A sharp gasp tore through Kaelen's throat as he staggered backward, his fingers still trembling from the sight of his own reflection. His mind reeled, trying to reconcile the person in the mirror with the memories that were beginning to flood his mind.
Klein Moretti.
The name surfaced again, unfamiliar yet undeniably his now. His hands instinctively went to his temple, pressing against the wound. The pain was dull but persistent, like a smoldering ember threatening to reignite at any moment.
Why am I here? How did this happen?
He had no answers only fragments of a life he hadn't lived. A student of history, a struggling young man from the Loen Kingdom. A family burdened by loss. A revolver on his desk. A notebook inscribed with ominous words. And a bloody handprint.
The unsettling whispers that had flickered through his consciousness earlier returned, weaving through the silence of the dimly lit room. It wasn't just an illusion Kaelen could feel something lingering in the air, something unseen yet pressing against the very fabric of his existence.
Then, it hit him.
A searing heat erupted from deep within his chest, spreading like wildfire through his veins. His breath hitched as crimson light flickered at the edges of his vision. The room darkened, the crimson glow intensifying as if responding to something within him.
His fingers curled into fists.
This power… It's inside me.
A flood of memories his memories flashed before his eyes. Earth, his former life, the moments leading up to his death. But layered over them were new ones memories of the Cursed Realm, of the wars fought in the shadows, of whispers of a forbidden power that could rewrite fate itself.
His pulse pounded, his body suddenly feeling too small to contain the storm raging inside.
Crimson Power.
The name resonated through his mind like a forgotten incantation.
He clenched his teeth as the heat surged to his fingertips. The faint glow in the room twisted and coiled toward him, as if drawn to his very being. For a moment, he could see it a web of crimson threads, invisible to the ordinary eye, stretching through the air, binding reality together.
And something or someone was watching him.
Kaelen spun around, his eyes darting to the dark corners of the room. The presence was there, lurking just beyond his perception.
Then, a voice.
Low. Almost a whisper.
"You were never meant to wake up."
A chill crawled up his spine. His grip tightened around the edge of the desk.
Who's there?!
Silence.
The air grew heavy, pressing down on him like a suffocating weight. His breathing quickened. His instincts screamed at him danger.
The revolver.
His gaze snapped to the brass revolver on the desk. The weapon felt both foreign and familiar, as if it had been placed there for him. His fingers wrapped around the handle, cool metal grounding him as the weight settled into his grip.
Then, something moved.
A shadow barely visible against the dimly lit walls shifted near the door. The hair on the back of Kaelen's neck stood on end.
His muscles coiled, heart hammering as his mind raced. Was this his first enemy?
No time to think. No time to hesitate.
With a deep breath, he raised the revolver
And the door burst open.
A figure lunged.
Kaelen pulled the trigger.
The gunshot shattered the silence.
To Be Continued…