They brought MAGES! Gods damn them!"
He clutched his head.
Too loud.
Too much.
The heat pressed against his body like a hand trying to push him back down.
He dropped to one knee. Then both.
But he didn't stop.
He crawled.
His hands scraped open on the rocks. His breath came in short, broken gasps. His dagger dragged in the dirt beside him like a lifeline.
But his limbs wouldn't obey.
Not anymore.
He collapsed fully. His cheek pressed into ash and mud.
His eyes locked onto the sky—still cracked open, still raining fire in the distance.
"I couldn't stop it..."
That was his last words.
But not his last breath.
Because a moment later—
His eyes opened again.
Smoke. Fire. Screams. Still here. Still real.
The pain was deeper now.
He rolled onto his side. His muscles twitched in protest. His ribs screamed. His heart felt like it was floating—disconnected from his body, like it knew he shouldn't be standing anymore.
But he stood.
Somehow.
Rising on trembling knees, staggering again, feet slick with blood and ash.
He moved forward—no destination, no idea where. Just… forward.
Looking.
Searching.
'I can't see. I can't think. Where are they? Where… am I?'
Everything became disjointed.
Light.
Flame.
Footsteps.
A scream so close it felt like it tore through his ear.
His dagger slipped from his hand again.
He dropped.
Hard.
He tried to rise—
But his body couldn't.
His eyes filled with smoke and tears.
And finally—he broke.
"I can't... I can't do this…"
His voice barely left his lips before the darkness took him once more.
His heart stopped beating.
---Nine POV---
His voice floats in the dark—slow, distant, cracked at the edges. A memory unraveling itself in ruin.
"Oh… and I just died again."
A beat.
"Didn't even get the chance to scream this time. Just burned. Like always."
"But it doesn't matter. None of this is real. Not really. It's just… something stuck on repeat. A scene that loops like it's written in the marrow of my bones."
"I think I've been trapped here for so long, I started dreaming with my eyes open."
"Don't get confused. I wasn't always like this. I was a soulborn immortal who awaken a god sense but not just any god sense, a true god sense. I was a ruler. Born of stars and saltwater. Atlantis was mine to inherit. My name—my legacy—was etched into the stone of the sea before I ever took my first breath."
"And then…" his voice tightens "Mortals."
"They didn't worship. They hunted. They slaughtered the gods—burned our temples, tore our wings, shattered our hearts."
"And me? They didn't kill me. They needed me alive. Needed me to scream."
"You ever wondered what it feels like—melted gold poured on your skin? Not once. Not twice. A thousand times. They'd stop. Let me heal. Then start again. They extract my powers...That's how I lost my gift. That's how I lost my healing. That's how I lost time!"
"I was just a child when my village was taken down. I was barely 200 years old—got chosen after the raid. By 500, I was ready for the throne. Strong. Steady. Loved."
"Then the massacre."
"Atlantis died."
"And I disappeared into shadow."
"Ten thousand years they kept me. Caged. Bound. Tortured. Not enough to die. Just enough to wish I could."
"And then I saw my chance. I ran. I fought. I clawed my way out—"
"But they found me. Again."
"They reversed my age—ripped me backward through time like I was nothing but a thread. Left me a child. 200 years old again. Powerless."
"Then came the final curse: They locked me inside an illusion."
"My illusion."
"The one I created as a child. The night my village burned. The night I screamed and no one came."
"Now I live that night again."
"And again."
"And again without stop, enough for me to notice the role everyone played during the fight "
"I die. I wake. I die. I wake."
"Every ending is a beginning wrapped in fire."
"And I'm tired."
"Tired of breaking for mortals who only know how to destroy."
A long pause.
"They used me."
"Wore me out like a story passed through too many mouths."
Then his voice drops low, steel in it now. A whisper with weight.
"One thing that keeps me going is everything has an end and one day I'll rise"
"But I swear… the next time I rise…"
"It won't be to save them."
"It'll be to end them."
----
"It's cold… why is it so cold?"
The thought crawled through his mind like a dying whisper.
His body shivered.
Pain bloomed across his limbs as he stirred. His eyelid fluttered open—then slammed shut as the sudden light stabbed into his skull like knives. He groaned, teeth clenching. Slowly, carefully, he opened them again.
The world came in fragments.
Blurred silhouettes… pale skies… sharp white ground.
Snow.
"What… what illusion is this?"
His eyes widened as the haze cleared. People—not his—moved past in heavy, unfamiliar clothing. Thick woolen coats, layered boots, rough gloves. Their faces were pale, sun-starved. Their hair tied back. Their gait brisk, cold, uncaring.
And behind them—buildings made of stone and metal, not carved wood or bone. Straight lines. Chimneys. Smoke rising from them in neat trails.
It looked nothing like the tribal lands.
It looked nothing like the battlefield.
"Where am I?"
He tried to rise. Pain shot through him like a spear. He gasped, collapsing back onto the ground—snow crunching beneath him, biting into his skin like teeth.
Chains.
He looked down.
Thick, rusted iron chains bit into his wrists and ankle, tight and cold. His breath caught as he traced them, his arms trembling. The chains didn't end with him. They linked to others. Rows of them. Shackled bodies, slumped like shadows.
Slaves.
Most looked half-dead. Wrapped in torn rags. Mud-caked feet. Greasy hair. Shivering. Beggars. Criminals.
And he was one of them.
His stomach turned.
"Mortals. Again. They dare—"