Pale energy courses through my chest and stomach, empowering me with its violent nature. Death feels much like emptiness almost like an insatiable hunger. The mana rages inside my channels. However, instead of feeling the mana rushing through me, I almost feel nothing. The mana is there and even though I’m filled with emptiness as it cycles, I feel full of power.

  After some time spent feeling and observing the violent void cycle, I pull my attention away from cultivating to prepare for dinner. I’m getting closer to being able to wield death but now actual hunger has become a problem.

  My rabbit is now well roasted on the two main sides. All that is left is to add heat to the other two sides and cook up the forest weeds and mushrooms. Lowering my grease-soaked pan-like rock into the fire, I let the oils heat up before adding my sides.

  The ingredients touch the rock with a sizzle that lets me know there’s plenty of heat for cooking. I’ve a thought when I reach for a stick to stir the food. Maybe I don't need to entirely rely on the woods for my tools.

  A spark of inspiration ignites my mind. Now that I can control my mana within, maybe I can use that mana outside of my body. Death mana practically leaps out of my skin when I think of letting it out. Excited by this new possibility, I immediately begin the summons.

  Fixing an image of a cooking utensil in my mind, I call on the eager mana and will the power to take shape. A bone-white spatula forms in my hand, materializing out of pale energy.

  The cooking utensil is a crude spatula, more a white straight stick than anything. I'm confident that is a problem I will fix as I gain more experience summoning and molding with death mana. Despite its shortcomings, my glorified stick fills me with excitement. I’m the most powerful bone summoner in all the lands!

  Spatula in hand and feeling like a proper chef, I stir the frying vegetation and mushrooms with authority. Heavenly aromas from the sizzling onions and mushrooms combined with the roasting rabbit awaken a deep hunger that was only temporarily pacified earlier by salad.

  Now reduced in size and caramelized in color, my food is ready to eat.

  Like the spatula, I visualize a plate, fork, and knife and will my mana to become so. Each successfully summoned crude bone cutlery is met with the same enthusiastic excitement I have for my spatula.

  After a quick trip to the river and a couple failed attempts at creating a mug, I’m adequately equipped for a meal.

  Roasted rabbit tastes so good compared to the scorpion meat and weeds I ate previously. It is tender, juicy, and packed with smokey pine flavors. I devour chunk after chunk of meat. My mushrooms and onions are tender and rich. Sometimes I get wild with my dish and mix the bites together. Occasionally I take a break for a quick drink.

  I'm fully invested in my meal, not even taking time to criticize or complain. Before long, it is all gone.

  For the rest of the evening, I sit by my fire and practice using pale energy. First, it is a basic knife summons. Then I summon another knife, slightly improved with a sharper edge. I continue to summon blades, honing my skill to visualize and manifest my vision. Feeling drained from exhausting my channels, I take a break from my exercise.

  Piles of bone knives crowd my campsite. Stumbling through the process, I discover how to absorb my blades back into my core. Holding on to the item, all I must do is connect my mana to it. Then it is a matter of willing the mana to come back.

  I recall all the blades except the last two I summoned, keeping them close by. Longer than the rest, the small machete-type knives help to bring me a false sense of security.

  Recalling the bone knives restores the mana lost in my core, relieving some of the strain I’m feeling. Still, my core and channel feel like an overused muscles and need some time to recover regardless of the restored mana.

  "Shoot." I silently reprimand myself, "Why did I not keep a count of the knives I summoned?" That probably is valuable information.

  What if I meet a knife peddler in desperate need of inventory? "I can give you a pile of knives." I shake my head disapprovingly. "How much will you pay for a pile of knives about knee-high? What about ten piles of knives knee-high?"

  This definitely knocks the theory of me being a knifer in my previous life. Any good knifer would know the number of knives he has access to. It is ingrained into their very being. If a knifer doesn't know all his knives, is he a knifer? Nope.

  Slipping high into the sky, the moon peeks through the trees watching over me as I fall asleep, thinking of the adventures to be had in the life of a knifer.

  When I wake up, the last remnants of the moon can be seen, and the sun is starting to creep over the desert. Wasting no time, I revive my fire and begin my morning with some stretches and exercises.

  Following the body exercises, I run my core and channels through some cycling techniques that should help strengthen my cultivation.

  Body and soul taken care of, I walk towards the river and take a swim. Whether it is swimming, water, chill, or a combination of the three, spending time in the river does much to bring peace to my mind.

