Forest

“Martin! Wake up, you lazy goat,” a gruff voice called out.

You were roughly shaken awake and you blinked up groggily at the heavily bearded face staring down at you.

“Git yourself ready, boy! Someone’s coming,” the bearded man said before giving your face a couple of slaps for good measure.

“W-wha…?” You mumbled stupidly, looking around in bewilderment. You found yourself surrounded on all sides by large and tall trees. Light was spilling in through the canopy of leaves high above your head, just enough for you to determine that it wasn’t night-time.

“Stop dreaming and get moving,” the bearded man snarled before shoving a large bundle of things into your chest.

You glanced down to see you’ve been given two quivers full of arrows bundled together with a longbow.

You soon realized that you weren’t alone with the bearded man. Among the trees, hooded and cloaked figures rose from the ground and started to brandish all manner of crude medieval weaponry. A wave of low but excited chatter swept through their ranks.

You promptly got onto your feet and studied your hands along with the rest of your body. Your limbs did not feel familiar at all. You felt taller than you used to be and your arms were heftier with muscle. You proceeded to pick up the bow and arrows. To your surprise, you slung the quivers behind your back with practiced ease and brandished the bow with a certain confidence, as if you’ve wielded it for years.

Like the other folk around you, you wore dirty padded cloth armor over simple tunics and britches and was swathed in a dark brown hooded cloak. Other than the bow, your only other weapons were a pair of daggers sheathed behind your waist and a crude axe hanging from your belt. Again, you felt that easy confidence in your bones, knowing that could draw your blades reflexively and gut your quarry in a split second, as if you’ve done so a thousand times before.

The bearded man had moved on to the other cloaked figures, exchanging words while seemingly taking stock of the men.

“You alright?” A soft voice queried.

Glancing to your right, you see another hooded figure had approached you. Under the hood, a lightly freckled, very pretty face framed in short, fiery red locks peered at you with sky-blue eyes, brimming with concern.

A sense of familiarity washed over you as you beheld the maiden’s face. You felt like you had her name at the tip of her tongue, but somehow couldn’t quite get it out your lips.

“You were shaking a lot in your sleep,” the redhead said, “I was half-afraid you were being possessed by a spirit.”

“Possessed… huh?” You muttered as you glanced at your hands again. Memories of your final moments as you twirled drunkenly to face the pair of headlights speeding towards you resurfaced in your mind. “No… way…”

“What?” The redhead asked, tilting her head sideways. Her brow furrowed with worry, “You don’t look well.”

“I think I’m going to throw up,” you replied.

“Was it something you ate?” She asked and sighed. She reached into a pouch under her cloak and pulled out a sprig of fragrant herb. “Chew on this and drink some water.”

You hesitated before accepting the leafy shoot from her hand and biting down on it. It was slightly bitter, but smelled like mint. “Fiona,” you mumbled.

“Yes?” The redhead replied.

Ah, that’s her name, you thought to yourself. “Thanks,” you replied.

The girl looked surprised. “Y-you’re welcome, Martin,” she replied with a small smile.

“Psychic migration…” you muttered.

“W-what?” Fiona asked.

“Nothing, just talking to myself. Had a strange dream.”

Fiona smiled nodded before taking her leave.

Psychic migration. You’ve read about it in your family’s library. It was said that very high level psionics are able to transfer their entire minds into another body, thus making them more or less immortal. It hasn’t actually been accomplished in the last eight generations and the ability became somewhat of a myth.

Could that be what had happened? Did you somehow psychically migrate before you got hit with the truck? But even so, how the hell did you end up in the middle of the forest with a bunch of medieval cosplayers?

No, wait, something’s not right. You pulled out an arrow and checked the arrowhead. It was a little rusty but there was no mistake about it. It was a sharpened iron broadhead. This was a real arrow. This will kill a man.

You decided you needed information. Luckily, you have plenty of minds around you to peer into. You proceeded to close your eyes and use telepathy to read their simple minds, particularly the bearded man’s who had so rudely awakened you from your slumber earlier.

At first you could hardly believe what you have gleaned. This can’t be possible, you thought. You discovered that these people weren’t medieval LARPers. Their memories revealed that they were actual medieval people of sorts and the world they lived in was very different from the one you died in.

The people around you started moving through the trees. They were following the bearded man who you’ve discovered was named Burke. You’ve also discovered why the lot of them are here in the thick of woods. They were mercenaries and they were setting up an ambush.