Eron woke before dawn, but he did not recognize the ceiling above him. He lay still for several long seconds, staring at the pale stone arches overhead. The chamber felt familiar, yet distant, as though he were remembering it rather than inhabiting it. Thin curtains moved gently in the early morning air, and the faint scent of incense lingered near the doorway.
He knew this room, but it belonged to the cathedral. Yet something inside him insisted that he had woken somewhere else. Eron pushed himself upright slowly, his body felt different, not weaker, not stronger, it felt different.
He pressed his palm against his chest where the divine sigil rested beneath his skin. The mark pulsed once in response, warm and steady.
“Where am I?” he murmured. The question was unnecessary, but it felt
