Chapter 1 – The Wound Before the Return
Blood covered his face. Each heartbeat in his chest felt like the last.
—W-what... the hell... —mumbled Sylryk, staggering, with one knee still on the ground—... this guy...
He didn't finish the sentence.
A brutal kick pierced his stomach like a spear.
The impact launched him backward. He fell heavily, no air in his lungs.
The sound was fading.
His vision blurred.
But he held onto the ground with both hands.
Pain in every bone. Blood on his lips.
In front of him, something was walking slowly.
Firm steps. Almost calm.
The figure was blurry, but its presence was strong.
Unmistakable.
And in the middle of the silence, its sharp voice:
—Despite everything you've done...
You're still trying to get up.
Sylryk raised his head with effort.
He understood those words.
But who was the figure in front of him? Did he want revenge?
Even so... what was standing before him wasn't normal.
Before he could process it, a scream shook him.
To his side, someone was screaming in agony.
A sharp sound that was slowly fading...
as if the world was losing volume.
The scream disappeared.
And with it, something inside Sylryk.
A sensation of emptiness pierced him.
An invisible hole he couldn't name.
As if... he had lost something.
But what?
There was no answer.
Only broken, distorted words coming from the villain's lips:
—You... serve me...
—Change your dest...
—You can still... do i...
And then, one last sentence, as clear as a gunshot:
> —Come back...
and kill me.
Only then you'll be able to change all this.
Maybe... only then you can turn back time.
Silence.
Darkness.
And then… his eyes opened.
He breathed heavily, as if surfacing from a bottomless abyss.
Everything was light. Too much. White, clinical, annoying.
He turned his head, dazed.
He was in a strange, closed room.
Smooth walls. Shiny floor.
A bed. A chair.
And a table.
He didn't understand anything.
He looked at his hands.
Yes... they were his. But not the same.
They looked younger.
Cleaner.
And on his right arm...
A mark.
It wasn't a normal wound.
Nor a burn.
It was like a strange scar, but with shape.
A dark symbol printed on his flesh.
When he touched it, he felt a faint pulse.
Cold. Constant.
Almost... alive.
What the hell is this...?
Suddenly, a soft knock at the door.
—Hello… —a nervous female voice—. I see you're awake. Well… this is hard to explain to newcomers… but for now… here's your food.
The door opened carefully.
A girl walked in holding a tray in her hands.
Her face was kind, but tense.
She wore a white uniform and walked with uncertain steps.
Sylryk said nothing.
He just looked at her.
Coldly.
As if analyzing a threat.
—U-uh... h-here's your food... —she stammered—. You can eat it, please...
He didn't respond.
He just lowered his gaze to the tray.
He wasn't hungry.
He didn't trust anything.
—C-could you stop looking at me like that, please...? —she said with a nervous smile.
A second of silence was enough.
Clack!
The tray wobbled.
The girl turned and ran out without looking back.
Sylryk didn't move.
He looked back at the plate.
And for some reason… he decided to eat.
He took a bit with his fingers.
Tasted it.
Weird... he thought.
All of this.
The food.
The room.
The body.
The symbol.
That strange feeling of power running through his blood.
> I don't get it... Is it hard to explain?
What the hell is this...?
After death... is this what comes next?
I always thought what came after was nothing. But this... another world?
Or maybe... the same one?
I don't know. But by the way it feels...
I doubt it's the same.
He looked at his arm again.
His body.
> Besides, I look a bit younger than before...
If I was reborn, shouldn't I be even younger?
So this... is it an incomplete reset?
He took a deep breath.
His mind cooled down.
> Whatever this is…
I have to get out of here.
I need to find that girl...
Or at least someone who can explain this place to me.
He stood up.
The air felt heavier.
His steps lighter, but his thoughts denser than ever.
Sylryk still didn't know where he was.
Nor why.
But he could feel it.
Everything he had left behind... was still waiting.
And… that last phrase... kept burning in his mind:
> "Come back... and kill me."