Death was not silent.
Rowan had expected silence an endless, empty void where memory dissolved and pain no longer had meaning. Instead, he awoke to sound. Not voices, not footsteps, but a low, resonant hum that seemed to vibrate through whatever remained of his body.
Or soul.
His eyes opened to a sky with no sun, no moon, no stars only a vast expanse of shifting silver mist that moved like a living thing. Beneath him stretched an endless plain of black stone veined with faint light, as though something luminous was trapped beneath the surface, struggling to break through.
He pushed himself upright slowly.
No pain.
No wounds.
No heartbeat.
The last memory struck him like a blade Ivy screaming his name as the world dissolved into white fire.
“Ivy,” he rasped.
Even his voice sound
