Waking up in a winter forest, he does not understand where he is, who he is, where to go, or what to do. Having witnessed an impressive gathering of a secret magical order, he learns of unpleasant circumstances and decides to change the established course of events. But this is only the beginning of the path that the Universe has prepared for him.

      An unfamiliar sound like the cracking of bones interrupts the flow of strange thoughts in my head. Not having mastered these new sensations yet, I try without haste to focus and find the source of the sound. I look down again. Wolves eat my body with appetite. They found their meal so soon. It is strange to see such an unusual sight. I managed to grow accustomed and attached to my own body. We were inseparable friends from the first day of our lives.
      Yes, there were disagreements. Certain things about each other dissatisfied us. Often, we could not reach an agreement. The body was able and willing to work, but a wild laziness gripped the soul. And when the desire to move mountains appeared, the body complained of fatigue. And so, everything was postponed until “later.” When that “later“ comes, no one knows. It seems it never arrived. Happy moments happened in plenty, too. All sorts of things occurred. Alone, we would not have managed. But now, the friend of a lifetime gradually disappears right before my eyes. I never thought I would witness such an unexpected spectacle.
      Actually, it is sweet. A she-wolf and three cubs eat my old friend. Looking at them, my soul feels warm. All of me does. For all that remains of me is a weightless soul, forgotten by everyone. It is pleasant that even after death I help animals survive. Yes, fierce predators. But they are not terrifying; they are endearing. With a smile, I watch the clumsy struggle with the first prey in the lives of the fluffy little ones.
      The body is dead, but for the soul, everything continues. I feel like a small, inexperienced child. No one taught me anything; no one told me what to do, where to go, what to think about, or what not to think about. And so, my new life begins with a clean slate. The dream of those who grew tired of a depressive, dreary existence in the world of the living—those who found it boring to live an ordinary, bleakly difficult life—has come true. Or perhaps the luxury became stale, and one grew weary of the benefits of society. The constant waste of time on the excessive consumption of food, wine, carnal pleasures, and empty chatter with people who amount to nothing, who try with all their might to create an image of personas adored by everyone. If only they knew what it is actually like to stand at the final point of a past life and the absolute beginning of a new existence without a single notion of the future.
      The fear of the unknown takes hold of the consciousness. A steady panic creeps in. It seems that at any moment, something bad will happen. It is unlikely that those who desire a new life think about the impending horror. A true optimist will rejoice at the chance to reset life and head toward distant, shining horizons; a picture of inevitable happiness will settle in their mind. Unfortunately, I realize the depth of the pessimistic reality. And I doubt an optimist would ever end up in such a situation. My past and present are the result of a foul character and an attitude toward life. To be honest, I do not regret it one bit. It seems a slight, devious smile appears on my face.
      A gunshot erases the first dead smile. A bullet flies through me, biting into the stiffened body behind which one frightened wolf cub managed to hide. Once again, dead flesh saves a life that has barely begun. The hunter missed. I look closer and understand the reason. A powerful wolf with eyes burning with rage has sunk his teeth into the man’s throat. Thick, ruffled fur reflects the radiance of the night sun. The blood of the heartless killer spreads in a crimson stream, consuming the snowy whiteness. In the shadow of the trees, it looks almost black. Yet another proof of the well-known truth: “Survival of the fittest.” People who turn a blind eye to harsh reality rarely become winners.
      His family makes the wolf invincible. A rare person is capable of loving as deeply as a wild beast who is ready, without a second thought, to give his life. The wolf has no right to death; he lives for the sake of his family. Having ensured their safety, he returns. The fierce, bloodthirsty predator turns into a gentle and caring parent. With his mighty body, he shields the family from the unpredictable reality. Their life continues. And I must understand what to do with a new life in the role of a disembodied spirit.

