Zephyr's POV
"Agh—"
The sound left me raw, cracked. I tried to inhale, but no air filled my lungs. Then I realized… I didn't have lungs.
I looked down.
My body—my flesh, my blood, everything that had once been me—was gone. What remained was a faint, golden silhouette. A soul. No bones, no muscle, only shimmering essence shaped like the man I once was.
"What… what the hell am I?" My voice wavered, though it wasn't a voice in the normal sense—more like thought made sound.
"You're currently in my realm, Zephyr."
The words thundered across the void. I turned, and my gaze froze.
A throne. Vast, impossibly large, carved of black stone that seemed to drink light itself. And upon it sat a figure—a man at first glance, but no man could measure twenty feet tall and radiate such sheer, suffocating presence. His eyes burned with galaxies. His form was less flesh than concept, a shape that the mind instinctively recognized yet couldn't fully comprehend.
"Wh… who are you?"
"Calm yourself, child. I am the Primordial—the origin. The first flame. The breath that gave life to existence."
My thoughts stumbled. Primordial… wasn't that the name Ivrakhal mentioned? The one even the Apostles cursed in whispers?
"You're correct, child," the giant intoned without moving his lips. "I am the one the Apostle of True Evil spat upon with his forked tongue."
"You can hear my thoughts?"
"Here, you are essence. Thought and word are one."
I swallowed, though I had no throat to do it with. "…Then answer me. They said I was your 'chosen son.' What does that mean?"
His gaze settled on me, weight enough to crush mountains.
"I cannot reveal all, not yet. But know this: I marked you for something greater than yourself. Yet fate twisted. Another—Lumina's puppet, Elijah—stole what should have been yours. A hollow vessel holding borrowed light."
My fists clenched weakly. "So what's the point? I was killed like an insect. I couldn't even protect anyone. How am I supposed to save a world when I couldn't even save myself?"
The Primordial leaned forward slightly, his voice shaking the stars around him. "You were killed, yes. But weak? No. Do not insult your struggle. You slew one of the Apostles, even in your unshaped state."
My soul shivered. Memories I had buried clawed back. Fire. Ash. Screams. And Syrath.
Flashback — The Battle of Wyrmfrost
The castle grounds were drowned in fire. Stone cracked beneath the weight of serpentine spawn, their hissing filling the night. The air reeked of blood and poison.
And towering above it all stood Syrath—scaled, grotesque, his elongated arms ending in talons slick with venom. His laughter slithered across the battlefield.
"Mwahaha! Devour them, my children! Tear their screams from their throats! Tonight, Wyrmfrost falls!"
The corrupted spawn lunged into the crowd, knights and guards falling in seconds, their armor crunching like brittle shells.
But then—
A single strike of light cut through the darkness. My sword—a relic of my house—had awakened with me. Its edge glowed gold, cleaving through a cluster of the spawn. They collapsed, shrieking as their corrupted forms dissolved into smoke.
Syrath's head snapped toward me, slitted eyes narrowing. "Who dares—?"
I stepped forward, planting my boots on the cracked stone though my heart thundered like a trapped bird. "I did. And I'll do the same to you. This is Wyrmfrost—my home. I am Zephyr Wyverndale, Duke of Wyrmfrost. And you will fall here."
Syrath tilted his head, then grinned, forked tongue flickering. "A child barking before a god. Very well. Let's crush that spirit."
He lunged.
The ground split beneath him. Claws swiped at my throat, so fast the world blurred. Instinct—pure, screaming instinct—dragged my sword up.
Steel rang against claw, sparks bursting in the air. My arm jolted, pain shooting down to my elbow. He was monstrously strong. My boots carved lines in the dirt as I was pushed back.
Too strong.
But I refused to yield.
I twisted, forcing his claw aside, and rammed my knee into his chest. It was like striking stone. Syrath barely flinched before his tail whipped around, smashing into my ribs. The impact hurled me into a wall, the stone groaning under the force. My breath tore from me, and blood spilled hot from my lips.
Syrath stalked closer, grin widening. "Pathetic. You'll die screaming, just like the rest."