  While floating in the gentle river, I attempt to do better than yesterday by tackling my planning session head-on. Though planning tried to hijack my tasks yesterday, I successfully accomplished more than I probably would have if I didn't plan. Well, that probably isn't true. Regardless, I’m going to give planning another try. This time a full-day is open to subjugate to the demands of plans.

  It doesn't work. I'm still as awful at planning. For the life of me, I cannot put a plan together. My morning is spent drifting down the river instead of planning.

  “Hypothetically…” I’m trying even harder now to get a plan going. “What would I do if I were stranded alone, sandwiched between the desert and mountains with no memory, food, clothes, shelter, and gear? My only equipment is a certain set of skills?”

  Well, if that were me, I'd probably find a nice beach-like area and lie down until the situation resolves itself.

  "Great. I’m the worst," I say to myself and the river carrying me about.

  At this point, I’m probably a mile or two south of my camp and am no closer to an actual plan. The trees here are less dense than where I’m camping, but it is still a forest.

  “If it were somebody else in the same scenario... ” I continue struggling to think-talk myself through my roadblock.

  “They would come up with a short and long-term plan. Then they would create a purpose that would drive them forward to accomplish their plans. Maybe not necessarily in that order. They are most likely more intelligent than me and would purpose first and plan secondly.

  “So, if they were me, their plan would probably be to regain lost memories and do right any wrongs or something of that sort.”

  Since my one plan of action was foiled by a gang of inhospitable scorpions, I choose to try a more competent person's plan. All I need is a purpose and a few plans of varying distances.

  Short-term plan: Find food and eat. "Nice! Nailed it." I say aloud, sharing my victory with the friendly river.

  Long-term plan: Have enough food for the rest of the week. "Well, it's not nothing." Though it offers no feedback, I can tell the river is unimpressed, judging by its emotionless gurgles.

  Purpose: To not be hungry. "Damnit!" I’m awful at this. I don't even bother to consider the river's current judgmental feedback. More frustrating than the inadequate purpose is that this purpose is enough for me to live. Once again, I’m faced with the life dilemma and I don’t know what to do with it. For all I know, I’m doing everything I need to do to live. I’m surviving.

  Okay, let's try this planning and purpose creating again. This time I will try not to be so me…if I were somebody else…what motivating pursuit could I or they conjure? One glaring purpose would be surviving to recover lost memories.

  I try that one for a moment... it doesn't really fit. For the most part, I’m happy with this life reset. Also, how would I even know where to start to regain my memories? Besides, that is hardly someone else's purpose. Finding lost memories is very specific to me. I toss that idea out and continue to create a purpose for someone else that I can maybe follow.

  “You know, figment of my imagination, you'd be more helpful if you were real... ”

  My words slam into me. I stop floating in the river and I stand as if that will help me follow my current thought. If I can utilize my power to a greater capacity, I could possibly conjure up somebody. Well, sort of somebody. At least more of somebody than I currently have.

  "A minion!" I exclaim to the eager waters. "Yup, I want one of those."

  Finally, finding a purpose, I dive into my death core and begin cycling. Mana at my disposal, I create a concrete image of a skeleton in my mind willing the object to take shape. Various skeleton bones appear and begin to float down the river.

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  That was silly.

  I leave the river and find an ordinary spot in the woods. Dripping with water, I try the same summoning technique again. I'm slightly setback when the pile of bones appears at my feet. I just need to try the same thing again, maybe a little differently.

  Summoning a minion feels like a very death-appropriate thing, especially one made of bones. Despite my two failures, I don't even question if it is possible or not.

  Examining my bone pile, I think I have everything I need for a skeleton minion. The only thing missing is structure. Following that, I try again. This time I use my hands to shape the skeleton I want.

  Pale energy shapes into a skeleton being. My heart is pumping fast, elated with my success. Before I can say hello, my skeleton collapses to the ground. Right, I need even more structure.

  I try again and fail.

  By now, my soul is feeling strained. Summoning a minion is more exhausting than summoning knives. I estimate one pile of skeleton bones equals roughly two piles of knives. Judging by the amount of mana in my core, the estimate isn't too far off.

  I’m buoyed by excitement and failure finds no grounds for disappointment. After a moment of rest and evaluation, I push for one more attempt.

  My hands form the outline of the skeleton, replicating the image that is locked in my mind. Pale energy takes shape; once again, a skeleton being is standing before me. This time, though, I don’t cut off my mana. Instead, I continue to fill my minion with power pushing myself past my limits. I’m sapped and worn when I see my skeleton is stable.