      Looking around, I see only perennial pines and snow reflecting the light of the moon, which resembles a saucer on the black-blue tablecloth of the sky. White with dark patches. As a child, I loved drinking tea. Especially before heading off to that much-hated school early in the morning. Tea time belonged to me. I savored every sip of freshly brewed, sweet black tea with lemon. The whole world would vanish; everything grew quiet, stopped, and lost all significance. I remained alone with my thoughts. One had to call my name at least three times to bring me back to reality from the world of my thoughts. Having finished the cooled tea, I would reluctantly take up my battered rucksack of coarse leather, which took quite a beating on the way to school and back. I walked toward the light of knowledge. I never quite reached it, though I tried.
      The shadows of trees, bowing to the ground under the weight of icy, snow-covered branches, gradually soak into the snowy tablecloth. The hollow cry of an owl brings a chill of dread. Having eaten my old friend, my new friends disappeared into the forest thicket, dragging away the hunter’s body. Alone again. A question repeats in my head: “What should a dead man without a body do in the forest?” the intrusive thought, combined with the uncertainty, begins to irritate me. All my life, I thought about how to act, where to go, what to do, and what to say to whom for the desired result. How to earn money, what to occupy myself with, and much more. I hoped that after death, similar questions would not haunt me. How deeply I was mistaken.
      I have no experience being a ghost at all. And simply standing still won’t do. I must move on. New ideas should come along the way. Right now, there is a noticeable lack of them. Some say everything is predestined—that life suggests the path and throws up opportunities, while we have no choice as such at all. Others claim a person creates their own destiny. To be honest, my reflections always ended without definite conclusions. I retreated from tangled thoughts, finding no answers. I never did choose a life strategy.
      I leave the choice to chance. I look for a landmark. In the distance, a towering tree peeks out, twice as tall as the others. Thick smoke rises there, illuminated by a campfire. I head that way. In any case, nothing can happen to me, for as far as I know, one does not die twice in a row. Though, personally, I believe there are exceptions to everything. Even parallelism can be disproven. Just because you don’t know how doesn’t mean it’s impossible.
      Finally, time has appeared to enjoy the wonders of the night forest and simply think. I never considered before that spirits leave no tracks in the snow. After “living“ habits, the discovery of the soul-body’s weightlessness comes as a pleasant surprise. I noticed it when I failed to hear the crunch of snow in the frost. Branches pass through my new body the way you run a hand through water. But now, I am the water.
      Deepening into the motionless forest, I distance myself more and more from my worldly past. With the body torn apart by wolves, my past life departs. It pleases me that it is all behind me. I take with me only a few memories. The brightest and warmest ones. My treasure. A wind in the sails, not an anchor like the memories that hindered me in life and would surely hinder me after death. What is the point of treating a wound for a long time, only to plunge an old knife in once it heals to check if it has healed or not? People simply like pain. I’ve had enough. Perhaps I’ll start living.
      Along the way, cheerful scenes from childhood and youth come to mind. I didn’t manage to live much of an adult life. Every summer, my parents sent me to my grandparents, my mother’s parents. A small woods had grown there over the decades since the settlement’s founding. In the middle of the clearing, an abandoned treehouse sat lost. I imagine how happy the children were when it first appeared. And now, the glass is shattered by unkind hands. Maybe the wind did its part. The roof lies unsteadily, preparing to fall. The door barely hangs on a single hinge. The wooden walls have darkened and grown over with moss. It looks more like the dwelling of an old, wicked witch from a fairy tale.
      But we saw a real medieval castle. In our kingdom, there were knights, ladies of the heart, tournaments, battles, and hunts. And we washed like real knights. We jumped into the nearby river right in our armor. It was a good thing the armor was made of tree bark and boards rather than scraps of metal. Around the impregnable fortress, we tried to dig a deep defensive moat and fill it with water from the river. We wanted to release crocodiles. We dug a large pit, or so it seemed then. All that remained was to fill it with water and release the green guardians. We carried water in a leaky bucket from the treehouse. No matter how hard we tried, the water soaked into the earth. Our young bodies grew tired by evening from hauling the sieve of water, most of which spilled along the way. It turned into a swamp. Instead of crocodiles, frogs moved in—they are green too, after all, and some people are even afraid of them. Crocodiles of a sort.
      Once, a fire-breathing dragon flew to the castle. It swiftly attacked the kingdom from the air, burning everything in its path with its fiery breath. Huge black wings destroyed the castle towers, clipping them in flight. The dragon’s eyes frightened us from the pitch darkness. The sight of the magical beast struck terror into our ladies of the heart. Valiant knights bravely rushed into battle. Brave attacks followed one after another. We stood to the last, ready to give our lives for our beautiful princesses. The fire-breathing enemy caused serious damage as it flew throughout the castle. It destroyed several structures and wounded some of the knights.
      After long hours of battle, we managed through our combined efforts. We caught it, bound it, and dealt with it like valiant knights. And it didn’t matter that our dragon was just an ordinary black raven. It had accidentally flown into the treehouse. It scattered the dusty structures made of broken chairs, rags, and other junk. We spent about an hour catching it. We found an old, torn net. On the thousandth attempt, we managed to catch the feathered beast. We didn’t kill the dragon, and putting it in a cage felt cruel. We released it far from the castle.
      Some were left with battle wounds after the fight. The black horror, the uninvited guest, left scratches on the faces and hands of the valiant knights. Our bodies were protected by armor, but we hadn’t thought of helmets or guards. The bloody marks became scars over time. All summer long, they gave a fierce look to the brave ones who proudly wore the evidence of their valor and courage. After the intense struggle, we gained respect among our peers. They began to see us not as a bunch of strange children with overactive imaginations, but as brave guys ready to fight any enemy. And the local bullies didn’t risk picking on us.

