Darkness. Cold. Silence.

Then—a spark.

A jagged breath tore through the air as the figure stirred, their body half-buried beneath the charred remains of a battlefield. Smoke curled around them, thick with the stench of burned metal and blood. The sky overhead churned in unnatural shades of crimson and black, a sky that had borne witness to war.

They sat up. Their unfamiliar fingers dug into the ash-covered ground, stabilizing themselves. The being looked around, trying to process the chaos surrounding them. Shattered weapons and twisted armor lay scattered like discarded remnants of a forgotten struggle. Something inside them whispered that they had been part of it.

Their hand brushed against something hard in the ash. Looking down, they saw a sword. Its flawless blade gleamed, untouched by the ruin around it. Something clicked inside their mind.

Recognition.

Fingers wrapped around the hilt, and an odd certainty settled within them. This sword belonged to them. It fit perfectly in their grasp, as though crafted for their hand alone. Using it for support, they pushed themselves to their feet, taking stock of their body. Their form was humanoid, but… different. Their skin bore an unnatural smoothness, lacking scars or blemishes. Beneath the soot and grime, faint lines traced patterns along their arms—glowing circuits, pulsing like veins of light.

"Where am I?" The thought surfaced unbidden, though no memories accompanied it. The words carried weight, yet they drifted without context, untethered to any past.

They lifted their gaze. Through the thick, churning clouds, an imposing obelisk loomed in the distance. It pulsed with an eerie, rhythmic glow, as if calling to them. A beacon. A purpose. A reason for their existence?

A distant echo stirred within their mind, a fragment of something lost: a command, a directive—something important. But it was just beyond reach, dissolving like smoke whenever they grasped for it.

The battlefield was silent now, save for the crackling embers and the occasional groan of twisted metal settling in the wreckage. The dead did not speak. But something told them that, somehow, they were not alone.

A presence. Watching. Waiting.

The being gripped their sword tighter and took their first step forward, toward the obelisk, toward answers. Toward whatever fate awaited them beyond the veil of war and forgotten memories.