  "I did it! I summoned a minion!" I brag to my new friend.

  Sweet magic bones, it worked! First try too. My fists are punching the air wildly in celebration.

  "Behold my glory and fear my wrath, greedy life-devouring desert. Soon, you will burn." Maybe I let the excitement run a bit too wild. It's slightly concerning that I already want to call myself a necro lord.

  The skeleton is exceptionally basic. Skull, arms, legs, torso, and toes. Everything a skeleton should be. Most likely, it would be outclassed by any other wandering skeleton creature but man alive; that doesn't matter to me. This standing heap of off-white bones is the most fabulous skeleton in all the land as far as I'm concerned.

  "Bones! I'm going to call you Bones. A name should have meaning and I think this sums you up real nice, Bones." Pride is beaming from me. I can't contain my grin.

  "Hello, Bones! I’m... um… you can call me Kel." I say quickly, trying my hardest to not botch my first impression. I can't believe I didn't have a name ready. That should have been a day one task. Easy to do and very important. We can chalk that up to having the worst planner to grace the desert sands.

  "Yup, that is my name. Kel. And no, I did not create it on the spot. Ask all the scorpions in the desert. They will tell you for sure my name is Kel." I give myself a small fist pump, excellent recovery, Kel. "Anyway, nice to meet you. Glad you are here. If you don't mind, I will have a better look at you."

  Feeling a connection with Bones, I begin to test out his abilities. Arm up, Bones raises his arm. Hands up, Bones raises his hand on the non-raised arm. Not what I’ve in mind, but I grab his raised hand and settle for a handshake. "You are perfect."

  "What else can we do?" I spend the rest of the late morning giving Bones commands and observing how he completes the actions.

  At first, I keep it very basic, giving similar commands to my first. Lift leg, kick foot, bow, and jump. We spend some time going over simple movements and actions.

  I’m more excited by my companion's potential when I move to broader commands. He can gather wood and specific plants, fill a shell with water, move and retrieve objects, and other similar general objectives.

  After a few more test commands, I hand Bones a newly summoned short sword and tell him to attack the closest tree. Like all the orders he has fulfilled, he is clumsy. He swings the sword awkwardly, barely scratching the bark. Bones continues to swing and stab at the tree. None of the strikes are impressive. Bones will only be a distraction at best if it comes to a real fight. Still, a good distraction can be a helpful advantage.

  Watching Bones, I feel this summoned ally has much more potential. I commit myself to figuring out more about my abilities for his sake. Musing over these thoughts, Bones and I head back to camp, gathering any edibles we find along the way.

  South Forest has its own type of beauty to it. Coniferous and deciduous mixed trees are spread apart enough that traveling through them isn’t a hassle. Compared to my campsite, this area is much more open, allowing the afternoon sun to spread its light throughout the forest floor. Witnessing the change of scenery gets me thinking. Maybe we should look for a better place to camp.

  There is no reason for my current camp spot. It just so happened to be the place I stumbled upon. It’s got trees, water, and critters, I will give it that. But there’s a chance I’ll find better trees, water, and animals elsewhere.

  “What do you think, Bones, should we find a new camp?” I turn to my companion and seek his advice. He looks at me, shrugs his shoulders, and keeps walking in the general direction of the camp. Right. He doesn’t know what the current camp is.

  We keep trekking until we reach the camp, mostly silent, neither of us being big into conversation at the moment, collecting all the forest goods along the way. By the time we get home, we have a plethora of edible weeds, herbs, and mushrooms. Enough food for the rest of the day.

  Bones takes a good look at the camp. He looks at me. Then looks at the fire pit, the only thing this camp has going for. Looks back at me, back to the fire pit, then at me once more. His head nods disapprovingly.

  With no other communication, he drops his armful of food, walks toward the river, and keeps walking.

  Is he trying to off himself? I wonder in shock.

  Of course, I could stop him; he is my minion. I hold all the power in this relationship. I don’t command him to stop. I observe as he disappears into the waters without taking any offense from Bones’ actions.

  Seconds tick by. There are no signs of my minion.

  Maybe I should be offended. I reconsider my lackadaisical attitude. How often are masters slighted by their works of creation?

  A few more seconds tick by before Bones appears on the opposite side of the river a good hundred yards downstream. Dripping wet, Bones turns to me, waves, then walks deeper into the forest towards the mountains.

