Darkness.
Then breath.
Seth’s lungs heaved violently, dragging in the stale, cold air that stung his throat like knives. His body convulsed once, twice—then he opened his eyes.
The world that greeted him was painted in gray.
Fog swirled across cracked, uneven soil, and gravestones jutted out from the earth like the teeth of a dead god. The distant clang of chains echoed through the haze. Skeletal hands clawed weakly from the dirt, pulling pale, empty faces toward the surface.
A graveyard.
Seth lay still for a moment, staring up at the black sky overhead. There were no stars—only the faint crimson moon hanging low like a bleeding wound. He felt the damp chill of death in the air, and slowly, his lips curved into a dry, humorless smile.
“The first floor of the Black Tower…” he muttere
