Summary: How well do you know yourself? What are your beliefs? Do you have the strength and conviction to stand by them no matter what? A journey of self-discovery in a world where dreams and willpower are everything. OC Self-insert.

Prologue

Have you ever thought about how you would die? Do you imagine dying in your sleep after having lived a long, fulfilling life? Or dying after a heroic feat? Dying of an illness? Maybe dying for what you believe in? Do you imagine yourself dying of an accident, or a victim of a crime? Or have you never thought about it at all?

It's alright; I won't judge you. After all, most people don't like to think about dying. I certainly never did. I was a carefree girl who had just reached adulthood, going through each day with no purpose, no direction. I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life. I had a caring, supportive family, but I didn't appreciate them. I had the means to a good education, but I squandered it on frivolous things. I was smart, but I never used my brains. I lazed about like I had all the time in the world. In short, I was a good-for-nothing daughter.

So it was certainly ironic that I went on for two decades wasting all my opportunities just watching everything go by around me, but in that single moment when I was staring death in the face, my whole being was crying out desperately for action, for me to do something because otherwise you're gonna die and I don't wanna die!

My last thought, as I watched the masked robber pull the trigger, was that I was thankful that I was going to die a quick death. At the very least, my parents would know that I didn't suffer before I died.

Then there was nothing.

Slowly, ever so slowly, awareness trickled in, like waking up from a deep sleep. I was a floating ball of entity, a conglomeration of all my memories and experiences, all my thoughts and emotions. And I knew, as sure as I was of my existence, that I was dead.

But I wasn't at peace, and that made me feel troubled. I've heard about people recounting out-of-body and near-death experiences, and they always said that they felt calm, peaceful. And here I was, dead, yet I didn't feel that way at all. Why didn't I feel the same?

Then a voice spoke, everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Strangely, I couldn't discern what gender it was. "Thou cannot rest yet."

I wanted to ask why, but I had no mouth to speak with. The voice seemed to know my mind, though, because it continued, "Thou hast yet to fulfill thy purpose."

I felt a pull, like something was trying to yank me down. I struggled a little, but the force was getting stronger, more insistent, and there was no fighting it.

"Know thyself, and thou shalt find the answer."

One giant tug, and I knew no more.

/

The first thing I noticed when I became aware again was the stench. The overpowering smell of spoilt food, decaying matter, and human waste all blending together into one powerful punch to the nose. My stomach roiled.

I tried breathing through my mouth to avoid the smell, but that just succeeded in making me taste it. I gagged, shot up and tried to puke, but nothing but air came up. When I finished trying to heave my guts out, I looked around so I could figure out why it smelled so bad. I quickly had my answer.

Trash. Trash everywhere. Literal mountains of steaming, putrid garbage.

I gaped, stunned. Where was I? I remembered dying, then floating around, then that voice and the tugging, and then suddenly waking up here, wherever 'here' was. I pinched myself, just to make sure. Yep, flesh. I indeed had a body again. And nope, not dreaming. Maybe this was hell? I scrunched my nose. It certainly smelled like it.

But no, I remember the voice saying something about not going on yet because I still haven't fulfilled my purpose. So that meant I was sent back to the land of the living, right?

Not hell then.

I could hear people talking, voices rising in anger, some shuffling around, and far-off sounds of hammer on metal. Now that I was looking properly, there were tents and makeshift huts scattered all around. To the left (I didn't know which way was north, so I had to make do with lateral directions) was a massive wall, stretching far on both sides, and as I craned my neck, I could just make out the tips of turrets in the distance. On the right side was a forest, and beyond that a range of mountains, also extending sideways as far as I could see.

So. I was in a dumpsite, probably the endpoint of all the trash from the people who lived inside those walls. Not the most pleasant of places.

What was important, though, was that I was alive.

