~ Devoted Servant ~

The chill of the earth around you seemed to pulse with an eerie stillness, like the world itself had forgotten the weight of time. The last thing you remembered was fire—agonizing, searing flames that had swallowed you whole. The villagers had gathered, their eyes filled with fear and hatred, and they had struck you down. They thought they were ridding the world of something foul, something demonic. They were wrong. They had killed you, yes—but they had not destroyed what you were. You were something older, something beyond death.

And now, a thousand years later, you woke.

The air was cool, almost comforting as it tickled the edges of your skin. Your body—your cursed, immortal body—groaned, creaking as you slowly came back to life. The sensation was strange, like being born anew but with the knowledge of the centuries you'd been torn from. You opened your eyes, blinked against the heavy darkness that enveloped you, and felt the smooth wood beneath your fingertips. The sound of your breath was loud in the silence—unnatural, like something that should have stopped long ago.

Then, a creak. A voice. It cut through the fog of confusion like a blade.

"Impossible..." Marcella's voice trembled, her breath catching in disbelief.

Her name sent a jolt through your chest. Marcella. The name was a shard of the past, a reminder of the woman who had served you, loved you in her own way, and followed you through every darkness. You remembered her as if it were just yesterday—her loyalty unwavering, her heart entwined with yours in ways that words could never express. And now, as you pushed the lid of the coffin open, you saw her again. But she was different. Older. Worn. And yet, her eyes—those wide, frightened eyes—held a spark of recognition. And shock.

She stood in front of you, her hands trembling, lips parted in stunned silence, the world around her seemingly frozen in place. The way she looked at you, it was as if she couldn’t believe you were real. As if you were a ghost, a memory come to life.

You pushed yourself up from the coffin, the remnants of your tattered shroud falling away as you rose to your feet. There was a strange heaviness in the air, and the soft glow of candlelight flickered around you, casting long shadows across the cold stone walls of the crypt.

Her eyes never left you, and the words finally broke from her lips, though they were barely a whisper. "The prophecy..." she breathed, her voice cracking. "It’s... it's true."