His final moments were being surrounded by his family, and while sooner than he would have liked, Typhon couldn't be dissatisfied with the situation. He had raised six fabulous kids and seen them grow into young adults, taught them cultivation, played with them and helped them through trying times. He was content with the life he had led up until the point of his death. His only real complaint was that he felt burdened by his empire and worried that his children would also feel the same burdens he did.
Being the supreme ruler of the known continent was a position most would kill to be in, yet Typhon grew tired of the responsibility after a few hundred years. However, despite growing tired of it, he knew that none of his kids were ready for the mantle of emperor, so he never passed the title on. Instead, Typhon set up a system where his empire would be divided into six territories governed by one of his children. He would be relying on their bond as siblings and their sense of right not to start a civil war.
Typhon knew that his soul wouldn't enter heaven to live again; that was a common misnomer in the mortal world. The heavens were, in actuality, a realm to themselves where beings were born, lived and died. Not even he, one of Tiamat's direct descendants, knew what happened to the soul after death. To Typhon, death felt like floating in nothingness for a while, an endless void that embraced and comforted him. Time felt like it had no meaning; nothing was happening, so it couldn't be measured, and he couldn't tell how long it had been since he died. A few seconds? A few days? A few decades? He didn't know.
Yet, at some point in death's endless darkness, a light tore through the void and shone itself on Typhon. Its warmth stripped the embrace of death from him and pulled his soul towards its source. Some unknown, compelling force had decided that Typhon's time was not up, that he still had unfinished business in the mortal plane. Typhon entered the source of light, and then he opened his eyes.
The smell of burnt wood and flesh invaded his nose, he could hear hurried voices and screams for help, but Typhon was incapable of moving a single inch. He felt touches on his skin but couldn't open his eyes to see who or what was touching him. Despite having woken up from death, all Typhon wanted to do now was sleep and rest up. So with those thoughts, Typhon let himself slip off to sleep.
--
'Where the hell am I? Why does everything hurt?'
Questions raced through Typhon's brain; he had no grasp on the situation. His last memories were on his deathbed with his children, yet now he was awake and in pain. Slowly, Typhon cracked open his eye to look around. He quickly noticed that he was missing an eye, but that was less important to him than figuring out where he was at this very moment. Slowly shifting his body upwards in the stiff bed he was lying on, he found his vision assaulted by the blinding white room he was in. Hearing beeps to his right, Typhon pivoted his head to see weird devices with cords leading to his body. At this moment, Typhon also realised that he was missing his right arm from the shoulder down.
"How?"
Suddenly a female voice rang out in the room.
"You tried to use a ninth-order necromancer spell to summon a great soul and bind it to a golem. Since you're not even a second circle mage, you had to use some potent catalysts to even start the spell up, yet you lost control, and the resulting backlash nearly killed you."
Typhon looked towards the origin of the voice. A uniquely beautiful woman with raven hair flowed down her hips. She had piercing violet eyes and a sharp face that accentuated her beauty. Her figure was that of a full woman with a large chest and wide hips, yet her clothing was very chaste, showing no skin besides her hands and face. Typhon didn't recognise her yet felt this compelling force to call her;
"Sister"
Carmine Von Ellar took measured strides over Typhon's left side and looked over him with pity.
"Look at what you've done to yourself, you idiotic brother."
She grabbed his hand gently as tears built up in the corner of her eyes.
"I know things were hard, but you didn't have to go and do something so profoundly stupid! What if I lost you!? Do you think I would have been happy?!"
Typhon didn't know what was happening, but it was evident to him now that this was not his body. Carmine's name floated in his head when he first saw her, almost as if he recalled memories he didn't have. But, his vision was suddenly torn away from the present and turned towards visions of memories.
He saw two children playing on the grounds of a mansion, running away from servants as they desperately tried to catch the mischievous little children. He saw Carmine being lavished with praise for her accomplishments while he was shunned for his lack of aptitude. Despite being urged to give up on him, Carmine never looked past her brother and always tried to help him along the way. Long study nights, taking time to practice magic with him and helping him train physically.
The flashes of memories subsided, and Typhon's vision returned to the present. Looking at the now crying Carmine, Typhon felt saddened. Whoever originally belonged in this body had been something of a fool, unable to see that his success in life was not important to this woman in front of him now. Yet the fact that he was now present in this body meant that her brother did succeed in his spell. While the concept of magic was unfamiliar to Typhon, it wasn't hard to piece together that the light that tore him from death was this spell, yet in the backlash of the spell, the original soul of this body died, and he replaced it.
"I'm sorry, sister."
Until Typhon had a better grasp of the situation, he would play the role of Typhon Von Ellar, the original soul that inhabited this body. Carmine went to rebuke him further, but suddenly, the door to his room slid open, making both of them look towards whoever opened it.
In the doorway was a well-dressed man in a navy blue business suit. He had brown hair slicked back with a considerable amount of hair product. His tight face was framed well with thin-rimmed glasses. His figure was imposing despite not being physically intimidating, only standing at around 5'11" and having little visible muscle. Yet his mere presence in the room demanded attention, almost as if his being screamed authority. When looking at the man, Typhon could only utter one word.
"Father..."