I coughed blood, forcing my arms to move, forcing my legs to stand. My sword trembled in my grip. But something in me refused to stop. Not here. Not now.
Not in my home.
With a roar, I charged.
The sword flared brighter, the glow almost blinding. Every clash was a storm—claws against steel, venom against light. His spawn swarmed, but the aura blade carved through them like paper. My body screamed with pain, but my fury burned hotter.
Finally—an opening.
Syrath's strike buried his claws into stone, his momentum too great. For an instant, he was vulnerable. I threw everything I had left into a reckless downward arc.
The blade cleaved into his neck.
His eyes widened. He choked, black ichor spewing across the ground.
"You—"
"I told you…" I spat blood, shoving the blade deeper. My entire body shook with the effort. "…This is Wyrmfrost."
The sword cut clean through. His head rolled, his massive body collapsing into ash. His spawn shrieked in unison before unraveling into nothing.
Silence.
Only the fire's crackle remained. My sword fell from my hand, and I collapsed beside it, chest heaving.
For the first time that night, amidst the wreckage and ruin, the people of Wyrmfrost lifted their eyes… and saw hope.
The Primordial's Realm
The memory bled away, leaving me staring once more at the being of creation.
"See?" his voice thundered. "Even unawakened, you slew Syrath. Yes, one of the weaker Apostles, but an Apostle nonetheless. That was no small feat."
I exhaled slowly. "…If it had been Ivrakhal, or any stronger one, I'd have been slaughtered."
"Perhaps. But you would have landed a strike. Remember that. Zephyr Wyverndale, only you hold the power to defeat the Apostles—and the one who commands them."
A chill gripped me. "You mean… Azh'Qorath."
"Yes. And to face him, you must grow stronger—stronger than anything your world or the Ten Realms have seen."
I barked a hollow laugh. "But I'm dead. What am I supposed to do as a soul?"
"That is why," the Primordial rumbled, "I will send you back. Back to the beginning. To the day of your birth. This time, you will have decades to prepare."
I blinked. "But the Apostles came before I even turned twenty."
"That was because you were weak. They came early to extinguish what they saw as a flicker. But the higher beings—the Apostles, gods, dragons—they do not attack when their foe is weakest. They attack when their foe has reached their pinnacle. Out of pride. Out of arrogance. They seek only ultimate battles."
"…So if I grow stronger, they'll wait for me to reach my peak before they come?"
"Yes. Exactly."
I paused. "…Then what about Lumina's chosen one? He'll still take what should be mine."
The Primordial's tone hardened. "Her chosen one is a fraud. A hollow vessel. He is untrue to his divinity. When I send you back, you will not walk alone. I will give you a companion—one who will guide and sharpen you into what you must become. Do not fear Lumina's puppet. He will never surpass you."
I lowered my head. "…So all I have to do is go back, train, and prepare?"
"Yes—and no. Training is your foundation, but not your only path. You must live as well. With family, with comrades, with those you love. You must not repeat the hollow, bitter existence you carried before. Live, Zephyr. Live fully."
I felt something stir in my chest. The thought of seeing them again—my family. My people. A second chance. "…I'll do it. I'll live. And I'll end this apocalypse."
The Primordial's gaze softened—barely. "Good. But know this: time is a cruel thing. Reversing it will weaken me. For twenty years, I will slumber. Only after will you be able to reach me again. Until then, the companion I gift you will serve as your guide."
"And only I'll remember this life?"
"Yes. Only you."
I bowed my head. "…Thank you. I won't waste this chance."
"I know you won't. Rise, my child. Rise against the darkness that waits to consume all."
The stars collapsed inward. The throne, the being, the void—all swallowed by black.
And then—
"Quick! Push! Just a little more!"
Voices. Muffled, frantic. Light. Heat.
A cry filled the air—my cry.
"It's a boy, my lady!"
My eyes opened. I saw blurred faces, maids gasping in awe. And then a voice I thought I'd never hear again—soft, familiar, filled with warmth.
"Enough gawking. Let me hold my son."
Mother.
Tears blurred my newborn vision. My chest ached with emotion I couldn't contain. It was real. I was back.
I was truly back.
And this time… everything would be different.