I woke up choking on air.
My lungs seized like I'd been drowning. The cold stone beneath me scraped at my palms, grounding me in reality, but my body didn't believe it. Every breath I took felt wrong—too sharp, too shallow. The stench of ancient earth clung to my skin, damp and sour, heavy with the weight of centuries. Torches flickered on the walls, recently relit in haste, their flames casting wild shadows that danced like phantoms.
My vision blurred, spun, then slowly stabilized. The world was still too bright. Too loud.
Hands grabbed me—strong, calloused, familiar. "Cassian!" a voice barked above me, deep with worry and authority.
Keren.
His face hovered just inches from mine, brow creased, jaw tight. Behind him stood Alistair, pale as salt, trying to keep calm but clearly rattled. A few others lingered near the far wall, blades half-drawn and eyes uncertain, as if waiting for a monster to rise in my place.
