"Tch!"
Revan's eyes snapped open.
The first thing he registered was the crisp, clean scent of fresh linen. The second was the color: the brilliant, unblemished white of the ceiling. His last conscious memory was the crushing gravity, the obsidian sword, the furious faces of Dimitri, Ezra, and Silas—and then a blinding flash of light.
He sat up quickly, his muscles tensing, ready to fight. His sclera was still a furious crimson, with irises of dark red, the lingering signature of the rage he'd been fighting only moments ago. Confusion slammed into him as he looked around. This wasn't the scorched battlefield, the ruined city, or the cold, stone crypt. This was a bedroom—small, sunlit, and intensely familiar.
He was wearing the same casual clothes he'd worn before the fall, soft trousers and a loose shirt. The kind of clothes he used to wear while tending the garden.
He swung his legs out of bed, the floor cool beneath his feet, and walked in silence toward the front door. He breathed in the air—so fresh, familiar, and yet profoundly odd. It was air completely untainted by smoke, blood, or the metallic tang of fear. Stepping outside, the bright, clean daylight washed over him. He was surrounded by an endless field of golden wheat.
"What is this?" he asked, the sound of his own voice foreign in the unsettling silence.
Just then, the door behind him creaked open, and he heard a voice that stopped his heart in his chest.
"Rev..."
His eyes widened in shock, the sound freezing him mid-breath. He felt a delicate weight against his back, two soft arms wrapping around his torso, and a small chin resting on his shoulder.
She planted a light kiss on his neck. "You were supposed to wait up bed for breakfast."
It all felt real. His eyes glanced down to his shoulder, resting on the top of her head. He asked, his voice low and cold, "Lyra?"
"Mmhmm?" she answered softly.
"Are you... Am I dead?"
She removed her head from his shoulder and looked at him in surprise. "Dead? Was the dream really that bad?"
"Dream... Yes... Yes." He turned around quickly to face her, forcing a smile onto his face. As he did, his eyes flickered, the crimson sclera fading back to white, and the irises settling on a gentle purple.
She didn't look sick or weak. She was healthy and lively, dressed in a simple white dress.
"Could... Could you leave me out side abit?" he asked, his voice shaky, threatening to break.
She looked at him with worry, placing her warm, soft hand on the side of his cheek, looking up at him. "What happened?"
He tried to hold in the tears, but couldn't. Crying, he placed his hand over hers on his cheek and gently removed it. "Nothing you should worry about, just... just need the air, you know?"
She smiled gently. "Okay." She lowered her arms. "Better not take all the time out here, don't want my cooking to go bad."
They both chuckled. Revan sniffed, calming himself. "I won't. Promise."
She smiled. "Good." She walked back inside, shutting the door softly behind her.
Revan watched the door close, then inhaled shakily, still in disbelief. He turned, tears streaming down his face as he glanced up into the bright, clear blue sky. There was complete silence: no wind, no animal, no sound at all.
And so what would have been the odds of a being such as him, capable of killing a member of my kind, THE new death, being completely oblivious to what is actually happening? Should have been 3%, an extremely low odd, but I... am the "Author" and man am i bored... Time for the show to really begin.