The last thing Adrian Voss felt was the cold bite of steel. His breath faltered as his body collapsed into the dirt, the battlefield around him echoing with the finality of defeat. Betrayal. A dagger in his back, one he had never seen coming. His trust had been misplaced, and now he was dead.
Then, there was nothing.
Adrian awoke with a start, gasping as though he had been plunged into ice-cold water. The scent of ink, dust, and old wood hit him. His hands trembled as they gripped the smooth surface of a familiar table. Maps, battle plans, the war table where he had once made his fateful decisions. Everything was exactly as it had been.
His heart pounded as his memories flooded back—his last, desperate moments before the end.
It can't be.
He had died. He knew he had died.
Yet here he was, as if nothing had changed.
"No…" The word left his lips in disbelief. His eyes flicked around the room. It was the war room, the very same one where everything had gone wrong. The same one where his trusted commanders—his betrayers—stood beside him, oblivious to the tragedy yet to come.
The door creaked open.
"Lord Voss," General Kael's voice broke the silence, his tone steady, as if no time had passed. "The enemy moves. What are your orders?"
The same question, the same moment.
Adrian's pulse quickened. He couldn't make the same mistake again.
This was his chance, but it felt wrong. Like something else was pulling the strings.
Adrian stood, his legs unsteady as he approached the war table. His fingers hovered over the old battle plans. He knew how it had ended before. How everything had crumbled. His eyes moved across the room, lingering on Lord Regan, the man who had betrayed him—his most trusted advisor.
Adrian's hand clenched into a fist. This time, things would be different. He wouldn't let Regan win.
"Send scouts to the eastern flank," Adrian said, forcing calm into his voice. "Make the enemy think we are weak. We'll strike at the western ridge."
Kael hesitated, a frown creasing his brow. "But, my lord, we always secure the eastern—"
"And every time, we lose," Adrian snapped, cutting him off. "This time, we'll deceive them."
Kael's lips tightened, but he nodded and began issuing the orders.
Adrian stepped back, eyes narrowing. His mind raced, but the nagging feeling wouldn't go away. His memories were too sharp, too clear. Every detail felt like a knife lodged in his thoughts. The betrayal, the dagger, the rush of cold as life slipped from his body—he could feel it all again.
And then it came.
A whisper.
You're not alone.
Adrian froze. The voice wasn't from any of his commanders, but it was unmistakable. The presence that had been lurking in the back of his mind suddenly grew louder. It was as if someone—something—was watching him, manipulating every move.
His gaze flicked to the table. The insignia was still there. But now, it pulsed. A symbol Adrian had never seen before, yet somehow, he knew it meant danger.
His heart pounded in his chest. A chill ran through him as his fingers brushed the symbol.
This wasn't just a second chance. This was a game.
A game with rules he didn't understand.
"Lord Voss?" Kael's voice was distant now, calling him back. "What is your command?"
Adrian turned, eyes flicking to Kael, then to Regan, who watched him with too much interest.
There was no time. No time to question it.
"Prepare the riders," Adrian said, his voice steady despite the storm inside. "We leave at dawn."
As the commanders dispersed, Adrian lingered at the table, staring down at the symbol. His thoughts tangled in the mystery. The whisper, the insignia, the feeling that something was off. He had been given a second chance, but what did it really mean?
And more importantly, who was behind it?
The door clicked shut behind him, but Adrian couldn't shake the feeling that he was not alone.
The game had already begun.