      Youthful memories are entirely different. Most are tied to my three years at the university. After long semesters of testing the patience of the professors and the dean, I was expelled for poor academic performance. The consequence of a turbulent romance. Julia. The French girl, had to learn a new language in her childhood. The entire family moved when her father's business went bankrupt. France offered no viable options. A few years later, Julia's family experienced the joys of successful business in a new country.
      It all started in Building J. We attended a course on the history of ancient civilizations. It was of absolutely no interest to me. Julia was the sole reason for my presence at those boring lectures. Two months had passed since the start of the semester, and the girl still hadn’t noticed me. Her first look fell upon me when I succumbed to an irresistible urge to get some good sleep during the monotonous lecture. As soon as I sank into a deep, healthy slumber, my head slipped from my hand. The sound of my forehead hitting the desk rolled through the auditorium like thunder. It seemed they heard it in the neighboring classrooms as well.
      Most students reacted to the situation with questioning looks: “What, exactly, is happening?” they were also sleeping sweetly. They woke up from the sharp sound along with me. Some simply looked on with understanding and smiled. Others laughed until they cried. The professor paid no attention. He calmly continued. He had grown used to it over years of teaching. Among all the gazes, I noticed the shining eyes of the girl. I turned red with shame and joy. Julia looked at me.
      About five minutes later, a note was placed on my desk: “An original way to attract attention. After the lecture, at the building exit.” I couldn’t believe it. It felt like the pleasant dream was continuing. After all, I had been dreaming of Julia. I pinched myself. I felt a bit disappointed by the pain. Then I felt wildly happy. It was all happening for real. My patience was slowly running out, and the lecture lasted forever.
      The long-awaited end of the lecture arrived. Without showing how agitated I was, I headed toward the exit of the auditorium without haste, joining the flow of fellow students. Once outside, I scanned everything around me. I caught several sunbeams. The sun ruled the clear sky alone. The air filled with the scent of blooming cherry trees. The singing of birds and lungs full of spring calmed my anxieties.
“Hi! I’m Julia,” the very same girl suddenly broke the tranquility.
“Aidan,” I replied, feeling a bit lost.
“Decided to be the center of attention?” the girl smirked.
“Did I succeed?” the faint flush on my cheeks returned.
“You can be sure of it!” Julia laughed brightly with a curious laugh. So sincere, so childlike. I wasn’t embarrassed in the least.
“It’s hard to resist a star-studded nature,” I joked, not losing my nerve in front of the girl. I didn’t want to miss the long-awaited moment.
“And you are self-confident and funny,” the laughter gave way to a mysterious smile.
“My artificial confidence hides modesty and shyness so diligently that it borders on overconfidence and a slight madness. And it manifests as strange humor and a bit of sarcasm,” one says the strangest things when nervous.
“Ooh, how complicated everything is,” the girl shakes her head thoughtfully. “Well, time will tell which side of your soul wins.”
      I’ll tell you a secret: after three months, shyness won. We spent practically all our free time together. Like everyone else, we went to the cinema, to concerts, to parties. On the day we met, I tried alcohol and “special“ tobacco for the first time. Before that, I had only heard of such things. She changed me. She revealed a long-standing desire to change, to try new things, to know the unknown. I met the girl’s unusual friends, gifted creative personalities. In the creative club, everyone did what they liked. My circle of acquaintances expanded to include artists, architects, poets, musicians, writers, choreographers, dancers, and sculptors. I remember a couple of fans of art forms I had never heard of. I never did memorize the names.
      The group often went to the ocean. We sunbathed and swam. At night, we went skinny-dipping. In the evening, we lit a fire and prepared special dishes. Our taste buds celebrated. We were lucky to have a friend who was an artist of culinary arts. The guy took true pleasure in the very process of cooking. And we enjoyed the fruits of his creativity. After eating, we threw on more wood. Smoldering particles of ash left the flames, drifting into the night sky to keep company with billions of stars.
