It's cold.
That's the first thing I register. Not the pleasant chill of air conditioning or the breeze of a windy night - but the kind of cold that bites. That seeps into bone and bruises skin. My fingers are numb. My wrists ache.
I try to move. Bad idea.
Pain lances up my shoulders as I realize my hands are bound behind my back, wrists raw from the rope. My cheek is pressed against stone. Rough, grimy stone. The air tastes like dust and iron.
And... blood?
I shift again. Still bound. Still cold. Still not home.
Wherever home even is now.
I try to remember the last thing before waking up here. A street. A sound. My name. My death.
Ah. Right. I died.
[System 707]:
"Congratulations. You died. Again."
"World 1 loading complete. Current body: Identified. Location: Detention chamber. Difficulty: Moderate. You'll probably survive. Maybe."
"Oh thank you, Mr. Glitchy Voice in My Head," I mutter under my breath. "Reassurance level: zero."
"Sarcasm detected. Marking coping mechanism: sarcastic snark. Adorable."
I open my eyes fully, blinking away the fuzziness.
I'm inside a stone-walled prison cell - damp, dark, lit only by flickering torchlight that throws long shadows on the walls. It smells like sweat, rusted chains, and something rotting. Someone must've died here recently.
Great place to respawn. 10/10 ambiance.
"Host, you were not supposed to land in this exact location. Your drop point was recalibrated due to - well. That doesn't matter now. You're here. And someone is coming."
"What—"
Footsteps. Heavy, deliberate. Echoing down the corridor.
I shift, forcing my back straighter as the cell door creaks open. The light is too dim to make out much at first - but then he steps in.
Tall. Armored. Cloak dusted with ash. He carries a blade on his back and the kind of expression that says he's very used to people dying when he walks into a room.
His eyes meet mine.
And I freeze.
Amber eyes. Golden, almost. Not glowing, but… intense. Like fire barely held back behind a wall of stone. There's a pause - a hitch in his stare. As if he knows me. Or knew me. Or expected someone else entirely.
Then it's gone.
"You're not the prisoner we were expecting."
His voice is low. Gravel and steel. A command, even when he's asking nothing.
I don't answer. Mostly because I have no idea what to say. Also, still gagged. (Which I am now just realizing. Rude.)
He steps closer, crouching in front of me. He doesn't touch me. Just stares. Examining. Evaluating. His gaze drops to the insignia on the collar of the clothes I hadn't even noticed I was wearing - a torn gray uniform with a faded crest stitched over the chest. I catch a glimpse. A rose pierced by a blade.
"Prisoner of war," he murmurs. "But not from any battalion I've seen."
He reaches out, slowly, and unties the gag. My throat is dry, lips cracked. But I manage something that sounds almost like a voice.
"…Who are you?"
His eyes narrow.
"You don't know who I am?"
I blink. "Should I?"
Another pause. This time heavier. His jaw tightens. Something passes behind those amber eyes - annoyance? Suspicion? Something else I can't place.
"I'm Commander Vael. Of the Black Guard. You should be dead."
Lovely.
[System 707]:
"That's a name you should remember. Or not. It'll be more fun that way."
"Also, wow. Look at that jawline. You humans have ridiculous standards and somehow he meets all of them. Anyway. He's important."
I shoot an eye-roll toward nothing in particular.
Vael stands, tossing a glance over his shoulder as footsteps approach. Another soldier. Younger. Nervous. He salutes, murmurs something about "orders from the Queen's council," then hands Vael a scroll.
Vael reads it.
Frowns.
And then he does something unexpected.
He unlocks the cell door.
"Take him to my tent."
Wait. WHAT?
[System 707]:
"Ohoho~ plot twist~! You've been claimed, Host. Must be your mysterious charm. Or maybe your face. Or maybe you're about to be used as a political pawn in a war you know nothing about. Could be all three."
I don't even have time to argue before I'm hauled to my feet.
The cold air hits me harder once we're out of the dungeon, the sudden brightness of the torch-lined hallway stinging my eyes. I barely register the way Vael walks just ahead of me - his posture rigid, purposeful.
He doesn't look back.
But somehow, I can feel his attention on me all the same.
And for a moment, just one fleeting second, I feel something in my chest shift. Like a string pulling tight, invisible and thin.
But that's ridiculous. I don't know this man. He doesn't know me.
I'm just a body dropped into the middle of a war. With a system that won't shut up.
[System 707]:
"...You're not supposed to remember them."
pause
"Never mind."
[System Update: World 1 – Soul Lock: Active]
Soul recognized. Bond present. MC: unaware. Tracking initiated.
Let the game begin.