But then, all at once, like those strings had been snipped, he fell, snatching at the branches that flashed past. The rain, now sheeting, made it impossible to find purchase; even if his fingers were lucky enough to grasp a branch, they immediately slipped free once more. Inevitably, his legs clipped a branch, sending him into a tailspin, flipping, twisting, crashing and trying to shout, though any sound he might’ve made seemed to have gotten lodged in his throat, blocking any air from entering or exiting his lungs.

Until, after what felt like an eternity but also a blink of an eye, he landed flat on his back with a whump. Only then did the air explode from his lungs, leaving him drenched and wheezing, trying to catch a breath as fleeting as the passage of time itself.

How am I alive? was the only thought Faryon could conjure, a question that repeated itself over and over again, until it began to break apart, rearranging itself into a new meaning, a new message. I am alive. How? The ‘How?’ was no longer connected to the fact that he was alive and was instead a question that had plagued him ever since his father had told him of the River of Life, a story that had been meant to help him grow tired enough to sleep, but which had summoned the opposite effect: That night he hadn’t slept a wink.

I am alive. How? he thought again, even as something caught his eye through the tumult. A golden glow, so out of place within the shadowy forest floor that he wondered whether one of the coins had snuck from his pocket during his harrowing descent.

But no, this was no coin. This was the ooze of liquid, slow and methodical as it welled up from a crack in one of the tree’s roots. A crack, Faryon realized, that he had made when he’d landed so violently.

Gritting his teeth, he reached for that glow. Pain erupted behind his eyes, so intense his vision swam with unshed tears. The pain was in his chest and arms, while his legs felt perfectly fine.

No, he thought. Not fine. My legs feel…

But he never finished that thought, because his legs didn’t feel like anything. Like they weren’t there. Like they now belonged to somebody else.

Oh gods, what have I done?

He lay there for many hours, his upper body throbbing with pain beyond comprehension, even as he wished he could feel that same agony in his lower body. Eventually, the rain stopped, the wind abated, and the sun returned. As time crept past, the sky above the forest’s ceiling changed color, beautiful striations of yellows, reds and oranges giving way to deep purples, nondescript grays and then, eventually a sheet of black speckled by the familiar trio of colors of stars: blue, red and green. The twin moons had yet to rise, but he could sense their presence, like a visitor whose hand hung in the air, refusing to break the silence with their knock.