      Having drunk quite a bit, we jumped over the fire. Once, I didn’t make the jump. My foot sank into the burning embers. The sensation was not pleasant. Whiskey in large quantities dulls the pain. In such a state, the burns looked as if they were painted on. Amid the music, laughter, and cheerful shouts, I did not feel the pain. Julia and I watched the sunrise at the very edge of the shore. Beyond lay only the mighty ocean, washing bodily wounds and rinsing away those of the soul. The sun rose smoothly in Apollo’s golden chariot, its rays scattering warm light. Apollo is the patron of creative people. That means we are all children of the sun god, bright rays cutting through the darkness of a gray world.
      I enjoyed my time with Julia and her friends. We became close. With them, everything shimmered with bright colors. It seemed that pleasure could not be washed off the canvas of a new life by a solvent called “Reality.” Time, a freedom-loving nature, and ambition took their toll. Julia is a dominant and strong-willed girl. Psychologically, she proved a bit stronger. Matriarchy in a family is worse than equality. I decided to take a break from the intrusive role of an inadequate man.
I got lucky. The timing of the breakup coincided with a quarantine at the university.       Exactly three weeks. For my rest, I chose a picturesque area. I lived in my grandparents’ house. Unfortunately, it was already without them. The house breathed with my loved ones. It felt as if they were nearby, talking to me, hugging me as before; Grandma bringing golden pies, and Grandpa telling a story from his youth. They stayed in my memory forever. More realistic and more pleasant than actuality.
      Just before I left the city, an artist named Aileen found me. She was a mutual friend of mine and Julia’s. we talked a lot and pleasantly. Our childhood stories were so similar that at times it felt as if we had grown up together. Kindred spirits. In a past life, we were clearly close. It’s so interesting—now I doubt other lives altogether.
“I heard you and Julia broke up,” Aileen whispered, catching me near the apartment when I had brought my things out and was closing the door.
“Yes, it’s true,” I admitted, getting lost in my feelings.
“I might be wrong,” the girl spoke hesitantly.
“I like it when others are wrong. Speak boldly,” I encouraged her with a smile.
“I think your breakup is for the best,” Aileen said, overcoming her shyness.
“You are absolutely right about that,” I smiled so she wouldn’t be nervous.
“I hope so. I will miss our conversations and your inner warmth. The depth of your eyes, in which a whole world is hidden,” she added, looking intently into my soul.
“Our world,” I gently stroked the girl’s forearm. “You know, the time spent with you is a precious treasure. I will keep it in my memory forever.”
“And you are forever in my heart,” Aileen handed me a painting, back-side up.
“We are together?” I was a bit surprised to see myself on the front side.
“I put all of myself into your portrait,” the girl confessed boldly.
“So it turns out we are together here. Even though only I am depicted,” I smiled with joy.
“Do you like it?” Aileen asked uncertainly, losing her composure.
“I can’t find the words to convey my delight!” I couldn’t move from the emotion. “An unsurpassed masterpiece!”
“Just like you,” the girl added, smiling shyly.
“My darling!” I hugged her tightly and gently. “Thank you so much!”
“Thank you, my dear,” Aileen pressed against me pleasantly and softly, closing her eyes.
      We hugged for a long time. I almost missed the bus. Every second was worth the worry. Memories of Aileen are among the most precious in my entire, relatively short life. The next time we saw each other was on a sunny spring day. I was going to a record store for a new album by a famous band. The trees smelled stronger and more pleasant than any imported perfume. I habitually watched the passing people. In the rays of the warm, gentle spring sun, I saw a magical beauty. I fell in love at first sight.
      When she passed by, our fingers intertwined perfectly. Our hands were made to always hold together. When I turned so the sun wouldn’t blind me, I recognized Aileen in the beautiful girl. She smiled so sweetly and familiarly. We continued walking in different directions. The girl’s hand smoothly left mine. Then the lovely silhouette disappeared forever, leaving only memories. In joyfully sad feelings, I woke up from the spring sun outside the window, which had woken me with warm rays. The dear to my heart portrait of Aileen and me hangs in the house of my beloved grandparents. In my treasure trove of memories.

I am not urging anyone to do anything.

All events and characters are fictional.

Any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.

I sincerely apologize if I have offended anyone.

Highly Recommended Age: 18+

The author bears no responsibility for the reader's perception of the book.