He didn't dwell on it much, just continued walking.
The path was lighted, it flickered through the trees like a flame, held just out of reach—soft, golden, and familiar. He'd seen this kind of light before, back in the early days of the game. They were called checkpoints of safety.
But this wasn't a game anymore, though it still felt the same to him. It called out to him as if it knew him.
The surrounding forest was quieter than he thought it would be—no bristling winds, no chirping birds, just the continuous hum of something ancient nearby.
He felt a weight in the air, as if he'd just stepped into someone else's domain. That's when he saw something.
In a clearing stood a shrine, hollow, half-swallowed by roots and mud. Moss overgrew the cracked stone, and a ruined statue lay beside it, missing a face and with arms outstretched in welcome or warning, he didn't know.
At its base, the light pooled like liquid sun.
A Site of Grace, real and whole. He never thought he'd see one again.
It didn't hiss or flicker like the others. This one responded.
He stepped closer to it, his heart thudding hard against his ribs. Slowly, he reached out. The mark on his palm pulsed once, then flared. A warm current rushed up his spine, then the light surged around him.
It was working.
For a breath, he felt real again—whole. The wounds on his body started closing, his fatigue slowly leaving his body. He didn't even feel hungry anymore.
Then, in a flash, steel tore through his back.
His knees hit the ground hard before he realized what happened. The sword punched clean through his gut, out his ribs. Felt like fire.
He gasped, his eyes opened wide, his mouth opened—but in silent shock. He didn't mutter anything because of the excruciating pain. Blood soaked his clothes and the earth, dripping continuously.
A shadow stepped forward. No words.
It wore silver armor, gleaming with ornate runes. A white cloak drifted behind him, stained at the hem with mud. The knight didn't even pause or wait for a reaction. It pulled the blade free with a cold, practiced motion—then turned.
The symbol on his chest caught the light: a chained sun. He was a Knight of Grace.
The world went blind, colors bled into black. The ground vanished beneath him. No pain—just cold. An endless cold, like he was falling down into a darkness without shape. No sky, no sounds, either.
He didn't dream of anything. He unraveled, and then—
Air.
His chest heaved as he snapped upright, coughing hard.
"What was that?"
His body arched, dirt pressing against his face. He rolled onto his back, sucking in breaths that felt foreign.
He was alive, but he didn't feel the same.
There was no blood on the ground anymore, no knight, no Grace. Just dead leaves and the echo of something that had already moved on.
His limbs were heavy. He rested his hand on the back of his neck, still in shock. He couldn't say anything because of it.
His muscles felt sore, and his head was throbbing hard. He felt as if someone had torn out the pages of his memories. An entire section of thought, emotion—just gone.
He couldn't remember what his laugh sounded like, couldn't remember the name of the town he grew up in, couldn't even remember the face of the friend he lost in an accident.
He knew he had those things in him before, but now he couldn't feel them anymore.
And in their place, a dull ache in the back of his skull, right behind his eyes.
He clutched his stomach as if blood were still flowing.
"How?... What was that?" he whispered to himself, still in shock.
He sat there, hands pressed to his face, until a familiar voice broke the silence.
"What the hell happened?"
Veyla stood at the edge of the clearing, her blade drawn, her eyes scanning the perimeter.
She gasped when she saw his condition.
He didn't answer at first, still looking down at his palm. In a low voice, he answered,
"I died."
She froze at his response.
He forced himself to stand, his body still shaking.
"A knight in white cloak, wearing an emblem like a sun wrapped in chains"
Her expression darkened slightly.
"Then how did you come back to life?" she asked quietly. "You're not one of us, neither were you born here, so you shouldn't be able to come back."
"Yeah..." he rasped. "I know."
"Then?" she asked persistently.
"I don't know, all right? I just woke up!" he barked, his voice louder than he intended.
"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that," she whispered. "Do you remember anything?" she asked, her voice lower now.
He shook his head softly.
"No, I don't remember anything."
"What did it take from you?" she continued.
"I don't know, Veyla. I don't know."
She stepped closer. His gaze met hers, and for the first time, he saw fear in her eyes.
"You just did the impossible, Hex," she said. "Do you know that? Your way more dangerous than I thought."
He didn't say anything. His mind was still reeling from the shock.
Because in this broken world, things that should stay dead didn't seem to listen—and those that came back?
They always came back in the wrong way.