The ancient structure stood before him, partially swallowed by the roots of time. The faint symbols carved into the stone pulsed with a dull light, as if recognizing his presence. His breath hitched. The more he stared, the more his chest tightened with a sensation he couldn't quite name.
I know this place.
His hands trembled as he reached out, fingers barely grazing the cold stone. The moment his skin made contact, a jolt of energy surged through his veins, sending a shockwave into his mind.
Visions flooded his thoughts—
Blades clashing under a blood-red sky. Shadows dancing in flickering firelight. A familiar voice calling his name, laced with urgency. Then, a face—blurred yet achingly familiar. His heartbeat thundered in his ears as the memory shattered, leaving only remnants of a past he could not fully grasp.
His knees buckled, but he steadied himself, exhaling sharply. He clenched his fists. This place holds my past.
The robed figure watched him in silence, its glowing eyes unreadable. Then, it spoke, its voice a whisper carried by the wind.
"The echoes of your blood stir. Do you now see?"
He shook his head, frustration boiling inside him. "I see pieces. I need more."
The figure extended its skeletal hand. "Then claim it."
A sudden force gripped his body, pulling him toward the structure's entrance. The air thickened, pressing down on his chest as he staggered forward. The whispers in the wind grew louder, overlapping, an eerie chorus of forgotten voices. His steps quickened, driven by instinct more than reason.
Crossing the threshold, the world shifted.
Darkness swallowed everything. The cold seeped into his bones, and for a moment, he was weightless, drifting in an abyss. Then, a flicker of light appeared—a single ember floating before him.
Then another. And another.
Flames erupted around him, forming the vague outlines of a room—no, a hall. The scent of incense filled the air, mingling with the metallic tang of blood. Figures moved in the shadows, their faces indistinct, yet their presence undeniable.
A voice, clear and firm, broke through the haze.
"The blood of warriors runs through your veins. But blood alone is not enough. Power must be tempered, strength must be earned."
The words resonated within him, stirring something deep. His breathing grew ragged as he tried to focus, to see beyond the veil of time.
Suddenly, pain lanced through his skull. He clutched his head as another memory surged forth—
A symbol, drawn in crimson, glowing faintly in the dim light.
A vow, sworn under the watchful eyes of the ancients.
A betrayal. A fall. A name stripped away.
His body convulsed as the weight of forgotten truth bore down upon him. The whispers around him turned into wails, a desperate plea for remembrance.
He gasped, forcing his eyes open. The flames vanished, leaving only the faint glow of the carvings on the stone walls.
He was back.
But he was not the same.
His fingers traced a mark that had appeared on his forearm—a symbol he did not recognize, yet one that felt like it had always been a part of him.
The robed figure stepped forward, observing him closely.
"You have taken the first step. But the path ahead remains shrouded."
He exhaled slowly, his resolve hardening. "Then I will walk it."
A low chuckle escaped the figure. "Let us see if you are worthy."
As the mist swirled around them, he took his first step forward—not just into the unknown, but toward reclaiming what was his.