The silence of dawn enveloped Dornas Castle.
Torches along the corridors still burned, casting long shadows across the stone walls. Movement was minimal. Guards made their rounds with measured steps. Servants rested after a long day.
The world felt suspended.
Between night… and day.
Inside one of the most protected chambers of the castle…
Khamael opened his eyes.
It was not a normal awakening.
There was no crying.
No panic.
No confusion.
Only…
consciousness.
His gaze remained fixed on the ceiling for a few seconds. The stone, cold and uneven, held small cracks barely visible. The flickering torchlight painted shifting shadows across its surface.
He observed.
Absorbed.
Analyzed.
Too fast.
Far too fast… for a newborn.
And then…
it came.
Memories.
Fragmented.
Violent.
Unclear.
The sound of steel cutting through the air.
The impact.
The blade piercing flesh.
The cold.
The poison.
Death.
His eyes blinked once.
And for a brief moment…
two existences collided.
Aethor.
The name surfaced effortlessly.
Without doubt.
Without needing explanation.
Not as a distant memory.
But as truth.
He did not understand everything.
Not yet.
But he felt it.
He had lived before.
He had died before.
And above all…
he knew this was not a beginning.
It was a continuation.
His body moved slightly.
Small.
Fragile.
Limited.
His fingers barely responded. His muscles had not yet fully obeyed him.
But his mind…
did not belong to that body.
It was old.
Trained.
Dangerous.
A subtle movement beside him caught his attention.
Madhalene.
She was there.
Sitting.
Watching.
Her eyes carried exhaustion.
But also…
tension.
She was not only caring.
She was watching.
Khamael did not react.
Not yet.
His gaze remained calm.
Empty… to anyone looking from the outside.
But inside…
the calculations had already begun.
Information.
Environment.
People.
Risks.
He did not know where he was.
He did not know who he was.
But he knew one thing.
He knew how to survive.
And survival…
always begins with observation.
His gaze slowly returned to the ceiling.
But this time…
it was not the ceiling he saw.
It was something else.
Another night.
Another sky.
Another end.
The blade.
The poison.
The voice.
— Khamael…
His eyes remained open.
But something within him…
finally understood.
He had died.
And now…
he had returned.