The world came into focus in fragmented shards, like broken glass refracting faint, flickering light. The air was damp and reeked of blood and earth, a suffocating staleness pressing down like a suffocating weight. Revan's body, though alive, felt wrong—alien. Pain throbbed deep in his chest, every shallow breath a struggle against invisible needles lodged in his lungs.

As he opened his eyes fully, the first thing he saw was the crowd.

Dozens of faces, illuminated by the glow of crude torches, stared down at him with expressions ranging from shock to horror. Their whispers, growing louder with every passing second, cut through the silence like the hiss of venomous serpents. Words like "heretic," "demon," and "cursed" reached his ears, though they meant little to him. A figure in the front—a heavyset man with a bloodstained axe—raised his hand and pointed.

"He should be dead," the man growled. His voice carried the authority of someone used to leading through fear. "The pyre was meant to cleanse his filth, yet here he lies, breathing. This is not Eryon—this is something else wearing his face."

Revan blinked, his mind racing to piece together the fragments of his memory. Who is Eryon? Why do they think I am him? But even as he searched for answers, his own memories betrayed him. The last thing he could recall was... a different world. Towering structures made of gleaming glass, strange metal contraptions roaring through the streets, the hum of electricity. A name lingered at the edges of his consciousness—Revan. But how could he be here, in this primitive, hostile place?

The mob began closing in, their expressions hardening with determination. Spears, axes, and farming tools gleamed in the torchlight as they were raised in unison. A woman sobbed quietly in the back, clutching a small child who looked on with wide, terrified eyes.

Revan's body reacted before his mind could catch up. As the first of the villagers lunged toward him, something dark and cold erupted within him. Shadows writhed at the edges of his vision, spreading out like ink in water. Instinctively, he raised a hand, and the darkness obeyed. Tendrils of shadow lashed out, striking the ground with a deafening crack and sending the front row of villagers stumbling back.

Gasps of fear rippled through the crowd. The heavyset man with the axe snarled, pointing at Revan with trembling fingers. "You see?! The Abyss has claimed him! He is no longer human!"

Revan staggered to his feet, the strain of using the strange power leaving him lightheaded. His chest burned as if a mark seared into his very soul had awakened. He looked down at his arms, pale and trembling, only to see faint black veins snaking across his skin. They pulsed once, then faded, but the sensation lingered—a cold, creeping presence beneath his flesh.

He opened his mouth to speak, to plead for his life, but all that came out was a dry croak. The villagers seemed to take this as further confirmation of his inhuman nature. Their torches were raised higher, and their shouts grew louder.

"Burn him again!" someone cried.

"No," another voice whispered, quaking with fear. "No fire will destroy him now. Only the gods can rid us of this abomination."

Revan took a step back, his legs threatening to give out. His vision swam, and the cold darkness in his chest stirred again, unbidden. He barely noticed when the heavyset man raised his axe high, preparing to strike. Time seemed to slow, the light of the torches dimming as shadow crept closer, swallowing the edges of his vision.

Then, the world went black.

---

When Revan awoke, it was to silence.

The first thing he noticed was the cold—the damp chill of stone beneath him and the oppressive stillness of the air. Slowly, he sat up, his hands tracing the rough texture of the floor. The faint light of dawn filtered through a small, barred window high above, painting the room in muted grays.

A cell. They had thrown him in a cell.

His chest ached, though the pain had dulled to a persistent throb. Tentatively, he touched the spot where he remembered the sharpest pain—right over his heart. Beneath the torn fabric of his shirt, his fingers brushed against something strange. A mark.

Twisting slightly, he peered down at the exposed skin. There, etched into his flesh, was a black, intricate symbol unlike anything he had ever seen. It pulsed faintly, as if alive, the veins around it darkened and twisted. Whatever it was, it hadn't been there before—before he'd... what? Revan's memories still refused to align themselves into anything coherent.

The sound of approaching footsteps drew his attention. Revan pressed his back to the wall, heart racing, as the door creaked open. A figure entered, his silhouette framed by the dim light.

He was tall and lean, dressed in a patched cloak that suggested a life lived far from luxury. His face was half-hidden beneath a hood, but his sharp, pale eyes glinted with curiosity and something else—amusement.

"Well," the man said, his voice low and smooth, "you've certainly caused quite the stir, haven't you?"

Revan frowned. "Who are you?"

The man grinned. "Kael. Let's just say I'm someone who appreciates chaos when it benefits me. And you, my friend, are chaos incarnate."

Revan didn't respond, unsure whether this man was a friend or another foe. Kael seemed to sense his hesitation and chuckled. "Relax. If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn't have bothered sneaking in here." He leaned casually against the doorframe, his eyes flicking to the mark on Revan's chest. "That's quite the gift you've got there. A Shadow Seal, if I'm not mistaken."

"Shadow Seal?" Revan repeated, the unfamiliar term rolling awkwardly off his tongue.

Kael raised an eyebrow. "You mean to tell me you don't know what that is? Interesting. Either you're a very good liar, or you're in way over your head." He paused, studying Revan with a speculative gleam in his eye. "You're marked by the Abyss, you know. That symbol on your chest? That's no ordinary Seal. It's forbidden magic, the kind that gets you hunted down and executed in most parts of the world."

Revan's stomach churned, though he forced himself to remain calm. "I don't understand. I didn't ask for this—I don't even know how I got here."

Kael tilted his head, his grin fading. "You're serious, aren't you? Huh. That's even worse." He tossed something small and metallic toward Revan, who barely managed to catch it. A key.

"Use that to get out of here," Kael said, straightening. "If you stay, they'll kill you by morning. If you leave... well, let's just say I might have a use for someone with your talents. Meet me in the woods by dusk."

Without waiting for a response, Kael slipped out of the cell, his footsteps fading into the distance. Revan sat motionless, the key heavy in his hand. Questions swirled in his mind, but one thing was clear: whatever had brought him to this world, it had already painted a target on his back.

The mark on his chest pulsed faintly, as if in agreement.