Nebras's hand punched through the marble lid.
Kaser's jaw dropped, his mouth hanging open in silent shock. The Princess gasped, both hands flying to cover her mouth, while the Vizier's eyes went wide. He stumbled back, fear getting the better of his discipline, and leveled his sword at the grave.
The hand clawed at the stone, shoving aside rubble and dust. A moment later, a second hand burst through, widening the breach. With a grunt of exertion, Nebras pulled himself up. He tumbled out of the sarcophagus, his body coated in a thick layer of gray dust. He collapsed onto the cold floor, hacking and coughing, his lungs fighting to expel the stale air of the tomb.
He wiped the grit from his face, blinking rapidly as he tried to clear the film from his eyes. His vision returned in blurry patches. He slapped the dust from his arms and chest, the cloud rising around him like smoke.
Once he could stand, he staggered forward, his legs heavy and uncooperative, moving with the clumsy gait of a drunkard.
With every step he took, the three living occupants of the room retreated.
But a tear escaped the Princess's eye. Her heart hammered against her ribs—not with fear, but with a sudden, overwhelming hope. She was witnessing a miracle. Nebras had returned from the heart of darkness, in their hour of greatest need. Hope remained in this cruel world. She tried to speak, to welcome him, but her throat constricted. Her mind was blank, unable to form words worthy of the moment.
The Vizier, however, kept his sword point steady. He broke the heavy silence with a growl.
"Halt! Identify yourself!"
Nebras heard the voice as if from underwater. He dug a finger into his ear, clearing out a plug of dirt. The Vizier repeated the command, and this time, the words registered.
Nebras stopped. He squinted through the lingering dust, making out three vague shapes. He didn't speak immediately. He needed to understand where he was.
His first thought was cynical and immediate: I'm back in my own world. My brother finally caught me. He must have buried me alive in a casket to let me suffocate as revenge. Typical.
But he had slept for so long.
He remembered the Void. He felt as though decades had passed in that place. Time there had been a contradiction—fast and slow, heavy and weightless. It was a place where opposites didn't clash but merged. Light and dark, life and death, all suspended in a gray fugue.
He had existed in that Isthmus for years, waiting for a way out. After what felt like an eternity, a crack had appeared. He had heard a girl speaking to him. Her voice had been an indistinct echo, laced with sorrow—perhaps she was weeping—but it carried a strange certainty. That conviction had been a lifeline, a warm current in the cold ocean of his confinement. He had heard many voices over the decades, dry and meaningless, but hers was different. It offered peace.
Then, the prison had shattered. The Void peeled away like broken glass, and his soul—or whatever was left of him—was violently pulled back. He had woken up choking on dust in a suffocating box.
And now, he was here.
He scanned the room, trying to identify which of his palaces in the Kingdom of Areja this might be. But the architecture was wrong. The carvings were unfamiliar.
Then his eyes landed on a statue in the corner. It was a knight holding a long sword—the exact sword he had been holding when...
Wait.
Malik's blood ran cold. Am I still in that world? The world with that monster who killed me?
He decided to test the waters. He needed information, and he needed it fast. His tongue felt thick and dry as he spoke.
"Do you know who I am?"
The Princess finally mastered her voice. It rang out clear and sweet in the large chamber.
"You are Nebras, the Awaited Hero. You have returned for us. You have returned from death."
Internal panic seized Malik. He masked it with a stone-faced expression, but his mind was screaming.
Damn this fate to hell. I am still in this nightmare. It wasn't a hallucination. I felt that sword pierce my chest. I remember the pain... it was absolute. I don't understand. How did I travel here? How did I die and come back? I'm tired of this confusion. I can't tell what is real and what is madness anymore.
The girl continued, her face glowing with reverence.
"You are here for us, Great Grandfather. I never doubted for a moment that you would come back to us."
Great Grandfather?
The Vizier cut in sharply. "We do not know what this thing is that crawled out of the grave, Princess. This could be the work of a necromancer. We do not know what spirit inhabits the Hero's corpse."
Malik shifted his gaze to the paranoid man with the sword. He licked his cracked, dry lips.
"I need water," he rasped. "And food."