Rana thought she was ready for death, but when the darkness took her, its chill devoured her soul and the silence consumed her screams. Death was not peaceful. It was a violent torrent of suffering and her mind would’ve been shredded if not for a single tether of light.

Whether that was a blessing or a curse she didn’t know.

It was an eternity of unanswered cries for salvation but the tether eventually pulled at her and she was brought into a dim light.

Rana blinked, her weary eyes slowly adjusted to the candlelight that flickered at the edge of her vision. She was lying on a flat stone surface within a silence disturbed only by the faint burning of fire. The air smelled like dust and stone and it was depressingly still.

Rana tried to move her body but couldn’t, as if every limb every fiber of her being was tied down by invisible chains. She couldn’t touch or feel the force weighing her down. All Rana knew was that she was cold and wanted nothing but to be warm again. She tried clenching her fists but her hand refused to move. She tried opening her mouth to breath but her jaw stayed slacked. She wanted to scream but no voice left her lips.

Rana was a prisoner confined to her own body. She was powerless and unable to do anything. It reminded her of when she was in the void. It was a terrifying thought and the fear gave her strength. With a primal yearning born out of a desire to never return to the darkness, a silent scream within her soul escaped in the form of a whisper between her. It gave her hope.

The frail sound she made, one that might even be an illusion, let Rana know that although it felt familiar things were different. Unlike before, her mind was not made of pain and her body was not being ripped apart over and over again. She knew, or rather believed, that there was an escape.

Rana continued her silent struggle and as time passed the invisible chains began to loosen. With every minute movement her body made, hope flared and her strength increased. Like ancient gears, the rust of her body fell with each turn of the mesh and her time crept forward. She didn’t know how long she tried or how it happened but she found herself sitting up.

Rana surveyed her surroundings despite the dull pain in her stiff neck whenever she turned her head. She was in a hollowed hallway. It was cold. Columns of stone held up the ceiling on the edges of the wall and the faint candlelight protected her from the shadows creeping within. She recoiled at the darkness. Still, despite her instincts telling her to clear the area as soon as possible, she steadied herself.

What Rana needed now was not cowardice. She needed information. It would be suicide to wander unfamiliar territory and death was the last thing she wanted to experience again. She needed to know where she was, why she was there, and who she was.

Who was Rana?

Dread filled her chest and a chill began to suffocate her heart.

Rana had no idea who she was.

Breathe. She told herself to breathe. She needed air, something, anything to relieve her from the crushing in her chest. She pleaded. She begged. No one answered. No one came to save her. The darkness crept closer. She was drowning. She was dying.

A small tether pulled and a small string of light flashed in the darkness. She blinked and found herself in the same hallowed hall.

Rana was still alive. Death did not claim her.

Rana clutched her chest and hugged herself. She wanted to feel the warmth of her body, the sensation of being alive. There was none. The embrace was cold. She looked to her side and reached out to a small candle nearing the end of its lifespan. It revealed something horrible.

Rana looked at the hand in front of her. The skin was ashen and small cracks formed where the veins were. There was no blood, not even a hint of sweat. Yet what terrified her the most was not how the hand looked. It was she felt nothing from the flames. She didn’t know how long she stared but when the candle died so did her denial of the reality in front of her. She realized the truth.

She did not feel cold. She couldn’t feel anything at all. The chill was who she was. Rana was dead and it made no sense.

Revive magic did not exist for the ordinary folk and it was a miracle brought forth only by the One Deity. It also required an extraordinary amount of mana that can only be acquired by having the top mages of the country channel nonstop for months. If the ritual was interrupted then the spell would break and consume everyone involved, including the dead body.

History books mentioned dozens of attempts but there was only one success.

Necromancy was more common. It was a forbidden art studied and employed by mages who abandoned their duty to pursue otherworldly desires. However, the dead revived by necromancy were mindless zombies with only the desire to consume human flesh. The undead also had no soul therefore unable to generate mana, which led to the quick decay of their bodies.

It made no sense. There were no exhausted mages nearby nor was the location heavily fortified. Most importantly was that Rana’s body wasn’t restored. Her body looked like one of the undead but her mind was intact and clear even. If it weren’t revive magic or necromancy what could be the reason?

The truth only brought more questions, yet these questions calmed her. She was scared, but she also knew the knowledge in her mind was hers. Rana couldn’t remember who she was and why she was in a state of undead, but when her mind turned she felt alive. She knew she had a past and she would find it.

Rana looked around to see if there were any other clues. The hilt of a sword leaning against the stone she sat on caught her attention. She knew what it was. Patterned flames were carved into the guard and an obsidian orb was slotted in the middle. The sword was a Paladin sword. The blade was the sacred fire that cleansed evil and the wielder was one with the One Deity’s will. However, the sword was battered and lacked the luster she knew of.

Maybe if she were to examine it closer Rana would regain her memories.

Thunderous hammering roared in the distance, its echo unleashed into the hall and snuffed out the dying candle lights. The sound was loud but wasn’t close, like someone was trying to batter down a heavy gate to reach inside of it. Another blast echoed into the hall and a hint of mana could be felt. It made Rana happy to be able to feel something at last. However, her joy died fast and she had to act fast. Only those with a Class could use mana and they were either freelance mercenaries or enforcers of the One Church and where else would they head towards?

To humanity, to the church, Rana was an abomination. She knew she would be killed on sight.

“If you do not wish to perish you will come to me,” said a voice behind her. It was almost like a whisper in the wind, but to Rana, it was clear like crystal. She turned towards the voice and saw no one. However, what was once a dark shadow was now a small hallway lit by a faint light.

Rana hesitated, not knowing whether she should trust the voice.

The loud hammering again roared in the distance, but this time it was accompanied by the sound of shattering stones. Whatever blocking their path was destroyed and metal footsteps soon followed.

If the path forward was a dead end, one could only turn around.

Rana rolled off the stone surface and crashed to the floor. She caught the sight of an unknown pattern, not so dissimilar to the ones used by the church, but she had no time to figure out what it meant before she commanded her limbs to push her body up. She stumbled and crawled a few steps, but she finally found her footing. The rust stalling her joints exploded and the gears of her time began to turn.

Rana ran.

Rana knew exactly what drove her. She refused to go back to the darkness. She refused to let it take her. Death would not claim her today. Rana would never let death claim her again not ever.