Pain.
It's all I know now.
Where am I?
I try to scream, but my body betrays me.
No limbs to thrash, no voice to claw its way out.
Just darkness—thick, suffocating, endless.
For a moment, it's peaceful.
Euphoric, even.
No emotions to drown in, no faces to forget.
But then the pain returns, sharper, hungrier, like teeth gnawing at the edges of my soul.
Is this hell? Or just another cruel joke?
Memories surge, my sister's tears, her trembling voice, the wet warmth of her tears on my cheek.
But something's missing.
A face.
A name.
Who…?
Then—light.
It floods my vision, violent and blinding.
My eyes snap open.
Red.
A red carpet. Plush, luxurious, stained with… blood?
"S-Sister…?" I croak.
The air around me thickens as a chorus of anguished, bone-chilling wails pierce the silence, each scream like a jagged blade to my soul.
My mind reels, overwhelmed by the raw, unrelenting emotions embedded in the cries—my entire being shudders as if the very weight of their pain is suffocating me.
A figure kneels beside me, blurry and trembling.
I force my hand to move, muscles screaming, and brush my fingers against her tear-streaked face.
"It's okay… Mom."
The word slips out—foreign, wrong.
Wait. Mom?
Memories collide.
Blonde hair.
Blue eyes.
A mansion with too many rooms and too few voices.
Valerius Hall.
Sylvas.
Sylvas V. Evander.
The name clangs in my skull, dissonant.
"Sylvas! Oh, gods, you're awake!" The woman, my mother? crushes me in a hug.
Her perfume smells like roses and salt.
I glance down.
The red carpet pools beneath me, soaked in crimson.
My hand drifts to my forehead.
Wet.
Warm.
Blood.
Did I… fall?
Flashes of a staircase.
A misstep.
A scream.
No. That's not my memory.
Or is it?
"Mother… I'm… I'm sorry," I choke out.
But the voice isn't mine.
It's deeper, smoother.
Sylvas's voice.
Confusion sears through me.
Who am I?
Zeke, the boy who felt too much?
Or Sylvas, the heir to a mansion and a life I don't remember?
The lines blur.
My vision flickers.
The woman's face—Mom's face—melts into a stranger's.
Or is she the stranger?
"Stay with me, Sylvas! The doctor's coming—"
Her words dissolve into static. Pain erupts again, white-hot, and I realize—
This body isn't mine.
This life isn't mine.
But the emotions?
They're all too familiar.
Her grief, her guilt—it floods me, sticky and suffocating.
I want to scream, to tell her I'm not her son, that I'm someone else, someone broken.
But all that escapes is a ragged sob.
"Aaaaaaaaaaagh—!"
The sound is raw, primal.
Mine?
His?
I don't know anymore.
"Mam, we heard—" A female servant bursts into the room, her words cutting off abruptly as her eyes land on me.
Blood drips down my face, pooling on the plush carpet beneath me.
Her expression hardens, and she turns sharply. "I'll get the doctor this instant, mam!"
My mother—no, Sylvas's mother—picks me up, her arms trembling under my weight.
She runs toward the door, her sobs echoing in the vast, opulent hallway.
Servants scatter like leaves in a storm, their faces pale with fear.
But something's wrong.
My breathing hitches, each gasp a struggle.
My chest tightens, and I can't draw air.
Panic claws at me, but I can't speak, can't tell her to stop.
She notices.
Her eyes widen, and she freezes mid-step.
"Sylvas? Sylvas, what's wrong? Oh, gods—I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" Her voice cracks as she lowers me to the ground, her hands fluttering over me like frightened birds.
"Please, say something. Please, speak!"
Her desperation crashes into me, a tidal wave of guilt and fear.
I can feel it—her emotions, raw and unfiltered.
It's too much.
I want to scream, to tell her to stop crying, to stop hurting.
But all that comes out is a groan, weak and guttural.
My vision flickers, the edges darkening.
The blood flows faster now, warm and sticky, painting the world red.
I can feel it—my consciousness slipping, the world fading.
But I can't leave her like this.
With the last of my strength, I lift my trembling hand.
My fingers brush her cheek, wiping away her tears.
Her breath hitches, and for a moment, the storm in her eyes stills.
"Sylvas…" she whispers, her voice breaking.
Before I can respond, something flickers in my vision.
A window—like from a game—appears, translucent and glowing.
Words float in the air, unfamiliar yet somehow understood.
—●[Sylvas Valerius Evander]●—
Condition: Critical
???
???
—●[Sylvas Valerius Evander]●—
What… is this?
The window vanishes as quickly as it appeared, and the darkness swallows me whole.
****
I wake to an unfamiliar ceiling.
The air smells sterile, sharp with the tang of medicine.
My head throbs, a dull, persistent ache.
Something covers one eye, a bandage, perhaps?
I try to move, but my body feels heavy, unresponsive, like it's not entirely mine.
"Mam! Sylvas is awake!" A voice shouts from beside me.
It's the servant, her tone a mix of relief and urgency.
Footsteps echo, hurried and frantic.
My mother—no, Sylvas's mother—rushes into the room, her face pale and drawn.
A stranger follows her, a man in a white coat. The doctor, I assume.
"Sylvas, my son, are you okay? Please, say something. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…" Her voice trembles, her hands clutching mine.
I open my mouth, but the words that come out are wrong.
They're not in the language I know, not the one I learned as Sylvas.
They're foreign, yet familiar. Zeke's language.
"Where's sister? I want to see… sister."
The room falls silent.
My mother's face hardens, confusion and fear warring in her eyes.
The doctor steps forward, his expression unreadable.
As new words form on their own in my mind, I speak once more, this time in my native tongue.
"I want to see sister…" My voice trails off, heavy with longing.
"Sylvas, what are you saying?
You're my one and only son. Please, come to your senses."
Her voice is pleading, desperate.
She turns to the doctor. "Do something! You saw—he just said something strange. Twice."
The doctor nods, his hands moving to examine me.
But I can't focus on him.
My mind races, a torrent of disjointed memories colliding in my thoughts.
My mother's feelings flow into my mind, unbidden—her desperation, her fear, her guilt.
It's overwhelming, like a flood threatening to drown me.
I suppress them, pushing them down as best I can, and finally ask the question that's been burning in my chest.
"Mother, who am I? Zeke or Sylvas?"
Her face crumples, tears spilling over as she clutches my hand tighter.
"You're Sylvas," she says, her voice breaking. "You're my son. My only son."
But the words don't feel right.
They don't fit.
My mind is a battlefield, memories of Zeke and Sylvas clashing, merging, tearing me apart.
Who am I?
The question echoes in my head, unanswered, as the room spins around me.
The doctor's voice fades into the background, my mother's sobs a distant hum.
All I can think about is the sister I can't remember, the life I can't piece together, and the storm of emotions that refuses to let me go.
Who am I?
I don't know anymore.