The wind clawed at Elliot’s exposed skin as he lay motionless on the snow-covered ground. His body throbbed with an aching emptiness, as if crushed beneath the weight of mountains, and his mind swirled with fragmented memories, a kaleidoscope of moments that felt both distant and painfully immediate. Slowly, he opened his eyes. The cold bit into him like daggers, but it was the eerie stillness that left him trembling. Above him, the full moon hung low in the sky, casting its ethereal, silvery light across the vast frozen wasteland. Snowflakes danced through the air, glittering like shards of glass, and the jagged shadows of distant stone spires stretched long and thin, like the bones of some ancient, forgotten creature.

  Drawing a labored breath, his ribs screamed in protest, and his hand instinctively went to his face, fingers grazing the ridged scar that ran across his left eye. The last thing he remembered was the certainty of his own death, a fiery end, he can somewhat still feel the blazing hot flame, scorching his body.

  Yet now, he lay here, alive.

  The realization hit him like a thunderclap, but there was no time to wonder how or why. He pushed himself up with a groan, snow cascading from his shoulders. The world around him felt alien, the landscape an unrecognizable void of jagged stone and endless cold. Towering spires of rock rose from the earth like the skeletal remains of some forgotten beast, serving unknowingly as gravestones to those buried beneath, their shadows stretching across the snow like ominous fingers. The air was thick with an unnatural stillness, broken only by the wind’s mournful howl as it slithered through the ruins. Elliot’s breath fogged the air as he staggered forward, the crunch of his boots on the frozen earth filling the silence.

  With each step, unease coiled in his gut, growing tighter as he wandered deeper. This place, though strange, felt... familiar. A deep, unsettling familiarity, as though he had walked these ruins a thousand times in another life, though he could not place the source of this haunting feeling. Broken walls thrust upward at unnatural angles, their surfaces worn smooth by time and frost. Twisted remains of ancient structures loomed in the moonlight, their jagged outlines casting long, distorted shadows. The silence was unbearable, oppressive—as though the very stones were watching him, waiting.

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  He passed a fragment of stone that caught his eye, its surface marred with faint carvings. Curiosity tugged at him, and he knelt, brushing the frost away. Beneath it, symbols emerged, barely visible but unmistakable in their intricate design. His fingers brushed over the lines.

  He recoiled, stumbling backward, his grip tightening. His knuckles whitened as his breath quickened, the memories fading but leaving a bitter residue in their wake. The cold air felt like it was suffocating him, as though the desolation itself sought to crush his spirit. With a shaking breath, he forced himself to his feet, setting his jaw with determination. He would not allow the memories to break him. Not here. Not now.

  He continued deeper into the ruins, his mind in turmoil. The oppressive silence weighed heavy on him, each step bringing him closer to the truth. It was only when he passed beneath what remained of a grand archway—a structure that once had been a symbol of his youth, his people—that a sudden shock of recognition hit him. His breath caught in his throat, his pulse thundered in his ears. The carvings on the arch, weathered by time and frost, were unmistakable.

  This was home. Or what was left of it.

  His heart twisted in his chest, and a flood of emotion surged through him—grief, anger, but above all, a deep, burning resolve. His hand clenched into a fist, his jaw set hard as a torrent of fury swirled within him. His eyes narrowed, the storm inside him growing ever darker. The weight of his grief shifted into something more dangerous, something sharper. His home—his people—had been torn from him. Slaughtered. And he, the last of them, had been spared. But not by chance. No, this was not a gift. This was a curse.

  The realization seared into his soul like molten iron: He had been spared for a reason. For vengeance.

  The heavens may have spared him, but there was no mercy left in his heart. The pain, the loss, the anger—they would drive him. He would return the wrath upon those who had taken everything from him. His resolve hardened into an unbreakable oath, and in the silent ruins of his forgotten home, one single word rang in his mind, burning with the fire of his soul: Revenge.