Grave borne Revenant

( ) this will be the mc inner voice

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The world vanished in an instant, like staring into a featureless sheet of white snow. Slowly, he blinked his eyes open to find an unfamiliar ceiling above him.

"Where am I?" he muttered, feeling disoriented. He managed to sit up in the bed, scanning the room around him. It was filled with books, none of which seemed familiar. Rising shakily to his feet, he wandered over to one of the bookshelves, drawn by curiosity. Grabbing a random book, he felt the hard cover beneath his fingers, but didn't pay much attention to it.

He opened the book, only to find the writing completely indecipherable. "What the hell is this?" he grumbled. Just as he was about to put the book back, the letters started to twist and change on the page, shifting into a language he could understand—standard English.

The title now read, The Ten Gods of Solara. Confused, he flipped the book over and noticed the spine also had words that suddenly made sense.

"What kind of book is this?" he wondered aloud, placing it back on the shelf.

He turned toward the door and noticed a mirror hanging there. Approaching it, he froze as he saw his reflection. The face staring back at him was... different. Not what he remembered, but then again, what did he remember?

He tried to recall his old appearance, but nothing came to mind. Anxiety rising, he examined himself more closely. His hair was tall and black, his eyes a piercing turquoise, and his skin light-toned. His body had a medium build, as if he'd worked out for a bit but never kept it up.

But something still felt off. Sitting back on the bed, he muttered to himself, "Okay... okay, just try to remember what you were doing before all this." He stared at the ceiling, hoping something would come back to him.

Nothing.

Lying back down, he let his eyes drift around the room, noting its simplicity. It was small, barely enough space for one person. There were no closets, only a bag of clothes by the door. At the foot of the bed, a desk was piled high with papers. Curiosity got the better of him, so he wandered over to the desk.

The writing on the papers was a jumbled mess, the handwriting nearly illegible. "How did I even end up here?" he muttered under his breath. Frustrated, he glanced back at the mirror. "I don't even remember being light-skinned before. Or... was I?"

Sighing, he glanced down at the white shirt he was wearing, stained and dirty. His shorts were plain black. He walked over to the bag and rummaged through it, finding two sets of strange uniforms.

"Is this... a butler uniform?" he asked himself, lifting the fabric up for a closer look.

Knock! Knock!

A sudden noise from the door startled him. His heart raced for a second, but his mind quickly settled. "So I've lost my memory, but I still remember basic things," he said to himself with a small chuckle. He tossed the uniform back into the bag and cautiously opened the door.

He stepped into a small living room. The brown couch in the center was worn and ragged, but still functional. He moved toward the front door and opened it, but there was no one there.

"Who's there?" he called out, but the dark hallway outside offered no response. The shadows seemed unnaturally thick, like a veil hiding something sinister.

Suddenly, from deep within the darkness, a figure emerged. Its monstrous features became clear as it approached—white horns curling out from the sides of its misshapen head, and its body appeared to be a twisted amalgamation of different creatures. Parts of it resembled a bull, a cat, and a dog, all melded together in a grotesque fashion.

Panic surged through him as the creature rushed toward him. He slammed the door shut just in time, hearing the impact as the beast collided with the wood. Desperately, he grabbed a chair and wedged it under the door handle.

"I don't think this will hold," he muttered, backing away.

He ran back to his room and locked that door too. Searching for a place to hide, his eyes landed on the window at the far end of the room. Through it, he saw the moon—a deep, blood-red color, like someone had painted it with gore.

"This... this definitely isn't Earth," he whispered to himself.

With no other options, he dove under the bed, hoping it would provide enough cover. Moments later, the door burst open. The monster trashed the living room, flinging furniture across the room. He heard the couch crash into the wall, creating a hole large enough for someone to walk through.

The bed collapsed as the couch slammed into it, but miraculously, he remained unharmed beneath the wreckage. The sound of footsteps entered the room, but they didn't belong to the monster. They were human—heavy boots marching with purpose.

"Here!" a voice shouted.

More footsteps followed, and the room filled with a strange gas. "This should work," someone said.

He stayed hidden under the bed until a group of men lifted the debris off of him. There were four of them—two helping him to his feet, while the other two engaged the monster. One of the men launched a fireball, the flash of crimson lighting up the room as the creature roared. It fled, crashing through the remains of the living room and into the street outside.

"W-What was that?" he asked, shaken.

One of the men turned to him. "You're Elijah, right?"

"Yeah… I am," he replied, feeling his head begin to throb. Memories—fragments of something—started to flood in. He saw visions of the Ten Gods of Solara, strange languages he didn't recognize, and snippets of a life he couldn't place.

The younger man moved to help him, but the older one held him back. "I'm fine," Elijah insisted, rubbing his temple. "Just a little... rattled."

The two men exchanged glances. "We'll get you a carriage to take you to safety," the older man said, leading him toward the door. But the younger one paused.

"How come you didn't hear the evacuation alarm?" he asked.

"I was in a deep sleep," Elijah answered honestly.

The three of them descended a dark stairwell. As they walked, Elijah noticed deep claw marks gouged into the walls. "Looks like that thing came through here," he remarked, but the men didn't respond.

They emerged from the building, which had an eerie gothic style that was made even more sinister by the blood-red moon hanging overhead. Outside, a horse-drawn carriage waited. The driver, dressed in a black suit and top hat, tipped his hat with a wide, unsettling grin.

Elijah offered a nervous smile in return. Before climbing into the carriage, he turned to the young man. "What's today's date?"

The older man pulled out a small journal. "March 27, 1430. Bad timing for something like this to happen on a weekend, huh?" he said with a dry smile.

Elijah nodded. "Thanks."

As the carriage pulled away, Elijah slumped into the soft seat, staring out the window into the endless black. "Why the hell was I attacked?" he muttered to himself, sighing heavily. "There goes my weekend."

His mind wandered back to the fragmented memories: his mother's death, being disowned by his father, and his siblings staying behind. He had come to Aurelia, the city of gold where dreams supposedly came true. But all it had cost him so far was 2,000 pounds—and now, everything he had was gone.