As Asher stepped out of the portal, his breath hitched. A strange sensation washed over him, a sense of disconnection that gnawed at the edges of his awareness. His hands trembled faintly, his fingers twitching as if they belonged to someone else. The warm sunlight on his skin did little to soothe the unease brewing inside him.
"What... is this?" he thought, his crimson eyes narrowing. His heart raced, beating out a frantic rhythm. It felt like he was standing outside his own body, a mere spectator watching someone else control his movements.
Memories of the dungeon flashed in his mind—the precision of his strikes, the unrestrained malice that had coursed through him, the thrill of destruction. Yet, there was a detachment to those memories, as if they belonged to another version of him, not the Asher who now stood under the clear sky.