The twin moons of Naaim cast an ethereal glow through the ornate windows of Báthory's chambers.
In the opulent bed, Atenzi stirred, his eyes fluttering open to a world that seemed slightly out of focus.
For a moment, he lay still, letting his senses adjust to the strange new reality he found himself in.
Every nerve in his body tingled with an energy that was both familiar and alien.
He could feel the pulse of Aethoria itself, a rhythmic thrum that resonated with the power coursing through his veins.
As he pushed himself up, muscles protesting with each movement, Atenzi caught sight of his reflection in a nearby mirror.
The face that stared back at him was both his and not his. His skin, once a warm bronze, now held an otherworldly pallor.
Faint, silvery scars crisscrossed his torso, testament to the reality-warping battle he'd endured.
But it was his eyes that gave him pause.
