Three times makes it an ability

Anton's mind raced with questions about his ability. What he needed to determine with certainty was the approximate duration between his "deaths" in these visions and his subsequent returns to consciousness. His first experience had revealed a half-day gap—dying in the morning only to awaken from a nap beneath an old oak that same afternoon. The second incident followed a similar pattern: mauled by a tiger in the late afternoon, he had regained awareness during dinner with his family that evening.

But a crucial question remained unanswered: did these resurrections occur on the same day as his deaths, or had he somehow slipped forward or backward through time? Beyond his memories and experiences, what else might he carry between these iterations of existence? Anton needed concrete answers before attempting any significant alterations to events.

The simplest yet most daunting test would be to verify the passage of time itself. But doubt plagued him. What if his theory proved incorrect? What if he couldn't trigger this ability at will, couldn't propel himself into either past or future? The first activation had been accidental, the second coincidental—he needed a third instance to confirm a pattern, to prove he truly possessed the power to transcend death.

Yet the prospect of dying a third time in a span of three days held little appeal. Still, if this ability was real, multiple deaths awaited him in the future—better to embrace them, to extract valuable experience from each cycle. One thing remained certain: he would avoid death by fire at all costs, the searing agony still fresh in his memory. Equally unappealing was death by wild beast. If forced down that path, he'd prefer the swift efficiency of a tiger to the prolonged torture a bear might inflict before delivering the final blow.

The ideal death, Anton reasoned, would be quick and relatively painless, the suffering brief.

As he walked toward the city gate, intent on returning home, a sudden inspiration struck. Instead of continuing toward the gate, he veered right, making for the stone stairs that led to the top of the fortress wall. The guards stationed there typically focused their attention outward toward Malor Forest rather than monitoring the city within.

Anton surveyed his surroundings carefully. When certain no eyes followed him, he slipped onto the fortress wall walkway. Wanting to complete his task quickly, he broke into a run, his footfalls echoing against stone. Guards positioned farther along the wall began turning toward the sound, searching for its source.

As Anton reached his chosen position, a guard spotted him and shouted, "Who are you? What the hell are you doing here?"

Before the man could approach, Anton sprinted toward the edge and launched himself from the fortress wall. The guard's desperate command—"Stop him!"—reached his ears as he plummeted through open air. A few seconds of freefall ended with a resounding splash as he struck the water below. Then darkness claimed him.

Light gradually filtered back into his consciousness. Anton fell sideways, catching himself with his palm against soft grass.

"Success," he whispered triumphantly. He had triggered his ability for the third time.

"Baaa," bleated a sheep nearby, yanking him back to his present reality. He found himself lying in the middle of a pasture—not his usual grazing grounds but the northern field where he had met his second death.

He couldn't abandon the flock to rush back to the temple and confirm the date. Instead, Anton continued his shepherding duties with remarkable patience considering the momentous discovery he had just made. He guided the sheep through the remainder of the day, returned home, and completed dinner with his family before finally finding an opportunity to visit Marala's temple.

This time, instead of Priestess Aurelia, he encountered Priestess Lyra, a younger woman with knowing eyes. After receiving the information he sought, Anton departed the temple, a small smile playing across his lips.

"Seven days before the Month of Decay," he murmured to himself as he walked into the night.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

As Anton walked the darkened streets of Kirkvalor, the weight of his discovery pressed upon him like a physical force. The cobblestones beneath his boots seemed more substantial now, the night air blew against his skin—as if his newfound awareness and thoughts had heightened all his senses.

His consciousness traveled not backward through the flow of time, but forward—skipping ahead by half a day or so, returning him to moments where he still breathed, still lived his ordinary existence. A curious ability that allowed him to risk his life without permanent consequence. Death, that most final of boundaries, had become for him merely a doorway to another chance.

Anton paused beneath the branches of an oak that stood sentinel at the crossroads, its leaves dancing with the chilly night breeze. What was he to do with such power? The question unfurled within him like a scroll being slowly opened, revealing infinite possibilities.

More pressing still was the mystery of the ability's origin. Had one of the four gods bestowed this gift upon him? If so, which one? The Agniar, God of Fire and Justice? Aquila, God of Water and Adaptability? Straton, God of Air and Weather? Or perhaps Marala herself, whose domain encompassed the cycles of life and death? And if divine intervention had indeed awakened this ability within him, what purpose did they intend for it?

As he leaned against the oak's rough trunk, Anton felt the burden of responsibility put upon his shoulders. He possessed an ability not unlike those attributed to the immortal adventurers who traveled the realm performing impossible feats through their indomitable feats of strength and prowess.

Yet his power came with limitations and uncertainties that chew against his thoughts. What if, decades in the future, he perished in some distant land, only to awaken back in Kirkvalor as a middle-aged farmer, still continuing the family traditions of dairy farming and shepherding? Would all his journeys, all his accumulated wisdom and experience from those years, matter only to him, a keeper of memories, to everyone else, had never occurred?

The stars winked above him, cold and distant witnesses to his silent deliberation. For most people, life offers but a single path—one chance to live, to love, to make mistakes and learn from them. He now held multiple chances in his grasp, multiple opportunities to correct his course.

Anton straightened, pushing away from the tree's support. Despite the drawbacks, despite the strange isolation his ability might eventually create, he was determined to make himself worthy of this gift. Whether blessing or curse, whether divinely granted or spontaneously manifested, he would use it to its fullest potential.

His gaze lifted to the night sky, where constellations formed patterns that priests and priestesses claimed were the gods' own writings upon the night sky. If they watched him now, let them see his resolve.

"I will not waste this," he whispered to the darkness. "Whatever comes, I will make it matter."

With that vow hanging in the night air, Anton turned toward home, each step more purposeful than the last. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new opportunities to test the boundaries of his extraordinary ability—and perhaps, with time, reveal its true purpose.