  More shocked than anything, I let this play out. If my minion doesn’t like me, that is on him. Besides, it’s a fifty-fifty chance he makes it on his own and creates a civilization with a supply shortage of knives. Then he’ll crawl back to me and I won’t even feel obligated to give him a discount.

  Bones is no longer visible, leaving me once again alone.

  My soul is still strained from attempting to create a minion so many times. I give it a moment of rest while I work on reviving my fire. Once the fire is at a healthy burn, I summon a knife which I use to prepare my food and I push through the resistance of my core once more to summon a bowl.

  Water is added to the bowl, which is placed indirectly over the heat. Then I add my chopped forest foods to the water, summon a lid, and cover the bowl. Even though it is small items, I find the repetition from summoning knives and cooking equipment is honing my skill more and more.

  Now that soup cooking on its own, I’ve time to work on other tasks. First, I take inventory of my stock. It doesn't take long. Couple knives, skivvies, rabbit pelt, cooking tools, rocks, and wood. Even the generous addition of stone and wood countable as inventory leaves me in meager status. I don't have much but it’s enough to live. So the question is, how to live more?

  I really want some clothes. Shoes would be really nice. My feet are in terrible shape.

  I'm going to need more food, preferably something with more protein and a better way to get that protein since I'm not confident I can hunt with just a couple of bone knives. If I'm lucky, maybe another rabbit will inspect my camp. I'm guessing I've used the last of my luck already, so I'm not counting on it.

  I could also use a better shelter. A few nights in the open isn't bad. A week or longer isn't ideal. It would be nice to not be at the mercy of the elements or opportunistic nocturnal predators.

  Next, I pick which task I want to work on for the time being, protein and clothing being the primary frontrunners. Two tasks that are somewhat dependent on each other. The shelter is put off for now since I’m considering finding a new location.

  Thinking of clothing, I look at the rabbit pelt that has been drying over the fire since yesterday. Idea in mind, I place the dried pelt under my feet for measurements. I’m pleased to see that it is large enough to cover the bottom of both. Though my last bout of shoemaking ended in a loss, I’m willing to put myself through the wringer again.

  For my shoes, I’m going to need cordage. I will also have to work the hide a bit and cut it in half. Ideally, I would tan the fur creating a more durable leather. Perhaps that is what I will do on my next shoe iteration since I don't want to wait long to provide my feet with a layer of protection. As awesome as the forest is, and it is awesome, it is doing a number on my feet. I can almost track where I’ve been by following the bloody footprints.

  I leave my camp for a bit searching for the resources to make cordage. Fortunately it isn’t long before I return with some young saplings, which I peel apart, creating long fibers. I begin weaving cord as I sit by my fire and occasionally stir my soup.

  Maybe it was my fault for why I was abandoned. The way Bones just left me leads me to examine my personality. I'm a chipper guy... sometimes, most of the time, with only the most reasonable complaints from time to time, and even then, I keep them to myself... well, for the most part.

  I’m sure a few unwilling ears have eavesdropped on a few of my tangents. I don't think it is fair to hold me accountable to those, though. It isn't exactly my fault. They didn't have to listen, and I didn't even know they were present.

  Besides, how will things improve if there isn't a designated criticizer? Someone must take the role upon themselves. As the only human participant in this game of life, I’ve no choice but to do the dirty work myself.

  I’m making good progress on the cord and there’s plenty for my shoes. Since I’m in a good rhythm, I keep making more. Having too much rope is never a problem.

  Suppose we (we being my present self and the memory of Bones' presence) are being reasonable, which we always are. In that case, I’m more of the hero for paving the way through all this crap and making it better for those who come later. Part of trailblazing is blazing. That is just what I sometimes must do.

  Still, it is most likely my fault I’m alone.

  Maybe I was in some shady business and decided the desert was the best place to establish a shop. The desert after all, is a land desperate for shade.

  Fresh out of the city, I didn't know a rough crowd when I saw them. Some dirty desert scum got the jump on me, took my wares, and left me exposed in the middle of nowhere without my shade.

  I get the last laugh, though. Back in the city, I'm notorious for running a questionable business. That is why I moved to the desert. Demanding markets would look past my less-than-perfect canopies and buy them at a premium.

  Fools. The whole lot of them. Bones, scorpions, desert marauders, and the batzards. Don't need them anyway. I have myself to keep me in good company, and that is enough for me.

  Despite my current frame of mind, I’m quite happy with the cord I produced. To add to my mood, my soup smells incredible.