Giddy, I moved to stand so I could explore, but froze when I looked down and saw my body. My tiny, kid-sized body. I slumped back on my ass, stunned. I…I was a kid again? Well, I had died, so… maybe this wasn't my own body? I looked down again and checked. Yes, those definitely weren't my hands and feet. I pulled a lock of hair: brown, not black. I wasn't certain of the color of my skin under all the dirt, but I was pretty sure this was darker than I was used to. But what had happened to the girl whose body I was in? Did I drive her soul out when I took over? Was she still here, sharing this body with me? Or was this body already dead and I was technically a zombie? I paled at the last thought and quickly placed a hand to my heart. Still beating. I sighed in relief. Well, that ruled that out. I didn't feel any presence in my mind, so hopefully I wasn't possessing her. And if I did drive her out, well, there was nothing I could do but offer her a quick prayer and hope that she was resting in peace.

Anyway, back to the physical examination of myself… I was small and skinny, but that wasn't a wonder considering where I lived. I grimaced at my filthy dress. It was so thin and threadbare I could almost see through it.

All thoughts of warm water and soap were swiftly forgotten however, when my stomach clenched and growled. Loudly. I was amazed I even had it in me to be hungry what with the… entirely unappetizing smell, but this girl, before I had, er, arrived, probably didn't get to eat much. My stomach was empty and demanding food. I had to obey. So I stood up and began my search.

It was not too long before I found another person. I approached him, intending to ask if he might have some food to spare, but when he heard my footsteps, he whirled around and spat out, "What d'you want?!"

I recoiled from his scowling face, but managed to get out, "I-I was hoping to ask for some foo—"

"I ain't got nothin'!" he snarled, glaring down at me. "Scram, brat!"

I ran away, deciding to try my luck elsewhere, but everywhere I went, I was met with the same reaction. The kindest I had received was an are-you-stupid look and a matter-of-fact, "Ain't nobody gonna help ya, kid. 'S every man fer 'imself out 'ere."

I was put out, of course, but I couldn't exactly blame them. It was survival instinct. Generosity was all well and good, and helping people out was certainly admirable, but when hunger was clawing your insides and starvation was a very real possibility, you hoard every little scrap you can find and defend it with your life.

Now, I wasn't made of money in my past life (and wasn't that still weird to think about, having lived a life before this), but I was always comfortably fed. I never had to miss a meal, and if I wanted a snack there was always food in the pantry. And I loved eating. I didn't believe in dieting and I ate whatever I wanted. So to come from that, then to suddenly be in this situation was a shock to the system.

I gave up on begging, but searching through the piles of refuse for something that wasn't moldy, rotten or already transforming into an entirely new organism on its own was like searching for a needle in a smelly, decaying haystack. And I was reluctant to enter the forest, because I've never been in one before and I was sure I'd get lost. Besides, possible deadly predators aside, I didn't know which plants and mushrooms were safe to eat and would therefore be likely to poison myself.

In the end, I had to go to sleep hungry, resolving to do better in the morning. If you've never gone to bed on an empty stomach, let me tell you, it is not fun. It's hard to find sleep. You have to endure your stomach cramping and growling through the night until you finally succumb to exhaustion. Not an experience I wanted to go through again, but it was probably something I have to repeat more than a few times before I learned the ropes of this place.

Thankfully, the next day, I had the bright idea to go near the huge wall, where the latest haul of trash—and therefore the freshest of leftovers—should be. It was somewhat of a battlefield, people jostling each other trying to get at stuff first, but I made use of my small build and crawled through their legs and grabbed everything that looked edible enough that I could find. I was a bit flabbergasted when I noticed that a lot of them weren't there to scavenge food but were instead picking out metal scraps, broken appliances and whatnot. I asked someone who didn't look like he would bite my head off for merely posing a question, and he explained to me that they were going to rebuild them and sell them in town.

It was an ingenious idea, but something that I couldn't do. I had no idea how to repair things. The best I could ever do was use duct tape, and in the case of appliances, to give it a good whack. Then a thought struck me: if people could come and go into town, why do they stay here in this trash dump? I promptly asked this of my current source of information, which somehow earned me a look that implied I was crazy. What?

"Edge Town is full of hoodlums and delinquents. You wouldn't last long there. Better to stay here in Grey Terminal."

The name tickled something in my brain. It sounded familiar, like I should know it from somewhere, but I couldn't remember where. I pondered on this for a few minutes before giving up. It didn't really matter much right now where I was. I had to survive every day first. Things like when, where, how and why could take a backburner.

