Jason's consciousness returned like a wave crashing against a shore.
One moment, there was nothing—an endless void of darkness and ancient will. The next, he was aware. He was here. His mind snapped back into his body with a force that made him gasp, his lungs filling with air that tasted of dust and ash and something he couldn't quite make out.
He found himself holding a gigantic sword made of interwoven wood, its edge gleaming with a faint golden light. Two massive figures stood before him—one wreathed in shadow, the other burning with molten fire. The Shade Lord. The Ember King.
They had been fighting him. Or rather, his body had been fighting them.
"I wasn't even conscious for that."
The realization hit him like a thunderbolt. His body had been acting on instinct, defending itself, attacking whatever threatened it. It had been driven by the last emotions he had felt before he technically died—rage, determination, the desperate need to protect his friends.
