It was as though something had snapped violently inside him.
Will's consciousness slammed back into his body like a falling star--violent, jarring, and blindingly painful. A searing agony tore through his nerves, twisting through every inch of him and coiling around his skull like a crown of molten thorns. He wanted to scream, to flinch, to move even a single finger--but nothing obeyed. His body had become a dead weight. Paralyzed. Unresponsive. A prison of flesh.
And then came the smoke.
Thick. Acrid. Suffocating. It clawed down his throat like it had fingers and fury. His lungs convulsed, desperate for air, but there was none to be found--only the bitter sting of poisoned fog.
Panic surged through him, and in a sudden, involuntary gasp, his eyes shot open--snapping wide like a man drowning in his own nightmare.
Except… this wasn't a nightmare.
This was far, far worse.
Will found himself lying in a pool of blood.
Not someone else's. His own.
The realization hit like a thunderclap--sickening in its clarity. His body was slick and drenched in warm, metallic red, the scent of iron thick in his nostrils. His limbs, though sluggish and cold, trembled with phantom pain. And through it all, his skull pulsed with a white-hot agony, as though a red-hot blade had been driven straight through it and left to throb.
Around him, the world howled.
Screams filled the air--raw, primal, not human but something deeper. They weren't just cries of pain. They were the guttural, soul-shaking wails of something being *torn apart.* Curses followed. Spat like venom, in voices trembling with rage and desperation.
He tried to sit up, to lift his battered body from the coagulating mess beneath him, but the blood clung to him--thick, warm, and sticky like tar. Every movement felt like drowning.
And then the earth shook.
A deafening explosion tore through the battlefield, shaking the ground beneath him like an angry god's fist. Through the haze of blood and smoke, Will's eyes caught a figure rising from a pile of smoldering debris.
A man--no, a warrior.
His silhouette emerged like something carved from fire and vengeance. He wore a deep blue suit of armor unlike anything Will had ever seen--medieval in structure, yet humming with an otherworldly energy. Faint glyphs shimmered across the plating, and in his hands, he carried a massive, double-edged sword, nearly four feet long.
But it wasn't the weapon that terrified Will.
It was the man's face.
His expression was carved from cold, focused fury. His crimson eyes glowed like embers in a dying world, locked onto Will with terrifying precision. It was as if he had known all along where Will would be. As if he had come for *him.*
And then--
Before the man could take a single step forward, the shadows descended.
A dozen figures fell from the sky, cloaked in black robes that writhed as if alive. They encircled the armored warrior like ghosts, whispering incantations in a tongue that should not have belong to this world. The words were sharp, fluid, haunting--language born from something ancient and cruel.
From their feet, red glowing lines snaked outward across the battlefield, converging beneath the warrior's boots. A massive, arcane sigil bloomed beneath him like a spider's web woven from molten light.
Chains erupted from the earth--crimson, crackling, seething with energy. They coiled around his legs and pulled tight, locking him in place.
But he didn't flinch.
With terrifying calm, the man raised his sword--not to strike the chains, but to slash through empty air.
And the world *howled*.
The wind screamed as if the blade had sliced open reality itself. A shockwave exploded outward, shredding the incantations mid-sentence. The robed figures were hurled back like ragdolls caught in a hurricane.
They didn't hit the ground.
Because he moved.
Faster than anything Will had ever seen. A blur of light and steel. One moment he stood surrounded. The next, he was everywhere.
Only afterimages remained--ghostly echoes of his motion as he danced through the air, carving through the floating bodies like ribbons in a storm. By the time the corpses hit the ground--if they even had time to realize they were dead--they were already in pieces.
It was inhuman.
Unreal.
And then, in the blink of an eye, he was *there*.
Standing just inches away from Will.
The battlefield fell away. The screams, the fire, the blood--it all blurred into silence.
Will's mind, still wracked with pain, couldn't process it. He simply froze--caught in the gravity of a presence far beyond understanding.
The warrior knelt beside him, moving with a gentleness that shattered expectation. His armored hands reached out, cradling Will's head as though it were glass. That furious expression faded--just slightly. Replaced by something else.
Something… softer.
From a pouch at his waist, the warrior pulled a small vial.
Glass. Glimmering. Inside, a strange blue liquid shimmered like stars trapped in water. Without a word, he uncorked it and brought it to Will's lips.
Will tried to resist. Tried to turn his head away. But his body was still useless. The liquid slipped down his throat--burning, electric--and then *everything* changed.
His heart kicked into overdrive. His vision swam. Every thought, every fading thread of consciousness suddenly snapped into focus. He felt *alive*--more alive than he had ever been.
And then… sleep came.
Not from exhaustion. Not from pain.
But from peace.
It swept over him like a tide--gentle and absolute.
Just before darkness claimed him, Will saw the warrior's face again--clearly this time.
He was young. Perhaps even his age. Brown hair, streaked faintly with black. Blue eyes that burned and softened all at once.
And just before Will fell completely, he saw it--that flicker.
A moment of relief.
A moment of recognition.
And then--
Nothing.
When Will opened his eyes again, the world had changed.
No blood. No smoke. No screams.
Instead, he felt warmth beneath him--velvet-soft and comforting. The sheets that cradled him were thick and luxurious, like clouds stitched into fabric. His body, once wracked with pain, now moved freely.
He blinked slowly, adjusting to the soft golden glow that filled the room.
He was lying on a bed fit for royalty--canopied and draped in rich, flowing fabric. The scent of herbs and lavender lingered in the air. This place was not a battlefield. It was a sanctuary.
And for the first time since the pain began--he felt… whole.
To his right, two women sat on intricately carved wooden chairs, their voices hushed and melodic. To his left, an elderly man stood tall and poised, gazing toward the far wall until--suddenly--he turned, as if sensing something.
Their eyes met.
The women noticed instantly.
The one closest to him--a woman with soft lavender hair and warm brown eyes--rose and moved to his bedside. She reached out without hesitation, gently taking Will's hand in her own.
Her touch was warm. Familiar, though he did not know her.
She leaned closer, brushing her hand along his cheek with quiet affection.
"Everything's alright now, little one," she whispered. Her voice was silk. "You're safe. You're home. You're with your mother."
The word struck him.
*Mother…?*
It didn't feel right. And yet, the sincerity in her touch, the kindness in her eyes--it made it hard to pull away.
Then the old man across the room cleared his throat.
"My lady," he said respectfully, "Perhaps it would be wise to ask the young master whether he's has any lingering pain."
Both women turned their full attention back to him.
Will swallowed hard and forced himself to speak.
"I… I feel fine. Really. No pain at all."
And it was true.
Against all logic, all memory--he felt healed.
But uncertainty still clouded his voice as he added, "But… can someone *please* tell me what's going on?"
He glanced around at the velvet curtains, the strangers, the quiet air.
"Where am I? What happened to me? And most importantly… who are you people?"