It was nearing six months later when I finally learned where I was. Almost six months in which I slowly—all the while gathering numerous cuts and bruises and almost-died moments—learned how to survive in a lawless environment where your health was the most important thing. For one, even though it was a breeding ground for all kinds of diseases, there was no doctor here. And while it was true that Grey Terminal was still better than living in town, if only because there was an unending source of income via junk, it was hardly a safe place to live in. Crimes were rampant. You had to keep your food and valuables, if any, close to you at all times. You had to be a light sleeper, ready to leap awake at the slightest feeling of something wrong. Fights broke out frequently. You had to be quick on your feet, had to learn how to defend yourself. You had to have a knack for identifying which ones were dangerous and not to be crossed. But it was really the pirates from over the sea that you had to watch out for. They were ruthless; they took everything they wanted, women included, and were intolerant of any resistance. You'd be lucky if you were only beaten up if you tried to defy a pirate.

That fateful day, I was scrounging up some things that looked like they could be useful when I heard a commotion coming from the entrance through the wall, called the Great Gate. I was interested because sometimes, I helped out residents of Grey Terminal coming back from selling their goods being harassed by hooligans from town, in exchange for a few coins. It was a good business, even though I never spent the money. I wasn't stupid enough to enter town alone to buy stuff with them when I was just a kid. I kept the coins as emergency funds, just in case, in various pockets I sewed into my clothes.

I watched warily, ready to run away at a moment's notice if it was trouble I wouldn't be able to handle. I was surprised to see two kids who were about my age running away from a group of armed men shouting obscenities at them. The kid on the left had dark hair and freckles on his face, and the other one had blond hair and was wearing a black coat and top hat adorned with goggles. Both stopped to confront their pursuers, wielding metal pipes as weapons. I hesitated for a moment, then grabbed my own metal pipe (one of the disadvantages of being short: there were only a few weapons you could use for maximum efficiency against larger opponents) and rushed forward to their aid.

They both startled. "Wha-?!"

"No time!" I shouted, cutting off whatever protests they might've had. The crooks were almost upon us. "Fight now, ask later!"

They exchanged bemused looks, shrugged, and readied, just in time.

"Die, brats!"

One of the men swung his sword down on me and I parried it, deflecting to the left, then kicked him hard in the groin. As soon as he crumpled, I struck his head and he went out like a light. I shoved the pipe into another's gut, downing him, blocked a strike coming from my right then used the other end of my makeshift staff to trip him up. Block, strike, evade, thrust. My blood sang in the heat of the battle. I was never violent in my previous life, but I've learned in this life that fighting was exhilarating. The rush of adrenaline, the tingle of excitement each time you execute a move perfectly, the feeling of accomplishment when you win and you know that you've gotten a little bit stronger. I would never be one to go picking a fight just for the heck of it, but I wouldn't run away from one either. …Well, depending on the circumstances. I was no coward, but I also believed in 'discretion is the better part of valor' and 'live to fight another day'.

The scuffle ended shortly after with us three kids standing victorious over the pile of unconscious hooligans on the ground. We quickly divested them of their belongings—a common practice in these parts—and ran away, grinning and stifling our laughter, before they could wake up.

When we were far away enough from the scene, the two boys turned to me. The freckled one crossed his arms and tried to scowl at me, but I could tell it was half-hearted. Fighting side-by-side was one of those things that could bond two people together, after all, and of course he could already feel some sort of camaraderie with me. The blond one didn't even stop smiling.

"So," I said, feeling a bit awkward.

"Thanks for the help," the blond said, offering me his right hand. I shook it. "You were good."

"We could've handled it without you," the other grumbled. His friend smacked him in the arm, but I just shrugged.

"Sure you could, but I wanted to help so I did." I offered them a smile. "I'm Fina. What're your names?"

"I'm Sabo," the blond said grinning toothily, then jutted a thumb to his companion, "and this guy's Ace."

Author's Notes: Cliffhanger! Er, sort of? Sorry for the lame, non-existent fight scene. I suck at writing fight scenes.

Please leave a review!