The other side of Reincarnation

　Another year passed before the house finally felt less like a project and more like an actual home — walls solid, roof sound, a hearth that held fire properly instead of threatening to collapse the first time I asked too much of it.

　Anti-Subconsciousness had spent that year teaching me more than construction. Proper control. Proper technique. The difference between throwing power at a problem and actually understanding what I was doing with it.

it told me, one morning, watching me hold a sustained working steadier than I’d ever managed under my mother’s teaching.

”High praise, coming from you.”

Same thing, some days, with you.

　The barrier had grown right alongside the house — Absolute Sanctuary now stretched across the entirety of the Horizontal Line, easily the size of two islands laid together, every ridge and valley and stretch of forest folded inside its protection.

　Nothing crossed into it without my say-so.

　Anything that tried simply found itself walking in circles, looping back toward wherever it had entered, time itself bent gently around the barrier’s edge to make sure of it.

My own mountain. My own rules. First real territory I’ve ever actually had to call mine, in either life.

”So if something wanders in without permission,” I asked once, testing the idea, ”it just... never actually gets anywhere?”

”That’s either very clever or very cruel.”

　Hunting became a necessity somewhere around then — I’d built a home, but a home doesn’t feed itself, and my own attempts at farming had produced results almost as sad as my early attempts at cooking.

　So I started going down into the forested lower reaches of my own domain, looking for something worth eating.

　The first kill surprised me more than it should have.

　A boar-like thing, tusked and irritable, went down in a single clean strike I barely had to think about.

Huh. That was... easy. Easier than it should’ve been, this early into actually hunting anything.

Anti-Subconsciousness noted, watching me stare at the fallen creature with more surprise than the moment probably warranted.

Guess not. Been a little busy grieving and building a house, in my defense.

　I had no ingredients to speak of, so dinner that night was improvised, unglamorous, and honestly not half bad, all things considered.

　It was a few days later, moving back toward home after another hunt, that I felt something worth paying attention to — a presence, distinct from the general background hum of monsters that filled my domain the way squirrels might fill an ordinary forest.

Most places, that presence would be genuinely dangerous. Here, it’s barely worth slowing my pace for.

　The monsters of the Horizontal Line ranged from unremarkable to genuinely fearsome — the kind of thing that would have posed real trouble to an ordinary trained fighter, maybe even to Doran or Fenrik at their best.

　To me, by that point, most of them barely registered as more than obstacles.

　Tree branches in my way, more or less.

　I followed the presence until I found it — and stopped, recognizing the shape of it from somewhere further back than I expected.

Mom mentioned this one, once. Said it was delicious even without a single ingredient added.

Anti-Subconsciousness supplied, unprompted.

Huh. Didn’t expect my own soul to have a working knowledge of comparative mythology.

　We’d gotten comfortable enough, by then, that conversations like this had stopped feeling strange — just two voices sharing one head, chatting the way old companions might, which I supposed, in the strictest sense, we actually were.

”Hey,” I said, watching the beast graze, unaware of me yet. ”I’ve been wanting to ask something. Why do you sound like a girl?”

”...Wait, what? I don’t remember picking a gender for you. That’s not a decision I recall making at any point.”

”Yeah, I know that part.”

　I went very still.

That’s — hold on.

”Hold on just a second there, buddy,” I said slowly. ”Is that not my girlfriend’s name?”

She’s been gone a long time. Longer than anyone in this world’s ever known about. Before Kenji. Before any of it. I never actually told anyone about her — not Doran, not Fenrik, not even fully myself, most days.

”How were you able to know that,” I asked, quieter now.

”...So you knew. When she died. Back then.”

　I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

”I knew this voice sounded familiar,” I said, something aching and distant settling in my chest, old grief brushing up against newer grief in a way I hadn’t braced for. ”Anyway. That’s the past now. Let’s go kill this monster.”

One thing at a time.

Grief doesn’t wait politely for a convenient moment. Guess I’m getting better at making room for it anyway, wherever it decides to show up.