I don't know how I died. Not really. There's a vague memory of a backflip. A campfire. Ella's armour blinding me mid-rotation like the wrath of Ehx herself. Then nothing. Just heat, screaming, and maybe a cracking sound—bones or ego, hard to tell. Could've been that. Could've been the vampire spawn that showed up ten seconds later.
Point is: I'm supposed to be dead. Neck-snapped, blood-drained, thoroughly stomped by Xelion, Felix, Priestess, Rabbie take your pick. That whole fight was a disaster. Felix turned traitor. Rabbie went feral. Xelion knocked Ronlerb down. Priestess cleaned up the rest like she was swatting flies. Everyone's a vampire now. Everyone except me.
Which is suspicious.
I came to on the ground. Helmet sealed. Sword half-buried. My blood? Gone. My body? Technically operational. My mind? Somewhere between paranoid and permanently damaged. Naahv whispers to me every time I blink. I laugh at jokes no one tells. I feel eyes in the sky.
And here's the real kicker: I think Ronlerb saved me.
Why? No idea. Pity? Strategy? One final prank? Could be he did some last-second heroics before Xelion flattened him. Or maybe he struck a deal with Pwazo. Handed me over as bait. "Let him live—he'll drag more fools in."
That's the problem with being resurrected by unknown forces. You don't get clarity. You get questions. And a voice in your head that might be your own or might be an elder god with a sense of humour.
So now I sit here in this cursed helmet, sword in hand, waiting for someone to make the next move. Watching every shadow. Trusting no one. Not even myself. Especially not Ella's armour.
Lessons learned:
- Never backflip near a campfire.
- Vampires lie.
- If you're alive when you shouldn't be, assume it's a trap.
This isn't a call for help. It's a warning. If you see me, don't approach. Don't talk. Just make sure I'm still breathing.
And if I'm not?
BURN THE HELMET.