Dark.
Cold.
Empty.
Stone didn't fall. Didn't rise. He floated, suspended in nothing that had no edges, no mercy, no sound. Eyes wide. Hollow. Dead—or close enough.
Then the memories came. Not gentle. Not neat. They ripped through him like glass—shards cutting, slicing, stabbing, burning.
His mother. Hands dusted with flour. Warm. Trembling. Soft. Soap clinging to skin like a promise. Rain tapping on the tin roof. Her lullaby. He'd pretended to hate it, but clung anyway.
Sunlight on the river. Ben's laugh, sharp and unguarded, echoing in his chest. Barefoot races down dirt paths. Boots tossed aside. Hands cut, pressed together, blood exchanged as brothers forever. Sworn. Sacred.
Then—
The splintering wood.
Cold steel sinking into ribs.
Ben's face above him, smiling… smiling wrong.
Eyes sharp. Cruel. Empty. Alien.
The push. The fall. The impact.
Water.
Cold. Thick. Choking. Heavy. Devouring.
Scream swallowed before it formed. Hands reaching. Ben's hand missing. Ben—gone.
Chest burning. Lungs filling with nothing. Silence so loud it rang in every corner of his head.
Rage started slow. Whispered. Crawled. Poisoned him from the edges. But it grew. Twisting, swelling, clawing up his ribs until it filled his chest with fire and storm.
Jaw clenched. The void quivered in response.
"Ben…" Voice hoarse, raw, ragged, tasting of blood and despair.
Again. Louder. Angrier.
"BEN!"
No grief left. Only venom. Sharp. Hot. Intent.
"If I have to crawl through hell to get to you…" Nails biting into palms, fists tight enough to taste iron. "If I have to burn the whole damn world to ash…"
Voice trembling with fury, not fear.
"I'll find you.
And I will kill you."
The vow tore itself out, carving the black around him. Echoes shattered and vanished.
Then—temperature dropped. Air thickened. Weight pressed down, slow, suffocating, endless.
From the void, it emerged.
Tall. Silent. Impossible. Shadows wrapping shadows like a second skin.
Death.
No face. Only eyes. Bottomless pits that pulled at something deeper than flesh. Hungry. Wanting. Claiming.
Voice—not sound. Not words. Bone-deep:
Choose.
Two hands extended.
Left: soft. White. Gentle. Light. Peace. Rest. Oblivion.
Right: jagged. Dark. Pulsing. Alive. Sharp. Power. Vengeance. A last chance.
Stone didn't hesitate.
Right. Always right. Fingers closing, locking around it.
Pain detonated. Pure. White-hot. Exploding. Shredding him from the inside out. Lungs gulping air as if for the first time. Cold. Bitter. Alive.
Death leaned close. Whispered over bones:
"Hope you don't regret what you'll become."
Then—
Eyes snapped open. Ghostly vermilion flames igniting. Slicing through black. Burning through nothing.
Alive. Cold. Hungry.
A soul reborn.
A curse claimed.
A last chance.