of fate, a reminder of mortality's fragile grip?

With each labored breath, the icy tendrils of the water threatened to claim me, pulling me deeper into its dark embrace. Yet, amidst the suffocating cold, there was a strange sensation-a faint flicker of warmth, like a distant ember refusing to be extinguished.

In the midst of the chaos, I found myself reaching out, not just for survival, but for something deeper, something primal that stirred within me. It was as if the floodwaters had stripped away the layers of civilization, leaving behind only raw instinct and resilience.

As the icy currents threatened to drag me into the abyss, I clung to that flicker of warmth, letting it guide me through the darkness. In that moment of uncertainty, I made a silent vow-to emerge from the depths, not as a victim of the flood, but as a survivor, forged anew by its unforgiving embrace.

I felt my consciousness return as air filled my lungs. It was as if I had been submerged in a timeless void, where the boundaries between reality and oblivion blurred into obscurity. With each gasp of precious air, the fog that had clouded my mind began to dissipate, replaced by a renewed clarity.

The sensation of life coursing through my veins was both exhilarating and disorienting, like a traveler awakening from a long and troubled slumber. As I blinked away the remnants of unconsciousness, the world around me slowly came into focus.

I found myself lying amidst the wreckage, battered and bruised, yet undeniably alive. The once tranquil village had been reduced to a desolate wasteland, its familiar landmarks swallowed by the relentless tide of destruction.

For a moment, I lay there, grappling with the enormity of what had transpired. Memories flooded back with startling clarity-the torrential fury of the flood, the desperate struggle for survival, and the haunting specter of mortality that had loomed over it all.

As I struggled to rise to my feet, each movement sending ripples of pain through my battered body, I knew that I was not alone in this struggle. Somewhere amidst the ruins, others must have survived, clinging to the fragile thread of life just as I had.

With a newfound determination coursing through my veins, I began to navigate the treacherous terrain, each step a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. Though the road ahead was fraught with uncertainty, I refused to succumb to despair.

For in the depths of the abyss, amidst the wreckage of a once peaceful village, I had discovered something enduring-a flicker of hope that burned bright against the encroaching darkness. And with that flame to guide me, I vowed to press onward, into the unknown, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

As I walked through the debris, my eyes scanning the desolation that surrounded me, it was my trembling hands that drew my attention. They looked smaller, somehow, as if belonging to a different time and place. A wave of disorientation washed over me, and I staggered, clutching at fragments of memories that felt both familiar and foreign.

My head throbbed with a dull ache as visions of a childhood that was simultaneously mine and not mine flooded through my mind. Faces blurred in and out of focus, their features a mosaic of familiarity and ambiguity. It was as if the floodwaters had dredged up fragments of a past life, scattering them amidst the wreckage of the present.

I had been reborn, in the literal sense. In a world that was not my own, I found myself grappling with the echoes of a life that had long since slipped through my fingers. The realization sent a shiver down my spine-a chill that had nothing to do with the icy embrace of the floodwaters. I had drowned in my previous life, lost to the merciless currents that had swept me away. And yet, here I stood, a survivor of both the flood and the memories it had unearthed. As I struggled to make sense of this strange convergence of past and present, a sense of unease settled over me like a heavy cloak.

A name was being called out against the wind, my name, Rianna. The voice sounded frantic and worried, male by the sounds of it. As I looked around in search of the voice that called my name I caught a glimpse of myself within a bowl of water that had become still enough to catch my reflection. I was still me, the same face as I had in my previous life, but younger. The adult I remembered gone and replaced by a child. Long, shoulder-length hair that was as white as snow. Eyes like rubies against skin as pale as death. In my previous life, I was called albino, a rare disease that made me shunned and unwanted, even by my own parents.

I looked at the ragged state of my small body, covered in scrapes from the flood, the simple linen dress barely clinging to my small frame. Perhaps this new existence offered respite from the trauma of my past self. The voice that had still been calling out to me sounded closer than before, and so I responded with a yell, hoping they would find me.

The sound of heavy footsteps grew closer and soon a figure came into view. He was tall, a body of pure muscle and sinew with skin kissed by the sun. He wore only a simple pair of cloth shorts, tied at the waist with a rope. Rounded cat ears peeked out of his messy blonde hair, and he had eyes that shimmered like the ocean. A tail, that my memories classified as 'cougar', seemed to sway haphazardly behind him. 'Papa' was the word that came to mind when my ruby eyes took in the figure of the strong man before me. His voice was like honey, soothing as he called my name yet again, scooping me up into his strong arms and holding me close.

I wasn't sure if it was because of my young age or perhaps the recent trauma of being lost in the flood, but my eyes filled with tears and I wrapped my little arms around his strong neck and cried helplessly against his broad shoulder as he carried me away from the wreckage. He held me as if I weighed nothing at all, one hand soothing my back as he simply let me cry.

"It's alright my sweet little Rianna. I found you. Papa Amal took Mama and your brothers to safety. What happened, sweet girl, how did you fall?" His voice was tender, gentle. He held me so that I could look him in the eyes. I didn't remember falling, only the flood. Only the waters trying to swallow me. I shivered and shook my head. He patted my head softly, letting his fingers gently trail trough the muddy matted mess. As he climbed over debris I looked around at the scene before me. Figures akin to my father, yet bearing wolf-like features or the graceful wings of birds, moved with purpose. In my fragmented memories, I knew them as Anituri, though my former self dubbed them "were-beasts."